The Princess Bride
The Camelot estate was quiet in the early morning. Too quiet, perhaps. Guinevere lay beneath the blankets staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft hush of a house that had not yet begun to stir. Her parents were almost certainly still asleep. Taza would not come to wake her for another few hours. By all rights, Gwen should have been asleep too. Instead, she was painfully, hopelessly awake.
Her stomach twisted again. She rolled onto her side, squeezed her eyes shut, and immediately regretted it. Closing them only made it easier for her mind to wander back to the reason she was awake in the first place.
Lancel.
Today he was keeping his promise. It had seemed like such a clever idea when she had asked him.
Teach me how to misbehave.
The request had been born from desperation more than anything else. If Lancel wanted no part of their engagement, and he had made that abundantly clear, then perhaps there was a way to make herself unsuitable enough that the entire arrangement would simply collapse beneath the weight of her impropriety and their shared deviant and bad influence.
At least, that had been the thought. Now, lying awake before sunrise, Gwen was beginning to wonder if she had completely lost her mind. Lancel had chosen where they would meet. Somewhere just beyond the estate grounds, near the little town not far from Camelot. What came after that? She had absolutely no idea. That was perhaps the worst part. Her stomach flipped at the thought of spending an entire day alone with him.
Gwen sat up abruptly and pressed both hands over her face. This was ridiculous. They had been alone together before. Taza had left them in the gardens, after all. But even then there had always been people somewhere nearby. Servants passing along distant walkways. Guards. Gardeners. Someone who might appear if called.
Today would be different. Today she was willingly walking into the unknown with him, and, rather alarmingly, part of her was excited about it. She threw the blankets aside before she could dwell on that thought any longer.
Getting dressed had proven to be its own ordeal. She had no idea where Lancel intended to take her, which meant she had no idea what she was supposed to wear. A gown seemed impractical if his definition of misbehaving involved anything particularly adventurous, but dressing too casually felt almost worse. Eventually, Gwen had settled on a fitted shirt with the sides deliberately cut away, exposing a sliver of skin along her waist.
She had spent several minutes insisting to herself that she had chosen it because it was comfortable. That was all. Nothing more.
Unfortunately, her traitorous mind kept dragging her back to the gala. His hand, and his thumb brushing slowly over bare skin. The memory sent a faint warmth creeping up the back of her neck.
Gwen frowned at herself in the mirror. She wanted that to happen again. Maybe. Possibly. She did not know. That uncertainty somehow made it more embarrassing.
"Stop it," she whispered to her reflection. Her reflection looked unconvinced. There was no use getting excited about Lancel. He did not want her. Whatever happened had an expiration date. This was just an efficient arrangement. That was all.
She had finished the outfit with pants. Guinevere stared at herself as though the woman in the mirror had personally betrayed every expectation ever placed upon the daughter of Camelot. Had Lancel ever even seen her wearing pants? She could not remember. That realization made the entire thing feel strangely scandalous, which was absurd. They were only pants. Still, she had packed several other things into a small bag, just in case whatever Lancel had planned required something more appropriate. Or less appropriate. No... She was absolutely not thinking about that.
Gwen tightened the strap of the bag and glanced toward her bedroom door. The house was still quiet. That brought the other source of her nerves rushing back. She was sneaking out. Actually sneaking out. Not slipping away from an event with Elian for an hour. Not disappearing into some garden while Taza sighed and pretended she had not noticed. Those little adventures had always existed within boundaries. Someone knew where she was. Someone knew who she was with.
This time, no one would. There would be no note, no explanation, no chaperone, and no one to even know she was leaving. Her heart began pounding harder. There were so many emotions rolling through her. Fear...Excitement....Guilt.... Something dangerously close to exhilaration. All of it tangled together until she could barely tell one feeling from another.
Gwen looked at herself in the mirror one last time. Her hair was in place. Her clothes looked acceptable, if somewhat bolder than usual. Her small bag was packed. She looked exactly like herself, and somehow not like herself at all.
"This is a terrible idea," she whispered. Then she crossed to the window. Opening it quietly proved easier than expected. Climbing through it did not. Gwen awkwardly maneuvered herself onto the ledge, pausing once when her boot scraped against the stone. Slowly, carefully, she continued downward, finding footholds in the decorative stonework she had never once considered useful until this exact moment.
When her boots finally touched the grass below, Gwen nearly laughed from relief. She had done it. She had actually done it. The realization sent another thrill racing through her. She quickly pulled her cloak tight around herself, making sure the hood was up, and hurried across the grounds before courage had a chance to abandon her.
Every shadow suddenly seemed suspicious. Every window looked occupied. Every distant sound convinced her she was seconds away from hearing Taza call her name, and yet nothing happened. Gwen slipped beyond the estate grounds and started toward the meeting place Lancel had chosen, her pace quickening as the first traces of morning light stretched across Naboo.
With each step, the nerves returned. What exactly did Lancel consider misbehaving? What was he planning? Where were they going, and why did the thought of finding out make her heart beat even faster? By the time the meeting place came into view, Gwen had pulled her cloak tighter around herself, one hand curling nervously around the strap of her bag.
Then another thought occurred to her. A far less pleasant one. What if he was not there? Gwen slowed. Her stomach sank. What if Lancel had never intended to come? What if this had all been some elaborate joke at her expense? She had climbed out of her bedroom window before sunrise, lied through silence to practically everyone she loved, dressed in clothes she was still not entirely certain she had chosen for innocent reasons, and walked all the way out here.
For him.
Guinevere swallowed and continued toward the meeting place anyway.
He had better be there.
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