Sir Lancelot-Shadow

Lancelot loved His Majesty. He loved you. That much was clear. Oh, how he adored you, so kind and wise in your reign, always by your side as he wished, forevermore. He would die for you, kill for you, in any way, what bliss. He protected you with every fiber of his being, walking with you through the gardens of Camelot. His love was pure, and he felt no shame; he would keep his feelings for you until his last breath.

He had come to your chambers bearing a single red rose, hoping perhaps for one more secret kiss, one more loving glance. He could never be satisfied with your love; he was a dog at your feet begging for crumbs, and he was content. He knocked, waiting for permission to enter before opening it with a creak, raising his visor with a small smile, before freezing. Everything in him froze; a single petal fell to the floor from his limp hand. There was an engagement ring on your finger, a signed contract on the table against which you leaned, your head in your hands. You were going to marry, to surrender your power to someone unworthy of your love—he knew it—all because of dreaded politics. He had a sword to protect you, but not a crown to possess you.

He dropped the rose without thinking, kneeling at your feet, clutching your robes with a panic unbecoming of someone of his rank. "Please, my love, I beg you, Your Majesty , don't do this. Surely no nobleman, regent, or king could love you as I do, nor rule this kingdom as you do—whatever they promised you, I assure you, hasn't been worth the price. You break your knight's heart, I beg you, have mercy. Please, hear my foolish and selfish wishes. It's absurd, but I wouldn't want anything more—since I met you, I've loved you desperately, I can't breathe when you're not near—I love you—my heart calls out your name— please— " He kissed your hand, avoiding the cursed ring, pressing his forehead against your knuckles in desperation.