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AS THE STARS GLISTENED inthe night sky, Lancelot took her lover's lips in a gentle kiss. Lady Guinevere let out a small laugh, soft and delicate, and returned her kiss.
Her emerald eyes closed and Lancelot missed the vivid green. It reminded her of the ivy vines on her windowsill, growing quickly, crawling and conquering, until her wall was but a canvas of green. Guinevere, too, had grown too fast on her, creeping into the stone walls of Lancelot's heart, till her heart, her body, her soul knew nothing but moss green. Guinevere's green.
She sucked a breath as she felt the fair hands tug on her bronze armour. Lancelot's armour, a twisted part of her mind, reminded her. That she had stolen his armour just like she had stolen his identity. She could remember the golden haired boy with kind eyes that turned cruel when he discovered he was getting robbed . He grunted and clawed, his hands tugging at his silver dagger from a ragged little girl with a funny dress.
The girl wouldn't budge, she kept a tight grip on the dagger, muttering something Lancelot couldn't remember anymore. She still remembered the liveliness in his ocean eyes wither as the girl drove the dagger in his heart. She hadn't understood the strange strength and she didn't understand it now.
With a quivering hand she stripped his armour and his robes and his name and wore it like her own. She became Lancelot du Lac and went on great quests and brought victory. She was the great Lancelot of Arthur's round table. It was her honour, her achievement, her title and no one could snatch it from her.
She shook her head and wrapped her arms around Guinevere, caressing the chestnut curls. "I love you," whispered the queen, "oh I love you so much."
"This heart belongs to you, my lady," She whispered back. She watched her lover with a smile as she pulled her hand open.
Guinevere slipped a slender ring on her ring finger. "I want you to have it."
Lancelot frowned as she stared at the emerald stone on the ring, "but my lady–"
"Don't. I want you to have a piece of me. Even when you're away, I want you to remember me," said Guinevere, nuzzling her head in the crook of the knight's neck. At that moment, Lancelot felt like she had been blessed by an embrace of an angel.
Harsh thuds of footsteps sounded against the crystalline marble with a savage howl of "Lancelot! Where are you, you bastard?"
Lancelot and Guinevere jumped out of their embrace but not before the king's eyes fell on them. The mighty king Arthur of Camelot, with a sword wrapped in myths, glared at her with a ferocity that made her want to draw her own weapon.
"Lancelot!" Said the King, with a sneer. "Look at you. You don't deserve the title of knight, let alone a knight of Arthur, you dishonourable bastard."
Lancelot could feel the fear in Guinevere's kind eyes. They had been caught red handed. But Lancelot wouldn't give up so easily.
