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He remembered how terrified she was the first time she rode the ill-named creature. So frightened she panicked and lost consciousness. Now, it was as though they were merely atop a horse. He supposed having wings of her own helped abate the fear of falling at least.
How he wished to see her fly.
How he wished to see her transform into the force of nature that he knew she would become—that the island of Avalon itself recognized in her. But he would have no such luck. That was robbed from him, along with all the rest of the world that he would miss as it passed by him.
Would she fall in love with another?
Would Avalon collapse into warfare and chaos once more?
He would only be left to wonder, alone in that empty void. Alone without any other screams to keep him company—for better or worse.
His would be the only voice that would whisper in that void.
He would have plenty of time to ponder his theories as the days and years escaped him like grains of sand upon a beach. Impossible to count—yet not infinite. Only appearing that way.
A thousand years.
It would come. And it would go.
And he would be left to pray that when he emerged, she would be there to greet him—that she would be there to free him.
But these thoughts were for the future.
For the moment, for the now, he had blessed little time to spare. And he planned to spend every second of it with her. With the woman he loved so very desperately.
She would be the only thing that kept him sane in that darkness.
Love.
He was willing to die for it. Nearly sacrificed himself from the absence of it. And now, it would be the only thing he had left to cling to in the agony that was about to befall him.
Part of him wished he had listened to Percival—life would indeed have been simpler without Gwendolyn in it. The Crystal would be whole and filled with souls that were not his.
A simpler life, perhaps.
But hardly a life at all, in the end.
I will wait for her. And she will set me free.
He kissed her. Savored the feeling of her lips on his. Tried to imprint it into his soul. He would get precious few kisses before it was time for them to part.
What is a thousand years for those of us who do not age?
Sand on the shore.
Nothing more, nothing less.
TWENTY-ONE
Gwen had barely managed to put her feet on the ground inside Mordred’s keep before he had half pulled, half pushed her into his bedroom. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or slap him as he peeled off her chainmail clothes and threw her onto his mattress face down.
The warlord was in a mood.
And Gwen was here for it.
They had a lot to work out in a short period of time. She was furious with him for killing Grinn—he was furious at her for lying about being on Avalon. But none of that mattered. None of it at all. Because they only had twenty-four hours until they would have to part for a thousand years.
Tonight was about their mutual anger. But it was also about their desperation not to have to say goodbye. And more importantly?
