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“Case in point.” He chuckled.
She shot him a look. “I’m not trying to change the subject—I just don’t understand.”
He placed his palm over her collarbone by her shoulder. “I fear I could not say goodbye to you, though I sent you away. I…linked us.”
“You—how?” She furrowed a brow. Then it hit her. “Oh God, you didn’t.”
“It is not the same kind of magic that bound my knights to me, do not be concerned.” He chuckled again. “It is simply a thread to connect us. That is all.”
“Jerk!” She slapped his chest, and immediately regretted it. Plate mail. “Ow.”
That got him laughing. He scooped her up, and the world around them melted and changed to the balcony of his keep. It was a starry night, the same as they had shared before the battle of his home. “Will you forgive me? I fear I was once more being selfish. I did not wish to give away what was mine.” He sat her down on the railing and moved to step between her knees. It gave her a few inches of height and made the disparity between them a little less awkward.
“I’m not—” She sighed. She couldn’t really hold it against him. One, she didn’t blame him. And two, she was kind of grateful they still had some time together. “I forgive you.”
“Thank you.” He kissed her—slow and gentle, savoring it.
As if he were saying goodbye.
Again.
As if every moment with her was potentially his last.
Because it was.
Unless she did something to stop it.
But what?
FOURTEEN
Mordred was alone the next morning when he walked out of his tent. Galahad and all of his things were gone. He sighed, shaking his head. Disappointed? Yes. Surprised? Hardly. Mordred could not blame the Knight in Gold.
But one thing did strike him as strange. Mordred had always considered himself alone. In his convictions, in his actions, in his decisions—his knights served him simply because they had no choice. His iron amalgams were the same—his creations, forced to bow to him as they had no option to do otherwise.
Yet, as he packed up his tent and rolled up his things to place onto the back of his horse…Mordred found himself feeling distinctly alone in a way that he had not before. Cracking his neck from one side to the other, he mounted his steed and kicked the sides of the iron animal. The mountain was close—it was almost time to set the trap with its bait and wait to see if it would snap shut or if the wolf would be too wise to trigger it.
It was not a problem he could solve at the moment. That was a question for the future. And one that he had done his best to plan for—but he had been forced to place his fate in the hands of others. The Gossamer Lady. Lady Thorn. The Knight in Gold.
He despised every single second of it.
He was the Prince in Iron.
He was meant to have this all under control.
And when he asked the question of how it all happened, how everything all fell apart—the answer led him down the road to one person. One individual.
Gwendolyn.
It made him laugh, honestly, that Percival had been proved right in the end. The girl had been his undoing. But if he had been given a choice to avoid the chaos, and his own inevitable end, but in exchange never had known her? Never had the chance to love her, and be loved by her in return?
He did not know if he would take it.
If he could defeat the demon, he would die with pride. He could face his end knowing that he did all he could to save Avalon, even from itself.
And now, he could die knowing that he had—even for a brief moment—earned the real love of another. He did not regret sending her away. It was the only way to ensure that she remained safe. But how he longed to hold her—how he longed to kiss her. And not simply in their shared dreams, a pallid representation of the truth.
But that was not to be.
