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“I fear I have not had much of an appetite.” By the Ancients, he willed this conversation to be over with quickly.
“Considering recent events, I suppose I’m not surprised. You have a penchant for punishing yourself.” Maewenn rearranged the items on the plate, as if the presentation alone would change his mind.
“Do I, now?” He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I had not noticed.”
“Aye, be as sarcastic as you like, prince. The simple fact of the matter is that you’ll need your strength. You know what’ll follow now that you set them all free.” She poured him a glass of wine.
“The thought had not crossed my mind.” He finally shot a glance at the cook who was still fussing over the tray of food. “Do tell.”
“Your tone won’t work on me. Eat, prince. For those of us who still rely on you.” She nudged the food closer to him. “Don’t make me stand here and watch, like you’re a child.”
He sighed. There was no arguing with Maewenn once the cook had put her mind to something. Picking up the tray, he placed it on his lap and began with some of the grapes. He had not felt hungry until the taste hit his tongue.
His traitorous stomach growled.
“Not a word, cook,” he warned the woman with the point of a claw.
She lifted her hands as if in surrender, showing he would get no comments out of her. “Only here to make sure you don’t faint on us.”
He muttered to himself, something not terribly flattering toward her, but decided to keep his grousing to himself. She was simply trying to look after him.
Clearly having accomplished her goal, the cook turned to leave. But after a few steps, the metal shoes of her armored form stopped thumping on the wood floor.
“Speak your mind, cook. It is not like you to withhold your opinion.” Mordred tore off a hunk of bread and ate it. Now that he had begun, he knew he was likely to finish the plate.
“You did the right thing, letting them all go.” Maewenn wrung her hands. “Especially Gwendolyn.”
Yes, especially Gwendolyn.The thought of the firefly hit him with an unexpected pang. It had not been a calculated decision to destroy the Crystal. It had been from pain and anger that he had done it. Such rash decisions never ended well.
“I suspect I will die for it. They will wage war upon me, and my head will be on a pike on the garrison walls before the season is out.” He sneered.
“I never said it was smart.”
That made him laugh. Tired and half-hearted, but a laugh all the same. “Noted.”
She turned to leave again.
After a pause, he said what he knew he should have said a long time ago. “Thank you.”
“It’s simply my job to feed you.” She shrugged with a clank.
“I am not thanking you for the food.”
Maewenn watched him silently for a moment, as if caught in shock. It was hard to tell, since the armor had no expression that could change. After a long pause, she curtsied, and left the room.
Silently, left alone with his thoughts once more, he made sure to empty his plate.
* * *
Lancelot slowed his horse to a walk as he followed the road closer to the stream. He was seeking out Zoe, the Gossamer Lady—Galahad’s lady love. She was one of the most powerful, and one of the most widely respected of the elementals. If he could secure her assistance, his attempts to raise an army of individuals prone to violent infightingmightsucceed.
Might.
Or it might fail spectacularly. That, to be honest, was where he would put his coins on the table if he were forced to place a bet. But Mordred had to be stopped. And Lancelot could not call himself a knight if he allowed Gwendolyn’s sacrifice to go unavenged.
Now if only—
Something wrapped around his ankle, and dragged him from his horse unceremoniously and without warning, dropping him onto the packed dirt with a heavythudof armor.
