The Queen sat bent over her embroidery, painstakingly stitching her husband's insignia.  The dragon's size was perfect, imposing but not unrealistic.  Still…something wasn't right.  Than, a small smile crossed her lips as she recognized the source of the problem...it was the eyes.   

            Eyes...  Suddenly, the dragon's eyes were not its own; eyes that had moments before been a fiery crimson had become a tantalizing, unforgettable blue-green.  And then she realized:  His eyes...they are his eyes.  

            Guenivere shook her golden head, and dropped the loom.  What was she thinking?  It was useless.  She stood, and walked to the window that seemed to stare at her from the other side of her chamber.  This is ridiculous she thought, resting her slender hands on the window's sill. I've tried everything, but with Arthur gone, my thoughts refuse control.  I cannot keep my mind from him.  She stared out at the courtyard below her, watching...she looked at the rose gardens, mere blurs of color from this height; the reds, the pinks, the whites, the yellows...and the silver mass that she knew to be the fountain.  Her fountain. 

She watched the carefree squires and passersby as they strolled through the flowers, hoping...but no.

            Suddenly, she felt arms encircling her waist, and heard a soft, unmistakable voice whispering in her ear.

            "Gwen."

            She stiffened as his lips brushed her hair, but knew that it was no use.  There was no point in putting up a barrier...as soon as she turned to face him and looked into his eyes, it would come crashing down.  It always did. 

When she spoke, it was in little more than a whisper.

            "Please...you shouldn't be here.  What if..."

            A hand lifted from her waist, and she saw it close the curtain at her window's side.  "Now no one can see." 

            "But the door..."  Please, let him leave she prayed.  Please, Lord, send him away...let the door be open...let him go and leave me in peace.  But even as her mind prayed for it, she knew that his departure would bring her even less peace than his presence could. 

            "It is closed, my Queen.  My Guenivere..."  The hand on the window curtain returned to her waist, though the lips had not yet left her ear.  "Face me.  We are safe now."

            She was so close to him she could feel his heart beat.  Yet she would not turn, because she knew that if she did, all would be lost to love. 

            His hold tightened, securing her against him.  She relaxed in his grip, letting him hold her.  She felt a pull on her hair, and saw it fall around her features, felt it cascade down her back. 

            "Please, my love, turn and look at me."  There was pleading in his voice now.

            "I cannot" she whispered softly.  "I beg you, Lance...please go..."

            "Why won't you let me see your face?"  He was hurt now, and confused.  "What have I done to offend you?" 

            Her eyes filled with tears, and she was grateful that she had resisted the temptation to turn.  "You have done nothing, dearest.  Nothing.  It's only that every moment you are here endangers us...every word we speak jeopardizes Camelot, and everyone we love...I cannot let that happen.  You must go."

            He heard the reluctance in her words.  She did not want to send him from her...the unwillingness in her voice had given her away. 

Even her own voice had betrayed her. 

            He was whispering to her again, but now only one hand was on her waist.  The other was on her arm.  The warmth of his touch still astounded her...

            His voice was gentle, calm, and knowing all at once.  "You do not want me to go."

            The tears were welling in her azure eyes, and she realized that if she spoke, they would fall.  So instead, she shook her head, praying that he would realize how important it was that they ignore their desire and part...but at the same time, she knew that was not going to happen.

            His hands turned her gently, guiding her, so that he could see her face.  Although she knew she should, she did not resist.

            "Arthur is not home.  He is gone to Erin, to fight the Saxons there...you need not fear discovery."

            "I don't fear discovery" she replied.  I am afraid of you.  Still she would not look him in the eye.

            His touch was tender as he lifted her chin, but she jerked it from his hand.  "Gwen, look at me!"

            Finally, she gave up, looking into his blue-green eyes...and she remembered why she loved him so.  His gaze held such love, such passion, such kindness...it shocked her.  The emotion in his eyes only intensified with his reply, spoken as if he had read her thoughts.  "You have nothing to fear from me, my Queen."

            And then, his lips were on hers, and she could fight him no longer.  The passion she felt in his kiss rippled through her body, encompassing her.  She lost all thought of fear, and conscience, and marriage, and betrayal.  She could think only of his lips, and his touch, and his arms around her.  He pulled her closer, and her arms went around his neck, deepening their kiss.  After a few moments, he pulled away, simply looking at her. 

            She would remember his next words through everything.  Through three more years of guilty pleasure and scandalous passion, past looking into her husband's trusting eyes upon his return and knowing that she did not deserve the faith they held...through all of this, she would think of his next words, and somehow find the strength and resilience rise from her bed.

            "Gwen..." he whispered her name, tenderly and softly, but it rang in her ears nonetheless.  "I may die within the hour if my next words are heard by a soul, but it matters not.   I love you, my Guenivere."

            She did not answer, only kissed him again, matching his passion with her own.