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The walls were covered in armor. Bits and pieces, stacked and hung from chains, everything she could imagine from every style she could possibly think of. There was so much to look at, so much detail, she couldn’t take it all in. It was a sea of helms, breastplates, gauntlets—big, small, delicate, rough-hewn. Some looked decorative and never worn, some looked as though they had been through a thousand wars—dented and stained with what she hoped was rust and not blood.
Standing in the center of the room, his back to her, was Mordred. He held a large metal hammer in his hand and was smashing it down on an anvil with a loud clang, shaping whatever piece of armor he held in his other hand. He was shirtless, sweat beading on his back. A forge was raging against one wall, making the air sweltering and thick.
He took her breath away. She suspected he always would. The way the muscles of his back moved—the strength in him. The certainty of each movement.
Clang.
This wasn’t her dream.
This was his.
She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. More importantly, she didn’t know how she felt. There was a part of her that hadn’t believed she’d ever see him again. And if she did, he would likely be furious with her for still being on the island. But she loved him, more than she knew how to handle.
So, she just watched him, unsure and stuck between all her options. Should she scream at him for sending her away? No, if he knows I’m still on the island, he’ll come looking for me. Tell him that she loved him? What if he never read the letter, and just chucked it in the fire? How would he know, then? Start crying? I’ve had enough of that.
So she did nothing at all.
Just watched.
Clang.
It seemed he felt her presence all the same. “And here you are to haunt me.” He didn’t turn to face her, but reached for a rag in a bucket of water and wiped his face with it. He wasn’t wearing his gauntlets. “I suppose it serves me right.”
No words came to her. Nothing useful, anyway. “Why use a forge when you can just…make it?”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “That is something you would ask. It is you, then. And not a simple trick of my mind. I wondered if I would remain linked to you while you were on Earth.”
That confirmed it—he thought she was on Earth. And she’d have to leave it that way.
“As for why? It helps me think. Sometimes, I need to use my hands. Then, once I can see it in my head, I can finish it using my elemental power.” He still didn’t turn to face her. He picked up the hammer again and brought it down. Clang. “It brings me some kind of solace when I am alone.”
It was two more blows of the hammer before she got the nerve to say something salient. “You don’t have to be alone.”
Clang.
A pause. “Perhaps. But I always seem to find a way to manage it.” He lifted the hammer and brought it down again. Clang.
She couldn’t take it anymore. Walking up to him, she put her hand on his wrist. He was shirtless and glistening. He looked so damn good it was kind of ridiculous, honestly. She tried not to stare. Or laugh. Or do other terrible things. “You did this to yourself.”
He watched her, those molten iron eyes flicking between hers. “Yes. There was no other way.”
“Because you were afraid to let me in?”
“Because I was afraid to bury you!” He turned and threw the hammer at the wall. It impacted the stacks of armor, sending several of them smashing and clattering to the ground. He reeled around to face her, grabbing her by the shoulders. He yanked her forward, and before she could react, he kissed her—as searing as the fire in the forge.
God, he was so hot when he was angry.
When he broke the kiss, he pushed her away. She didn’t blame him—he didn’t know she was real.
“Why would you make me watch you die? Why would you wish to put me through that? Do you not understand—” He threaded his hands into his hair, fisting the iron-gray strands. “It would be the last thing I would ever do. And this world relies on me, Gwendolyn. This is larger than my own desires.”
Numbly, she shook her head.
“You would die. Sooner rather than later, by my wager. Someone would use you against me—like that bastard Grinn already did. And how—how could I keep going?”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“I did not know how.” He turned his back to her again. “And I knew you would fight to convince me. And if I allowed myself that temptation, I could not withstand it.”
