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Sniffling, she didn’t bother fighting the urge to cry. She figured she had a damn good reason already. And it was about to get worse.
* * *
Anger had finally gotten the better of Mordred. Like the blinders on a horse, all he knew was that which was in front of him. Lancelot would die. This was allhisfault. Grinn never would have convinced the elementals to rise against Mordred.
“You made a deal withGrinn,” Mordred snarled, as he brought his ancient sword down on Lancelot’s, forcing the Knight in Silver to stagger backwards. “You knew he was scheming to hurt Gwendolyn! Youknewhe was after Caliburn—didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know what he was going to do.” Lancelot dodged out of the way of Mordred’s fist.
“Liar! You knew what the demon was capable of. And you would rather that monster be free upon the world.”
“I had a chance to ensure onlyonemonster walked Avalon—and I took it.” Lancelot brought his sword up for a strike.
Mordred knocked it away with a sweep of his arm. There was little to nothing in this world that could hurt him when he wore his full armor. “Your hatred for me has doomed this isle. And the woman you claimed was your friend—one that sought the destruction of the Crystal foryou. You have betrayed her and all the people of Avalon.”
“No. This was for their sakes, not mine.” Lancelot grimaced. But doubt flickered in his silver eyes behind the visor of his helm. “This wasn’t about revenge.”
“Yes. It was. And it is a shame you cannot see that.” Mordred brought his elbow forward, striking Lancelot in the helm with a loud clank.
Lancelot’s head snapped back, and he staggered. Unable to catch his balance, he fell to the ground. The only knight who could stand toe to toe with Mordred was Galahad. And Lancelot’s prowess was a far cry from that of the Knight in Gold.
It was time for Lancelot to die. Once and for all. Mordred stepped over Lancelot and pinned him to the ground with a boot in the center of his breastplate. Lancelot fought, punching at his leg, trying his best to move Mordred. But it was no use.
Mordred lifted his broken blade. It was a horrifying-looking thing after so many centuries of misuse, but it was still as strong as any other. It was a far more fitting blade for him than Caliburn, he had to admit. “Goodbye, Lancelot. I wish I could say that it has been an honor.”
“Wait, wait! I—”
Mordred did not wait.
* * *
Gwen covered her mouth with her hands to muffle the pained wail that escaped her as Mordred brought his huge, terrible sword down upon Lancelot and through the man’s neck. Lancelot twitched, hands weakly grasping at the blade. But it was too late.
Gwen had only ever seen Mordred kill one other person before—the mayor. That felt a world away and so very different than watching Lancelot be executed. He had been her friend. She had tried to save him.
She had tried to free him from the Iron Crystal.
And for what?
What good had it done?
Nothing—if anything, she had causedmoreharm in the process. How many other elementals were dead in the field? What kind of terrible suffering would everyone endure now that Grinn was free with all his power returned to him?
This was all her fault. Lancelot was dead because of her. Her vision was starting to cloud with tears as she wept. She was going to hyperventilate. She could feel her head already swimming and her limbs tingled as she went numb to the world.
Good.
Let it happen.
The darkness was better than this.
Lancelot’s hands fell from the blade that jutted from his throat. Blood pooled in the grass. His head went limp, rolling to the side. Gwen was glad he was wearing his helm. She didn’t want to see his face, caught in a last expression of fear and pain.
He was dead.
Lancelot was dead.
And it wasall her fault.
