for @morgwenmicrofic | prompt : « you promised » | 380 words
Guinevere kneels on the polished oak floor, eyes fixed on the lifeless body lying before her.
"Morgana, you promised," she chokes out, her throat tight with barely-restrained sobs. "You promised you'd never hurt him. I promised you that one day I'd make Camelot safe for magic users."
"I guess I got tired of waiting," comes Morgana's response, but her triumph is whispered, her victory hollow.
"But Gwen, look," she continues, desperate, her hands cupping Guinevere's chin. "You can have all you ever wanted now. We can rule Camelot together. You can be my Queen."
"I am my own Queen," Guinevere says softly, her voice determined. "I would rather die than rule alongside you." She does not even think as her fingers clasp around the dagger hidden on the strap around her thigh, she has no time to process as the words come out her mouth unbidden.
"But I beg you, grant me one last kiss," she says, and suddenly Morgana's lips are on hers, the taste of ash and regret slipping into her mouth. Bitter tears run down her cheeks as she slides the dagger into Morgana's ribs, as she hears a surprised "oh" escape from those lips that once loved her so. She lowers Morgana's shaking body to the floor, their lips still touching, their arms locked in one last, desperate embrace.
"I used to love you," Guinevere whispers, the confession halting in the heavy silence of the throne room. "I used to think you'd make a better ruler than he ever would." Her words catch in her throat. "But I was wrong. He made himself better for me. He wanted to earn my love. You were arrogant, Morgana. What is given can also be taken away." The dagger slides out, and one last gasp echoes from Morgana's blood-stained lips.
Guinevere contemplates the two bodies pooling red on the throne room floor. Her husband, who she was too late to save. Her first love, who she never tried to save in the first place.
"The King is dead," Guinevere whispers to herself, reaching forward to gently close Arthur's eyelids. He could be sleeping, if not for the bloom of red across his stomach. She stands up, adjusting the weight of the crown atop her head.
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