AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Who am I to deny them?
The hour was late, perhaps two or three in the morning. He knew he would not be able to sleep. His thoughts would not stop racing, tracing back through what would be his last interaction with the woman he loved.
The idea of never knowing if she was all right, never feeling a connection to her again, was too much for his selfish soul to allow. There was one way to keep them linked—or at least one way to try. He was unsure if it would work once Gwendolyn had returned home to Earth. He had never tested the connection in such a way.
But it was his only hope at keeping some part of her close to him. Or rather, some part of him close to her.
Entering her chambers like a thief in the night, he found her asleep in bed. Eod was curled up beside her, and the long-legged dog lifted his head in curiosity at the entrance of his master. Mordred walked up to the edge of the bed and stroked the dog’s head as he settled down on the edge of the mattress beside Gwen, careful not to wake her.
Touching his hand to his chest, he summoned a small piece of iron, pulling it from his own body. It resembled the Iron Crystal with the way it glowed at the seams with brilliant, opalescent magic. It was only about the size of a grape. She would not notice its existence—nor would he tell her it was there.
The same fashion of metal shard that kept his knights bound to him. But it was a different kind of will that he infused into the iron. A different command.
He placed it to the skin of her collarbone. The shard sank into her, disappearing into her form, finding somewhere unobtrusive to exist within her. While he could not rip his broken heart from his chest and send her home with it in a basket—it would be good enough. A piece of him would travel with her, wherever she went.
Now and forever.
Until the day she died.
On Earth.
Without him.
Morning came. Mordred, for the second time in recent memory, did not quite know what to do with himself. He sat there in his war room, staring down at the iron map of Avalon, doing his best to focus on his impending war against Grinn.
Instead, his mind would not stop wandering to Gwendolyn Wright. And how close he had been to confessing to her how he felt.
How much he loved her.
And that he had to send her away because of that love.
A polite but heavy knock on the doorjamb told him who was intruding into his thoughts. For once, he did not mind, although he was certain he was about to be scolded like a child. He shut his eyes wearily. “Enter, Galahad.”
“What are these rumors I hear?” Galahad entered, his steps surprisingly light for a creature of his size. “You cannot be seriously considering returning her to Earth.”
Mordred eyed the slash on his own arm where the young woman had managed to catch him with her blade. It was already healed, nothing more than a smear of dried blood. “She returns shortly. I have the skiff prepared.”
The dreary sigh that left Galahad told Mordred all he needed to know of the Knight in Gold’s opinion.
Well, he might as well finish digging his grave. “And you will be the one to send her back.”
“Excuse me?” Galahad’s disbelief was understandable. “Why?”
“Because if I look her in the eyes one more time”—he clenched his metal gauntlet into a fist—“I will lose my resolve.” There was no point in hiding from Galahad what ached in his heart. The knight had known him too long—and shared too much of a similar pain. He would see it for what it was. “It must be done.”
“You have yet to tell me why.”
Mordred leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked under his movement. “I cannot risk her safety or mine. The demon knows what she means to me—and that means others shall as well. If they were given the chance to wield her against me, what do you think would happen? I would be forced to sacrifice her life or mine. I cannot risk either.”
Galahad went silent for a long moment. That meant he was attempting to formulate an argument but could not. When that approach did not work, he clearly chose another. “And you are forcing me to do the deed why precisely?”
“Better she loathe me than love me. Better she return to Earth believing that our time together was of no consequence to me.” He dug his claws into the armrest of the chair, knowing that he was marring the surface and not caring in the slightest. “Let her believe me to be the cruel tyrant I am to everyone else. It will set her free. I cannot stomach the idea of her tethering herself to a memory as her mortal years tick by.”
Galahad walked to a table by the wall and, picking up a jug, poured himself a healthy-sized cup of wine. He downed it before pouring himself a second.
“I shall take that as a sign that you see my logic.”
“I do.” Galahad grimaced. “But at what cost? Love is a rare gift, especially for those like…well, you.”
