There is nothing about Britain that is his. He would do well to remember that.

He sees her in the hallways at night, sneaking in from the forests. She moves like moonlight through the corridors and stills at the sounds in the distance. She never notices him until he catches her, stopping her as he slides his arm in front of the entrance to her room. "And where do wraiths go so late at night?"

"Haunting."

He leans in, smiling at her defiance. "Hunting."

"And what have I to hunt, Lancelot?"

"I don't know, wraith." He angles his body in front of her door and smiles at her, his eyes dark with mischief. "Rabbits? Field mice? Knights for their cause?"

"How does one hunt a knight?"

He reaches out and touches the shoulder of her gown, pushing it back to reveal the slope of her shoulder. She reaches up and catches the gown with her opposite hand, holding it against her breasts. "Very carefully, I would suppose. Most that I've seen captured have been lured with mead and cheese and the promise of things you, no doubt, know nothing of."

"Ah, yes. I'm the innocent out hunting, am I?" She removes her hand and lets her gown fall slightly, the swell of her small breast exposed. His eyes drop to the curve of flesh then move back to her eyes. "It seems to me, Lancelot. That I've caught a knight without the promise of anything."

"Your eyes promise everything."

She shakes her head slowly, her smile never leaving her face as she held his gaze. "Not to you."

"No, wraith," he agreed, letting his fingers trail lightly over the pale swath of skin above her gown. "Not to me."

He catches her two nights later outside of his room. Her dress swirls around her feet as she hurries past, but not quickly enough as he circles her wrist with his hand. "And what are we hunting tonight?"

"Romans." She smirks as he pulls her aside into the alcove of the window. "Care to join me?"

"They're not worth the fight." He turns them so that her body is shielded by his, her back against the stone wall. "Besides, they have better armor than you."

"Not if you catch them at the right time."

He laughs quietly and touches the side of her face, aware of the echo of her touch on Arthur's face. "Or do you just seek one Roman in particular?"

"Master Alecto is much to young for even me."

"Arthur is not."

She doesn't respond for a long moment, finally nodding her head. "Arthur is not."

"He is not yours to have."

She reaches up and places her hand over his. "To whom does he belong then?"

"He's a free man."

"We are none of us free, no matter how much freedom we are granted. We have honor and duty." She guides his hand down from her face to her chest, letting it rest over her gown, over her heart. "We are at its mercy."

"That is not the mercy I seek," he whispers. "Nor the pulsing that I crave, lady."

"I am no lady, Lancelot. Not even Arthur's."

He sees her the next night but does not pursue. She slips through the hallways until just before dawn, stopping at his room as the sun peaks over the distant hills. He watches her from the bed, his hands behind his head, his back propped against the wall. "You'd best hurry back to your room, wraith, before the sun's rays make you vanish."

She edges inside and shuts his door, moving toward him with feline grace. She doesn't speak, shakes her head when he opens his mouth. He sits up as she moves over him, straddling him on the bed and pulling her gown over her head.

He doesn't think as he moves into her, his arms wrapping around her waist and bringing her breasts to his mouth. The nipples are tight and hard before his tongue touches them, pebbling further as his mouth encloses them in heat. Her pale flesh is warm and cool against his hands and he pulls her with him as he lays back, turning and guiding her onto her side.

Her hands work at his shirt, tugging it free of his breeches and urging it over his head. He reaches behind him, raising off the bed enough to toss the shirt away before moving back against her, his chest warm and hard against her breasts. Her mouth opens to his, sucking on his lower lip before sinking her sharp teeth into it then sucking it again. He groans hotly, angling one leg between both of hers, the slick leather easily parting her flesh.

She pushes against him, fighting to pin him to the bed and he pushes back, forcing her onto the bed. His knee stays between her legs as he slips his hand down as well, his fingers parting heated flesh to find the wet nub of her clit. She bites her own lip, closing her eyes and arching up into his hand, his palm curving over the silken hair as his fingers trace and tease the tender flesh.

He lowers his head and kisses her, licking at her lips until she parts them, her breath heavy on his tongue as it invades her mouth, curling around her tongue as his fingers slip lower and push inside her, the pads of his fingers stroking slowly. "What are you hunting, wraith?"

She shakes her head, whipping it from side to side as his fingers become more insistent, thrusting harder and deeper. She reaches for his breeches, fumbling with the leather laces, fighting to unfasten them with trembling fingers as his thumb circles her clit. Her breath stutters in the growing dawn as she finally frees him, pushing the leather back from his flesh and capturing him in her hand.

He gasps and bends his head, his hair brushing against her chest. She tangles the fingers of her free hand in the dark mass and tugs, bringing his eyes to hers. "I would say I've caught something," she pants, "wouldn't you?"

Groaning, he quiets her with a fierce kiss, freeing his hand from inside her and catching both of hers, holding her down against the bed. He nudges her legs farther apart, both of his knees between them as he thrusts down, the damp tendrils of hair clinging to him as he slides against her. "Who," he asks softly as the tip of his shaft presses against her opening, his slow thrust inching him deeper, "has caught whom?"

Her legs encircle him, heels digging into his flesh as her body closes around him. Heat floods him as he penetrates her, her slick flesh parting easily for his thrusts. He stretches her arms above her head and lays above her, his tongue darting out to tease at her mouth. She growls and bites at him and he laughs, the low chuckle echoing off the stone walls as he braces himself again and rises off of her, his hips still pressed hard to hers.

He watches her as he thrusts, rolling his hips against hers with every downward stroke. She clenches her teeth, her jaw set as she closes her eyes. He inhales sharply, his body stiffening as the pulse of need threads through his blood, heat pooling at the base of his spine as his muscles spasm and he loses himself inside her. She shudders, bucking up against him as she pushes toward her satisfaction. She cries out softly as her body holds tight to his, suspended for a long moment before she sinks back on the bed, hands slowly unfurling from the tight curl of her fists.

Easing away from her, he carefully rolls to the side, propping his head on his hand has he stares down at her, his fingers trailing over her stomach. "Morning is too fast in coming."

She nods and stands, grabbing her gown and pulling it on. She stops and straightens it at the door, looking back at him. Her eyes rake over his body before she turns and slips out into the corridor without a sound.

The nights are quiet and he sees no more sign of her disappearing in the dark until the shouts echo throughout the night. He reaches the top of the wall and sends the signal to call Arthur when he comes bounding up the stairs, Guinevere close behind. He barely hears Arthur's words through the cacophonous beat of his blood pounding in his ears, his teeth grinding at the sight of her.

He chases Arthur down the stairs to be rid of the scent of them lingering in the heat between them, rage and jealousy pulsing through his veins. Arthur leaves and he heaves a sigh into the cold air, turning and watching her approach.

"You have done this to him."

"I've done nothing."

His nose wrinkles as he circles her, moving up behind her to smell her neck. "Haven't you?" He completes his circle and faces her, his eyes boring into hers. "You've done nothing but confuse him. You're twisting what he wants and desires together until he cannot see that there is nothing here for him."

"If there is nothing here for him then there is nothing anywhere." Her words are as sharp as a sword, stopping him in his tracks. "Everything he believed about Rome was a lie. His life has been a lie. He is trying to find his truth."

"His truth is not between your thighs."

"Yours was, was it not?"

He growls, his voice low and dangerous. "He does not belong to you. He is not yours."

Guinevere holds his gaze in the darkness before moving away, leaving Lancelot standing silent and alone. "He is not yours either."