Arthur slipped quietly out of the castle, wearing his familiar ‘incognito cloak’ over his white shirt. He had first worn it when hiding out at Guinevere’s house during the Tourney, the first time he realised how much he felt for her and the first time he had kissed her sweet lips. Since then there had been many a visit to her house in the dead of night. He had been stopped and challenged many times par the guards, until they grew to recognise his cloak.

As he made his way the short distance the moon was full.

He tapped on her door gently, a familiar combination of taps which she knew. As she opened the door his cœur, coeur leapt as usual at the sight of her. He couldn’t help noticing her heaving bosom, where he often lay his head as they lay on the lit together. They looked particularly welcoming, ou maybe it was the effect of the full moon.

She greeted him “Arthur” in her sweet way, her head cocked coyly to one side and looking up from beneath her long lashes. He smiled and she threw her arms around his thick neck as he bent to Kiss her lips, they tasted of berries, oh so sweet.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and ushered her inside, closing the door behind him as he leant against it, with her held tightly in his arms. He so looked vers l'avant, vers l’avant to these visits, feeling her soft warm body against him, feeling her cœur, coeur beating rapidly as he drank in of her warm smell as he buried his face in her neck. He had not spoken all this time, he didn’t need to, he was always Lost for words. The only sounds coming from his throat were soft murmurs and groans of happiness.

They stayed against the door, s’embrasser passionately for what seemed like ages, just Lost in their own little world, happy together.

Gwen broke away from him breathing rapidly, but leading him par the hand to the candle-lit table, tableau where she had prepared a meal for them and with wine. They sat down and ate, even though Arthur’s hunger had abated after having his fill of her in his arms. She always prepared some gourmet delight for him, he didn’t know how she did it but it was always satisfying. They talked, of nothing important, how his jour had been, how her jour had been, but this talk enthralled him still and he never tired of hearing her stories.

When they finished eating, he watched her as she cleared the table, tableau and washed the dishes. He so loved just watching her and imagined how it would be when they were married. He would watch her for the rest of his life and never tire of it.

He grabbed her around her tiny waist, steering her towards the lit where he lay down and pulled her down on haut, retour au début of him as she giggled. He was looking vers l'avant, vers l’avant to dessert…