CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR #2
When she reached the last tie, the gambeson sagged open, revealing my undertunic beneath—a thin linen shirt clinging to me and covered with sweat from the training yard, translucent in places where the sweat had soaked through.
She slipped her hands beneath the thick padded shoulders and peeled the gambeson back.
It resisted her—gambesons always did, stiff with stitching and stuffed with wool—but soon the weight of it slid free, falling heavy into her arms before she let it drop to the floor beside me.
The undertunic remained, thin and crinkled, clinging to the curve of my ribs and the hollow beneath my throat.
Elenora's eyes lingered on me, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face.
“Much better,” she murmured.
Where Elenora's fingers lingered above my right breast, I glanced down only to watch my disguise of a man's flat chest melting away and the swell of my own natural breast taking its place.
I could feel the magic unraveling thread by thread beneath her touch, yet the change seemed to happen all at once, as if reality itself had shifted to accommodate her will.
Impossible. Yet her touch had flayed the magic from my skin as effortlessly as one might peel away a mask on a stage. I gasped, my voice swallowed by the rumble of thunder that shook the stone walls.
Elenora possessed magic of a caliber I had never imagined she could have—especially as a courtesan. Even now, I struggled to comprehend it.
“We both wear disguises," she whispered as she leaned in close and her fingers circled my breast, squeezing. "Yours is steel and silence. Mine, silk and smiles. Both are armor.”
I studied her carefully, not attempting to back away from her. She, meanwhile, continued to run her fingers over my breast, causing my nipple to harden involuntarily. As soon as she felt its rigidity, she smiled like the she-devil she was.
“Why reveal yourself to me?” I asked in a whisper, unsure of what she was doing to me.
“Because you’re drowning.” She cocked her head to the side as she studied me. Soon, she moved her hand down from my breast and circled my stomach, above my tunic. “I see it—the toll your illusion takes on you." She paused. "Show me your true face."
I swallowed hard, my throat constricting as if the air had thickened around us.
The weight of her knowing gaze pressed against me like a physical force, and I realized there was no point in maintaining the charade any longer.
My secret—the one I'd guarded so fiercely, the identity I'd crafted with such painstaking care—lay exposed between us like a blade drawn from its sheath.
The magic that had held Lioran's form felt suddenly foreign against my skin, an ill-fitting garment I'd worn too long. With deliberate slowness, I allowed the illusion to dissolve, feeling the familiar tingle as the enchantment unraveled.
"Stunning creature," she said with a smile.
"What do you want from me?"
"Why should you suppose I want anything from you at all?"
She brought her hand lower, skimming it across my stomach, before I grabbed it and kept it from dropping lower.
"I'm not a fool."
She laughed at that as I released her hand. "Of course, you're not a fool. Look at how long you've been tricking everyone."
"How did you—"
"—I understand how hard it is for you here," she interrupted. "The conflict between what Merlin told you and what you’ve begun to feel here in Camelot.”
At the mention of Merlin, my expression must have shifted. She noticed.
“Yes, I know who sent you, beautiful girl. Not every detail, perhaps, but I know enough. And I can help you.”
“Oh?” I didn’t bother to hide my suspicion.
She dropped her hand lower until it disappeared under my tunic.
It was a second later that I felt her fingers thrusting between my thighs, above my braies.
My breath caught, but I was so stunned I didn't push her away.
All I could think about was the thin wool fabric that separated my flesh from her prying fingers.
And yet there was nothing I did to stop her.
Was it her own magic that was keeping me from halting her, or was it… my own lustful need? I didn't know.
"I think there is nothing more I'd rather do," she nearly sang. "Than… help you."
Then she smiled knowingly and began untying the laces of my braies.
The leather ties fell away under her touch as I still wrestled with the fact that I was doing nothing to stop her.
My mind screamed that I should push her away, demand answers, maintain the careful control I'd fought so hard to achieve.
