Mordred twisted at the waist, examining the Fey, his body blocking hers from view. “For how long?” he asked.
Coming to her senses, Nyneve pushed off both palms to sit up straight. Without looking at her, Mordred tossed his tunic to her. She snatched at it gratefully, covering up her sheer chemise as she scrambled to re-dress.
“As long as the High King desires,” the guard answered with a shrug. Terror sank into Nyneve. “For now, he commands you to the fete hall.”
“Mordred,” she pleaded, her mind tumbling. The faerie knight did not look at the Druid girl as he stood, covering her with linens before sliding his tunic out of her hands. “Mordred, I will destroy this place from the inside out if you leave me,” she hissed, her power gathering like a storm.
He finally glanced at her then, tired and so, so sad. “Perhaps you should,” he whispered, leaning over to press a bewildering kiss to the top of her head. Then he turned and stalked toward the door.
Nyneve grabbed her kirtle from the edge of the pallet, her hands shaking. She could barely think. Her bound magic fought against the Elders’ spellwork, the rest of her power sinking its teeth into the wards that clearly did not like the touch of mortal-worked magic.
“When I am free of this place, because Iwillbe,” she snarled, her eyes trained on Mordred’s back, “I will tear you into a thousand pieces.”
He paused at that, turning back to look at her. “You weresovery wet for me, little thief,” he said, one ink-dark brow arched, his smile deadly. “What a shame.”
Nyneve screamed as he strode out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mordred
The Eyes were talking to Mordred, but all he could hear was Nyneve’s breathless little noises as she permitted him to bring his mouth to her heavy breasts, to taste the nectar between her lovely thighs...
Mordred pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, trying to get himself together. He answered one of the Eyes’ questions as they led him back to the fete hall. Even though the earthen walls glimmered with rare, enchanting tapestries in the flickering light, all he could see was Nyneve. Her auburn hair fanned out halo-like about her head. The pale, undyed linen of her shift making her freckles glow. Gods, how badly he wanted to finish what he had started. To see her shatter on his tongue.
He should absolutely leave her behind.
It would solve so many problems. No more Queen’s Sorceress. No more being outmaneuvered. He would lose a useful soldier in the war against Merlin, but he could surely find another beautiful, clever, sharp-tongued girl to tempt the wretched sorcerer. Nyneve was not special, he told himself. And she knew too much about him now. Even if he convinced her it was safe to drink the spelled brews of the underground, heworried her mind would not go blank like any other mortal. He worried he did notwanther to forget.
Mordred clenched his jaw and entered the fete hall, greeted by a thousand gazes falling on him. Ragrshydan was playing his own game. Arthur’s men were bored with peace. Merlin was back. He did not have the time to be bogged down by a Druid girl. It was better this way. Perhaps she might even outwit the High Court and come back to wreak her vengeance on him.
Mordred smiled at the thought, smoothing out the front of his aketon. A tall, lithe knight from one of the lower courts approached and offered him a sip of their wine. He wrapped his fingers around the ornate glass stem, taking another step deeper into the hall. And then he paused, the goddess-borne darkness in him stretching so taut he could not breathe. Swallowing down the pain, he let the knight slip their fingers around his sleeve and pull him toward an alcove. He made it halfway across the hall before he came to a halt.
Trying to leave Nyneve behind felt like being torn in half.
“Godsdamn Druidic working,” Mordred muttered furiously, turning on his heel without a glance at the knight and stalking back toward the Eyes at the door. It took him less than a minute to convince them he had forgotten something in the guest chambers. He prowled through the dark halls of the hill and slipped through the door.
Nyneve jumped back from where she had apparently been crouched by the door, her magic trained on the locking spell. She stared at him with an open kind of bewilderment that made his chest pang.
“You came back,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. She had thrown her kirtle back on but had not laced the sides just yet. Her eyes were wild.
“I did,” Mordred replied, just as surprised himself.
“I thought you were going to leave me,” Nyneve said, crossing her arms. “Whydidn’tyou?”
Mordred inhaled sharply and found he could not locate the right words. She smiled at him, fox-like, as she stood and began to lace the sides of her kirtle.
He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms, seeking his footing. “I much prefer when youundress,” he told her blithely, a clumsy course-correction.
Nyneve glanced up at him, expression blank. “We are being held prisoner. Get yourself together, Mordred,” she said flatly. Then she snatched her belt from the end of the bed and buckled it around her waist. “How many guards? Are we headed out the way we came?”
“Ragrshydan pulled some of the Eyes back,” Mordred said, rolling his shoulders. “He usually does this late at night. He was not even in the fete hall yet, so his interest in us may have waned, particularly if he feels I was not lying to him.”
He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered. A surge of satisfaction rose in his chest as he watched Nyneve’s gaze linger too long on his bicep. Mordred pounced. “All those lovely sounds I coaxed out of you would certainly convince any eavesdropper.”
Nyneve leaned over to pull her boots on, her hair hanging in a curtain of metallic curls he wanted to bury his hands in. “So? You’re a good fuck,” she said, her voice muffled. “Well, youwouldbe, if you had made me come. Plenty of other people have managed it.”
Irritation simmered in his belly at the same moment his desire tightened. “You weregoingto come,” he reminded her as she straightened to stand.
