Queen Guinevere: A Short Story

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I am familiar with every aspect of her body.

The gentle swell of her hips.

The soft slope of her breasts.

The delicate way her lips curve into a smile.

The way her hair cascades down her back in graceful, dark waves.

Yet she is not mine to touch.

She is Queen Guinevere, wife, leader, heroine, and in my eyes, a creature of perfection.

Yet, because she is married to my king, the sovereign to whom I pledge my life and limb, she will never be within my grasp. To touch her would be like trying to grasp the rain; you feel it against your skin for a heartbeat, but the droplets fall to the ground. Rain cannot stay.

I watch her cross the courtyard, a smile on her face, resplendent in a rich red gown. Her grin spreads as she hastens
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This woman is breathtaking, with lush auburn locks pinned into an elaborate braided coil, green eyes shining with mirth, and skin so pure and ivory I long to caress it. This is the first woman other than Guinevere who leaves me breathless and wanting. I stand there, dumbly, gaping at her.

Her eyes flick to the brooch securing my cloak, and she touches it. “Oh, this symbol means you are the Knight Commander. Sir Leon, am I correct?”

I gather my wits. “Y-yes. I apologize for ruining your bread. And you are…?”

The beauty chuckles. “It’s a pleasure to learn not everyone knows who I am. People have been kind, but so over-solicitous. I am Princess Lynne, here with my father’s retinue.”

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness.” I bow in deference, click my heels together, and summon my nerve. “Please allow me to escort you to the banquet this evening, Princess, as an apology for my carelessness. Unless you’ve someone else to accompany you.” I hope my probing for information is not entirely obvious. I hope she cannot tell I am nearly breathless and in awe of her comeliness.

With a shy smile, she says, “I would love that.”

For the first time in ages, I do not think of
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