"Let us dance," the King said gruffly, his eyes never leaving mine. I placed my trembling hand in his, trying to ignore the clamminess of his grip.

"Remember, Guinevere, it is just a dance," I told myself.

Arthur placed his hand on my waist, and I fought the urge to recoil from his touch. His grip was firm, almost bruising, and I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable as we began the Lovers Dance. It was clear he hadn't rehearsed; his movements were clumsy and out of sync with the lilting music. As I tried to guide him through the steps, I caught a glimpse of boredom etched across his face.

"Relax, Your Majesty," I said softly, hoping to ease the tension between us. "It is just a dance."

"Indeed," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "I am not made for these trivialities. Perhaps one of my knights would be better suited."

Arthur suddenly halted our dance and the musicians paused, uncertain of what was going on. The King scanned the room before his gaze landed on Sir Lancelot, who stood among the other Knights of the Round Table.

"Lancelot, would you do me the favour? Finish this ridiculous dance," he bellowed, jutting out a stubby finger in the direction of the astonished Sir Lancelot.

A murmur rippled through the banquet hall at Arthur's request. I could sense the indignation and disapproval in the air from the fae guests, while the human nobility simply laughed and clapped. My mother's face darkened with anger and she got up from her seat. Judging by her expression, I knew she was close to breaking the fragile peace between Camelot and Avalon, so I quickly went to her side and placed a calming hand on her arm.

"Let it be, Mother," I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady. "If King Arthur wishes for Sir Lancelot to dance in his place, then so be it. We must not anger him. Don't ruin it now..."

"Very well," she conceded, though her jaw remained clenched in frustration.

My mum sat again, while King Arthur settled back into his seat at the main table. I walked towards the stage, smiling and trying hard not to look as upset and angry as I felt at this blatant disrespect of our customs, all eyes on me. I curtsied to the musicians, who began to play once more.

As Lancelot approached, I couldn't help but notice the way his emerald green eyes sparkled beneath his auburn hair. He moved with an elegance that belied his strong, muscular frame. The knight paused for a moment before speaking, his mesmerising green eyes meeting mine.

"My Queen," he said softly, his voice warm and inviting, "may I have this dance?"

"Of course, Sir Lancelot," I replied, trying to keep my emotions in check.

With a charming smile, Lancelot extended his hand to me, and I hesitated only briefly before accepting. A shiver ran down my spine at the mere touch of his fingers, their warmth a stark contrast to Arthur's cold grasp.

As we embraced, I tentatively placed my hands on his chest, feeling the hardness of his pecs beneath his clothes. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Lancelot only offered a warm smile. He then gently placed his left hand on the back of my neck, his fingertips brushing against my sensitive skin as he moved closer to me. His right hand rested lightly on my waist and I gasped at the sudden contact, feeling a spark of desire run through me. I was impressed that he knew the fae stance. "Where did he learn?", I wondered.

As we began the Lovers Dance, I was struck by how easily our bodies moved together. His touch was gentle yet firm, guiding me through the intricate steps as if he were a seasoned fae dancer himself. His movements were fluid and graceful as if he had been born to dance amongst my people. I allowed myself to be swept up in the moment, my body responding to his lead without conscious thought.

"Your dancing is impressive, Sir Lancelot," I whispered, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks as our eyes met.

"Thank you, my Queen," he replied, his voice low and velvety. "I have always found the fae dances to be... entrancing."

As we continued to glide across the floor, I couldn't help but notice the way Lancelot's gaze seemed to linger on my lips as they curved into a genuine smile. My heart raced at the thought of what it might feel like to have those captivating green eyes locked onto mine while sharing a kiss.

"My Queen..." he muttered, his breath warm against my cheek as he leaned in closer "Forgive Arthur's behaviour," Lancelot murmured into my ear as we spun gracefully. "He does not always understand the importance of tradition."

"Thank you for stepping in," I whispered back, feeling a shiver run down my spine at the warmth of his breath on my skin. "Your presence has made this dance... bearable."

"Only bearable?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he twirled me around, our bodies pressed together in a way that left me breathless.

"All right, perhaps... enjoyable," I conceded, a laugh escaping my lips despite the heavy burden that weighed upon my heart.

As we continued to dance, I couldn't help but feel drawn to him – his strength, his grace, and the kindness that radiated from his every movement. The way his fingers gently brushed against my waist, the curve of my back, and the tender spot at the nape of my neck ignited a fire within me that I couldn't ignore.

Before I knew it, we had reached the most intimate and difficult part of the dance. I wondered if Lancelot would know or dare to proceed, but he did. He raised my arms above my head, his hands slowly caressing them before his own arms encircled me from behind. His masculine body pressed gently against mine as we swayed together in perfect harmony.

I felt the warmth of his breath on my skin as he spoke softly into my ear.

"May I continue, if my Queen allows it?"

