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The knights do not comment on the way the king and his manservant look at each other, in public or private. They had decided long ago that it was fitting and the two men complimented each other well. It was not unheard of, the taking of another man to your chamber or cot or abandoned corner of a cave. Among knights and squires, it was half expected and sometimes encouraged.
Though the knights were fairly certain this relationship was not based in such physical acts.
It was a type of love, deeply rooted in their souls, that was mostly undefinable.
It could be seen in the tender, lingering touches. Sometimes in the acts of desperation to save one another, which happened more times than could be counted. It was unbearably obvious in their banter. Or in their small acts of personal sacrifice, secrets long kept and love split, shared.
And it was achingly beautiful in their longing gazes.
And though the queen was beautiful and righteous and hell to be messed with, the knights knew that the king was satisfied in different ways by his manservant. And the knights loved them each and did not judge their affections, complicated and yet simple.
Instead, the knights envied such fealty and love. Admired such devotion of life to another person and sought to emulate it.
And wept of sweet injustices that they might never find a love like that.