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Smiling, she scratched his head and gazed up at the starry sky. It was beautiful, even if she didn’t recognize any of the constellations.
She had wanted an adventure.
And here it was. Going to see a sorcerer. She’d try to ignore the rest of the impending doom and gloom until she had more facts to go on. No point in having a panic attack over things she couldn’t predict.
Huh.
Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t had a panic attack that day at all. Which was damn good, considering all the shit that kept happening to her. She should feel proud of herself, but something kept needling at her. It took her a long time staring up at the sky to realize what it was.
Mordred.
It was hard to feel pride when she also felt guilty. She wished she could go ask for his help or his advice. Or just sit and laugh with him. Maybe play a game to pass the time. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to hear him say that everything was going to be okay. To have him kiss her and say he forgave her. But that wasn’t going to happen. She had gone and fucked all that up.
Time would tell if it had all been a mistake or not.
She rolled onto her side and kept a hand on Eod’s fur as she shut her eyes and tried to fall asleep. Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe the world was better now. Maybe it wasn’t.
But one thing was undeniable now.
She cared about the Prince in Iron.
She cared about him a great deal.
And she just wished she could tell him that.
I’m sorry, Mordred.
FOUR
Mordred was brooding.
He knew he was. He was no fool. He had no misgivings about who and what he was. But it was either brood or fly into a rage and take his anger and frustrations out on those who had done nothing to deserve it.
The knights had all returned from patrolling the island, flying their dragons high above the forests and villages. But there was no sign of chaos—no burned homes, no fields left in cinders.
The demon was lying low. The bastard was a schemer and was likely licking his wounds and gaining strength in order to wage a full-scale assault. Mordred suspected he was likely gathering other elementals to stand against him. It would be the smart thing to do—what Mordred himself would do, in the demon’s position.
Grinn would use the desire for bloody vengeance to create allies where there formerly were none. And Mordred had no allies, save for his knights who had little choice in the matter. No one—he doubted even Gwendolyn—might stand with him against Grinn.
Gwendolyn.
He sighed drearily at the thought of the young woman and put a gauntleted hand over his eyes. He was furious with her. He wanted to shake her like an impudent child. But damn him to the void, hemissedher. Her laughter, her bright smile—her kiss. He had slept better with her at his side than he had in centuries.
He truly was a miserable, empty, pathetic, lonely shell of a man, wasn’t he?
His uncle would be so very proud of him.
Laughing quietly at himself, he rested his head against the high-backed chair and shut his eyes. Mordred supposed he would be able to ask his uncle in person soon enough, as the others would come for him and see his head parted from his neck for his crimes.
Who was he kidding?
He was not bound for the same destination as the True King of the Britons. If there was a place where the righteous went to rest, Mordred was not destined for those shores. No matter how hard he had tried to be an honorable ruler—he would never be king.
When there was a tap on the jamb of his door, Mordred did not bother to look over. It was likely Galahad come to scold him for not attempting to sleep. Why bother?
Something rested down on the table next to him with a clink. Looking over, he furrowed his brow. It was a plate of food. When he saw who had come in, he understood. Shutting his eyes again, he braced himself for a lecture of a very different kind. “Hello, Maewenn.”
“I see the plates the servants bring back—you haven’t eaten properly in days.”