I couldn't find the words to respond, so I only nodded slowly before leaning back against him. His hands trailed from my upper back to my sides, nearing the curve of my breasts. His grip was firm yet tender as he hooked his fingers around my hips, effortlessly lifting me off the ground. I could feel his muscles tense beneath me as I spun in the air, weightless. Everything was suspended in a wave of pure euphoria and in that single instant, it felt as if Lancelot and I were the only two souls in existence.

I descended slowly and breathed in his scent, a mixture of sweat and forest leaves. My feet landed with a light thud and I spun around elegantly to come face to face with Lancelot. Our hands locked together and his gaze pierced through me like a sword, baring my deepest desires. But just as we were lost in each other's embrace, the moment shattered like glass.

"Enough!" Arthur's voice boomed across the hall and the final notes of the otherworldly music faded completely.

The room held its breath as Arthur, angry, got up from his chair and made his way towards us. His broad strides felt like thunderclaps in the silent hall and I could feel the tension emanating from him like a raging storm.

Arthur stopped just inches away from us and crossed his arms sternly across his chest. His expression was dark and a vein throbbed wildly in his neck – he was clearly not pleased with what he had seen.

Reluctantly, I extricated myself from Lancelot's embrace, feeling a shiver run down my spine as the warmth of our connection was severed. Lancelot stepped back and bowed respectfully to his king while I dropped my gaze to the floor.

As I waited for Arthur’s wrath to come down upon us, he suddenly stepped forward and reached out for Lancelot’s shoulder. I held my breath, unsure of what to expect. I thought that Arthur might strike him, but instead, he spoke with a solemn voice.

"Lancelot, I thank you for your service tonight. You have shown us all an example of true grace and elegance on the dance floor." He said, his eyes still never leaving Lancelot's face. "You may retire now."

Lancelot bowed once again and said in a low voice, "It was an honour to dance with the Queen, your Majesty." Then he stepped back and returned to his seat at the table.

Arthur finally turned his attention to me. "It is time for us to leave," he announced.

The king approached me and grabbed me by the arm, his brow furrowed and his eyes dark with a possessiveness that made my stomach churn. My heart raced, fear and disgust battling within me as I tried to mask my emotions behind a façade of calm.

"Of course, my king," I said softly, forcing a smile onto my face. As I glanced back at Lancelot, our eyes met one last time.

"Come, Guinevere," Arthur grumbled, taking my hand in his cold, rough grip. My skin crawled at his touch, but I allowed him to lead me away from the celebration and towards the dreaded moment I had feared since our union was first arranged.

As we left the banquet hall behind and walked through the dimly lit corridors, my mind raced with thoughts of Lancelot. The way his strong hands had held me, the scent of his body, the way his eyes seemed to see straight into my soul – it all lingered in my memory like the afterglow of a dream turned bittersweet.

"Are you looking forward to our wedding night?" Arthur asked, his tone brusque and devoid of warmth.

I swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze. "Of course, my king," I lied, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"Good," he replied, an unsettling smile playing on his lips. "Me too. You will find me a most... attentive husband."

A shudder ran through my body at the thought, and I tried to banish the sensation of Arthur's touch from my mind. To my surprise, I found myself holding onto the memory of Lancelot, his tenderness and passion during our dance. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would have been like to truly love someone and be loved in return. Instead, I had to face this monster, and I wasn't sure I would be strong enough.

As we reached the heavy wooden doors of the bedchamber, I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what lay ahead. The door creaked open, revealing a dark room lit only by flickering candlelight. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of the impending moment suffocating me.

As I slowly stepped inside the room, my gaze fell upon the huge bed looming in the centre. The sight of it stirred something deep within me and I felt a sudden wave of fear wash over me. I could feel Arthur's presence behind me as he pushed me and closed the door with a resounding thud. Then he stepped forward and grabbed my face with his gigantic hands, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

"Guinevere," Arthur murmured, his voice thick with desire as he pulled me close. His eyes roamed over my body, making my skin crawl with unease.

"Please," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Allow me a moment alone to prepare." I didn't know what to do but I felt I needed to gain some time. At that moment, all I wanted was to run, to be free. Free from Arthur's control and domination, free from my responsibilities as an Avalonian princess.

Arthur hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then, he nodded curtly, releasing me from his grasp. "Very well," he conceded, stepping back. "I shall await you in our marital bed."

I walked behind a wooden screen where I could change clothes. As soon as I disappeared from Arthur's view, I sank to the floor, tears pricking at my eyes. I stood there motionless, my hands shaking and my heart pounding with fear. I dreaded what was to come with Arthur. I hated him, the monster who killed my own father, the one that terrorised and murdered my people for two years. How could I bed him or show him any tenderness?

Once again, I thought about escaping. I thought about summoning my fae magic and attempting to kill Arthur right there. But I knew that I had no choice. I was weak and Arthur was invincible. He had beaten more powerful fae than me on countless occasions. I had already lost.

As I rose to my feet, I steeled myself, calling upon every ounce of courage I possessed. I would endure this night for the sake of my people – for Avalon. And with the memory of Lancelot's touch still lingering on my skin, I prayed that I might find some solace in the darkness that awaited me.