"You will marry King Arthur," her father said.

I don't want to, her heart cried.

A choice. In everything we do, we have a choice, and no one may force us to choose one way or another.

What choice?

I could refuse to marry King Arthur; my father could not drag me down the aisle and force me to say the vows.

But he could beat me for refusing, and I am not strong enough to stop him. He could disown me, and I could live the rest of my days as a beggar woman until I was killed or died of illness. He could kill me and no one would frown upon him, for I may be a princess, but I am only a woman. My life depends solely on my father's goodwill, and he is a cruel and ambitious man.

What choice?

Lancelot was sent to escort Guinevere to Camelot, where King Arthur waited to marry her.

"Let us run away together," she begged him.

"I cannot leave my king," Lancelot said.

So I married the king, to preserve my life. That was no choice.

I took Lancelot as my lover, to preserve my happiness. That was my choice.

Am I evil for that choice? Am I wicked for betraying a man I never wanted, never loved? In a world where the ones in power do not care about the lives of women, was it a bad thing to ensure that I'd be happy?

Sometimes I think my choice was sin; most of the time I think it bliss. But at least it was my choice; the only choice I truly ever made.

AN-A short trip into the mind of Queen Guinevere, because for all her faults I feel like she gets a harsher reputation than she deserves.