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That golden thread between us was stretching, fraying. I threw my head back, feral as the beast within him, desperate for anything, for anyone.
And I found it.
My salvation.
The strength was all my own. Arran had none. He was unconscious in my arms, bleeding from the wound I’d given him. I loved him. More than I’d ever loved Arthur, or Annwyn, or myself.
But the strength was in me. Had always been—and Arran had helped me find it.
I carried his broken body to the edge of the lake, where Morgyn le Fae stood with the swirling mist.
My sister. I didn’t need to open my mouth and ask. She knew what I wanted.
“We are neutral,” Morgyn said, her blue eyes unshifting.
My eyes.
“You stood by and watched us get massacred from the safety of your little lake. The least you could do—”
Her nostrils flared at the impertinence. “We are neutral—”
“Is it neutral to stand by and do nothing as he dies? The strongest fae male in existence? My mate?”
I would beg. I would kill. I would tear down the Lady of the Lake herself if it saved Arran.
An acolyte appeared at her side—in a boat. There was the boat Percival had spoken of, and several acolytes sat in it. But only one stood, turning to Morgyn.
Even as Arran’s lifeblood seeped from his body, covering my hands, wetting my leathers, they spoke as if nothing were amiss. They whispered in hushed tones that even my fae ears could not hear. As if my mate, my love, had all the time in the world.
I couldn’t bear it.
“Enough!” I cried, sinking to my knees. “If he dies, what of neutrality then? There will be no defense against the succubus. I cannot use my void powers without my mate. There will be no one to lead Annwyn. Ancestors above, I am your sister! Help me!”
It would be a challenge to hold Arran close while also using Excalibur to sever my head from my body. But I’d manage it. It was no less than I deserved.
A flick of her slender hand and Morgyn dismissed the acolyte at her side. “You have assembled a Round Table of capable knights who would carry on in your stead.”
Her words were shards of ice to my soul. I hung my head, the strength required to hold it up beyond me.
My fault.
All my fault.
My blade, my mistake. My fault.
“Please.”
I was sobbing, my tears mingling with Arran’s blood.
“He is the one that Annwyn needs. Not me. I am selfish and temperamental. I am new to my power. He is wise, and experienced, and dedicated. He is everything. He ismyeverything.”
I wouldn’t need the sword. My heart was already slowing.
It was fitting, really. Our lives had been irrevocably changed with that first mingling of our blood, when our souls recognized one another as mates. Now, we would die with our blood mixed once again, this time on the blade of Excalibur.
Soft hands landed on my shoulders. My forearms. The weight of Arran’s body was suddenly gone, lifted away by dozens of capable hands.
My fingers tried to close around the leather of his tunic, but it slipped away, slick with his blood. My body ached for him, even as gratitude rose in my heart.