Yet my body remained still, caught between shock and a treacherous anticipation I couldn't name.
Once the braies fell down to pool around my ankles, she dropped gracefully to her knees on the stone floor, her eyes never leaving mine, not even for a moment.
"What are you—"
Then her gaze shifted downward, drinking in the sight of my exposed sex with an appreciation that made heat flood my cheeks. Without hesitation, she began circling the sensitive nub above my opening with the tip of her finger, her touch feather-light yet electric.
My breath hitched sharply, but I still made no move to stop her.
I just stood there as if she’d frozen me in place.
All the while, I couldn’t understand how this dangerous woman’s touch was igniting a passion inside me I’d never felt for another woman.
I wondered if the fires of lust within me had been stoked so many times by both Arthur and Lance that they were willing to burn whatever would feed them, whether that be man or woman.
“Men speak freely around a beautiful woman they believe has no mind of her own," she continued, her eyes fixing hungrily on my quim. "They think we’re merely decoration—frivolous and harmless. They never consider we might be listening and gathering, using the knowledge we acquire.”
She pushed her finger inside me, and I had to brace myself against the wall. Then she stood up so we were eye-level and whispered, "What knowledge have you acquired, Guinevere?"
My breath caught, the sound sharp and ragged in the stone chamber's silence.
How did she know my name? The question thundered through my mind even as her finger remained buried inside me, sending waves of sensation that made coherent thought nearly impossible.
What was more unsettling—why was I even allowing her to touch me like this?
I didn’t know what to say, couldn’t form words that would adequately express the chaos roiling within me.
The rational part of my mind screamed warnings—this was dangerous, foolish, a betrayal of everything Merlin had taught me about maintaining my cover.
But my body had other ideas entirely, responding to her touch with an eagerness that both thrilled and terrified me.
Instead of speaking, I just watched her, drinking in every detail of her face in the dim light.
The way her eyes seemed to glow with inner fire, the slight upturn of her lips that spoke of secrets and hidden knowledge, the confident grace with which she touched me as if she had every right to do so.
"Did Arthur get you this wet?" she whispered, her voice almost a purr as she pulled her finger out of me, and my wetness reflected in the dull light. She stood up then and whispered in my ear, "When he nearly fucked you at the lake?"
Another shock. "You know… about that…"
"There is very little I don't know." Her smile flickered, softer this time. “The game we play is constantly evolving, Guinevere. We must be everywhere though we appear to be nowhere.”
"How—" My voice trembled with the weight of all the questions crowding my mind, but she silenced me by spreading my lips apart so she could better access that little pearl of sensitivity nestled above my opening.
Her touch was confident, knowing, as if she'd mapped every secret place of a woman's body through careful study and experience.
When she touched me, the sensation was immediate and overwhelming—a bolt of pure pleasure that shot through me and radiated outward until my entire body hummed with need.
I felt a moan escape my mouth, low and desperate, the sound seeming to come from some primal place deep within me that I barely recognized.
My hands instinctively sought purchase against the stone wall behind me, fingers scraping against rough mortar as I struggled to remain upright under the assault of sensation.
“It’s a dance. And every step risks ruin or salvation. I’ve lost too much to allow another woman to stumble blindly through Camelot’s court, to be used and discarded by men.”
I searched her face and found no mockery—only recognition. Even though I could barely think, let alone speak, I had to say something—had to try to break this power she was asserting over me. “You know what it’s like to hide.”
"Every day." Her voice carried the weight of years spent navigating treacherous waters, each word heavy with hard-won wisdom.
Without warning, she dropped to her knees before me, the rich velvet fabric of her gown pooling around her like spilled wine against the cold stone floor.
She leaned forward with deliberate slowness, her movements reverent, as if she were approaching something sacred.
When she extended her tongue—small, pink—to lap delicately at my swollen nub, an explosion of pure desire crashed over me like a tidal wave, stealing my breath and scattering my thoughts to the winds.