Page 27 of To Love a Dark Lord

“Murderer!”

“Usurper!”

Even Galahad stood with his sword raised, ready to attack.

Mordred was on one knee, tears streaking down his cheeks, staring down at his palms which were now covered in iron with those twisted, cruel, and jagged claws. King Arthur lay on the cot behind him, eyes open and sightlessly staring at the night sky. At the same stars she had just been contemplating.

He was dead.

Mordred had become an elemental.

And the knights sought to kill him for it.

“I did—I did nothing—this is not my fault!” he shouted at the other knights, his voice cracking in his grief. “I do not know what has transpired, my brothers, please?—”

Lancelot stepped forward. “You killed him. This place was clearly meant to choose him, and would have, had you not murdered him first!”

“I did not—he died of the fever—” Mordred pushed himself up to his feet, grief and rage now mixing on his features in equal measure. “I am no usurper! He is my uncle, my family. He was going to leave his crown to me, why would I hurry to have him dead?”

“He left his crown to you?” Lancelot sneered. “Liar. Thief. Usurper. He would have never chosen you over any of us. Your blood is cursed, your mother saw to that when she seduced Arthur!”

Mordred snarled, his hands clenching into fists. “I will have your slanderous tongue.”

“Come and take it. I have long awaited the chance to make you eat my blade, bastard.” Lancelot laughed.

“Enough.” Galahad stepped in between Lancelot and Mordred. “Our king is dead. Our brother has become…” Galahad’s jaw twitched. “Something else entirely. I recommend we rest and grieve, and deal with this in the morning when cooler heads might prevail.”

“You mean to make camp with this—this—” Lancelot paced away, incensed. “I will not break bread with him.”

“Then do not. I do not care.” Galahad shook his head. “The truth of the matter is, we do not know what has happened.” He turned his gaze mournfully to the dead king. “And I have no taste for bloodshed.”

Lancelot spat on the ground and paced farther away, slumping down on a rock by the edge of the clearing. The others dispersed. All save Mordred and Galahad.

Galahad said nothing, simply stared at Mordred for a pregnant pause before shaking his head and turning away in clear disappointment.

“They will wait until I am asleep,” Mordred said, addressing Gwen for the first time. His tears were dry, but it was clear his anger and sorrow remained. “They will plot to slit my throat. You know what happens next.”

“Y…yeah, I do.” She walked up to him, almost afraid to approach. But he wouldn’t hurt her. That much she was certain of. Reaching out, she hugged him, pulling him close and letting him bury his head in the crook of her shoulder. He clutched her to him like she was a lifeline. Or a raft in a terrible ocean storm.

Maybe she was.

“I know what I must become to be free,” he murmured, barely audible.

Furrowing her brow, she pulled back to meet his rusty-colored gaze. “What do you mean?”

The smile he wore was weary, but there was affection in his eyes. More than affection—love. He stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckle. “I will leave the decision to you, my lady. Would you still love me, come what may?”

“I—yeah, but—I—I don’t know what you’re asking me.” Nervousness began to prick at her. “What are you saying, Mordred?”

“I know now what must be done. What I must do to save Avalon from itself.” There was a look in his eyes then, a darkness she had only seen a few times. It sent a shiver of fear down her spine, and if she was being honest with herself, attraction. “Can you love me as a monster? For if you cannot, I would rather languish here in this cage until there is nothing of me left to rescue.”

The idea of him surrendering twisted something in her gut. “I love you, Mordred. I love you for who you are—not in spite of it. You can’t give up. I need you. I can’t do this alone. I can’t—I don’t want to do this without you.”

He smiled. And his expression was not altogether kind. “That is all I needed to hear. Come. Let us discover what we can together.” He held his hand out to her, palm up. Those claws of his never ceased to be intimidating, even if she knew how gentle he could be with them when he wanted to.

This was a mistake.

This was a big fucking mistake.

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