It was like a dance or so Lancelot sometimes thinks, the way he drifts from him to her to them and back to alone again. Sometimes the dance takes place all at once, in a moment’s glance. Sometimes he drifts over the course of a season or more, struggling to find the steps and the rhythm as partners change again and again.

He wonders at times if he should hate them both, for their grace and their beauty and their easy way of never missing their footing. It makes him angry, knowing there is no doubt between them. Knowing that it is their role of King-and-Queen that has so shattered the certainty of his world of Commander-and-Knight.

It makes him angry, but Lancelot cannot find it in him to hate either King or Queen. Not when they make it so perfectly clearly that both do love their Knight.