“Of course,” Mordred replied, stepping back from the door. Then she marched into his room. She would have been pleased by how confused he seemed, except that she was equally confused, and all of this had been her idea—hadn’t it? She had no idea what hour it was. She probably should have eaten something.
Nyneve turned around to find Mordred closing the door and then pulling on a tunic.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re destined to die?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice at a reasonable level and failing miserably.
His brow furrowed as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms, which Nyneve found incredibly annoying. “I thought everyone knew Merlin’s prophecy,” Mordred said, leaning against the door and crossing his arms. “Well, the Oracle of Delphi’s. Octavia, I believe her name is. Merlin just claims it as his own.”
“I don’t fucking care who made the prophecy,” Nyneve sputtered, not fully understanding why she’d stalked all the way over here in such a blind rage. “Of course I know about the prophecy. Skies to black, fields to stone, Time of Men... I know of the parts Merlin twisted for his own purposes. But I did not think it held any power overyou, only the human boy whose place you took. I did not know you were so surely destined for death.”
He tilted his head, lighting a cluster of candles on the mantel with a wave of his hand. It was too hot for a fire, even at this hour. “Who told you this?” he asked carefully.
Nyneve dropped into the chair by the hearth. “Fate,” she mumbled, staring into the candlelight.
“What?” Mordred asked in a near-whisper.
“Tall, lots of teeth, wings that look like a swan’s, smells like tarnished silver?” Nyneve rattled off, turning to look up at him. The knight had gone pale, which was a feat for someone of his complexion.
“That is Fate,” Mordred muttered. His attention on her was rapt now.
“She wants me to leave Camelot,” she said, waving one hand in the air. “Some ‘grand and vast’ future for me if I do.”
“Are you going to?” Mordred asked too quickly, the casual stance disappearing as he took a step toward her.
“Answer my godsdamn question,” she said, her tone sharp. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long do you have left?”
Something passed over Mordred’s expression, a ghost of an emotion that Nyneve felt a mirror of in her own body but failed to name. “There is to be a great battle,” he said quietly. “I will perish in it. I shall not live past thirty years, though it may come sooner.”
Nyneve shot to her feet, hands curling into fists. “And you didn’t tell me?” she near-shouted. “This whole time? I’m a sorceress. I could help!”
He shook his head, the line of his shoulders resolute. “Morgana has tried,” he said. “There seems no chance of escape. It is what it is.”
She stared at him dumbly, rage and sorrow and something else rattling in her ribs. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Nyneve asked again, her voice raw.
He looked utterly bewildered as he took another step toward her. “I... Why would you care about such a thing? What interest does it hold for you?”
“Whatinterest?” she spat, dragging a hand through her hair. “You must understand how fucking absurd it is to stand here and say, ‘Oh, I didn’t think it of import that I know precisely when and how I will die, and I also haven’t thought to tell you?—’”
“Nyneve,” Mordred interrupted—something he rarely did—coming to stand before her. He raised both hands as if to rest them on her shoulders, but they drifted back to his sides. His gaze held hers, an ocean in which she would happily drown. Woodsmoke and damp stone swept over her senses. That coiled place deep inside of her felt like it might snap. Her heart pounded in her throat. All she could think about was how he had looked at her when she was astride him, the reverence in his gaze as he knelt between her legs.
“Why,” he repeated, eyes wide, “does it matter to you?”
“Because I’m falling in love with you!” Nyneve shouted. She wanted to throw something or punch someone. “And here you are, knowing damn well that Fate will cut your Thread too soon, and you didn’t even tell me.” She sneered up at him as he watched her with something like disbelief on his angular features. “Oh, but of course you wouldn’t mention it,” Nyneve continued, fury rising in her like a tide. “Because—what was it you said? That you could never be my friend.”
Suddenly, both his large hands encircled her waist, his muscular frame pressing Nyneve into the stone wall. “Gods, you are such a fool,” he laughed. She hated how much she still liked the sound of it. “OfcourseI could not be your friend, little thief.”
Nyneve let out a wordless shriek and shoved him, fighting his hold, but he just pulled her body into his. Anger and unadulterated desire made her blood pound furiously.
“I could not be your friend,” he breathed, his mouth so close to hers, “because I am in love with you, Nyneve Or’Afon. I could never be your friend because I am a selfish, wicked thing. Going another moment without being your lover will destroy me faster than any prophecy.”
Nyneve’s heartbeat sounded as loud as war drums in her ears. There was no situation in which she had planned for this declaration. Not that she had planned at all, but even if shehad, it clearly wouldn’t have mattered. So she acted, as she often did, on her instinct.
She snatched the front of his tunic and dragged his mouth down to hers. Mordred slid his hands to her ass, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around him. She moaned when their hips met, deepening the kiss. Barely able to breathe and feverish with want, Nyneve reached between their bodies, her fingers hunting for the lacings of his trousers. The knight trailed his mouthdown her neck, and she said his name like a plea, her heartbeat thrumming against the hollow of her throat.
“Will you not let me take my time with you?” Mordred murmured against her skin.
“No,” she said breathlessly, successfully unlacing his trousers. “Gods, no. I need you inside of menow.”
“Nyneve,” Mordred replied, one long-fingered hand beginning to undo her kirtle, “you can have anything you desire from me.”
