Page 3 of To Love a Dark Lord

She ran her hand over the wooden surface of the table in the center of the room. It was immensely thick, the kind of slab that you couldn’t buy in modern America anymore. And the edges and surface had been worn smooth by touch and use over the centuries, giving it almost a wavy appearance. It had the kind of patina that only came with age.

Gwen frowned. “I don’t know what to do. Bert says it’ll take maybe months until we have an army together. It’s already been weeks. I’m pulling my hair out.”

“I know, dear. I know. But everyone’s relying on you to make the careful choices.”

“Which I hate.” Gwen put her head in her hands. “I can’t tell you how sick I am of having these stupid decisions to make. Why me? Why can’t this place just take ten minutes to let me catch my breath? I’m not a leader. I have no business being in charge.”

“Well, that scarecrow and his friends seem to disagree.” Maewenn placed a platter of food in front of her. It was way more than a snack, but Gwen wasn’t going to complain.

“They’re desperate.” Gwen popped a grape into her mouth. “It’s not like they have a choice.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short. And let your heart guide you—do what you think is right.” The cook went to fetch the softly whistling kettle. “Do you want me to put any of Mordred’s sleeping powder in the tea?”

“Hell no,” Gwen said through a chuckle. “I’d rather not mess with that stuff again.”

“Fair enough.” Maewenn let out a sad laugh. “I do miss him.”

“Me too.” She kept picking at the food. “I haven’t even gone into his room.”

“Why not, dear?”

“I guess I’m kind of afraid to?” She shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense, I know. He’s not dead, he’s just—gone.” She sighed. “And it is a bigger, nicer room with a better view.” She tore off a piece of the bread and ate it.

Maewenn set down a clay mug half filled with tea in front of her. “I think he’d want you to be comfortable.”

“I know, I know. It’s just silly.”

“Not silly at all. Maybe it’d be good for you. Help you sleep.”

“Or I’ll be up all night crying,” Gwen added on dryly. “I’m not sure how that’ll help.”

“Crying is exhausting. But it’s cathartic, isn’t it?” Mae huffed out a breath, which was funny as she didn’t need to breathe. Old habits, Gwen figured. “I’m sorry. It’s a terrible idea.”

“No, no. It isn’t.” Gwen sipped the tea. It was tasty, she had to admit. “I’m just in a lousy mood, I’m sorry.”

“No reason to apologize, hon.” Mae walked around to her side and placed a metal hand on her shoulder. “But we’ll all get through this. Somehow. And we’ll do it together.” The cook paused. “I don’t know what good a rust bucket like me’ll do, but I’ll be here.”

Gwen laughed and, reaching over, hugged the woman. It was like hugging a coat rack covered in pots and pans, but it didn’t matter. “You’re such a good friend. Thank you.”

“Now, finish your tea on the walk. Go back to bed. Nothing gets solved tonight with you drinking yourself into a stupor.” Mae patted her on the back. “Go on. Shoo.”

“Fine, fine.” Gwen smiled as she got up from the stool. “But I’m taking the cheese.” She picked up the wedge of it and headed for the door. “Tea and cheese—a perfect combination.”

“I could think of worse!” Mae called after her as she left.

Gwen supposed it could be worse. She had friends. She had a home. She had food. She was alive. That was a lot more than most people had in Avalon.

It wasn’t long before she found herself standing at Mordred’s door. The large wooden surface was carved with the same strange twisting, asymmetrical vines that he had favored. They reminded her of the metal door that had sealed off the Iron Crystal when it had been stored deep within the keep.

Bracing herself, she pushed the bedroom door open.

Part of her expected to find him sitting in his chair in front of the fire, or reclining at his desk, or lying in bed. None of those were true. He obviously wasn’t there. But for that split second, she had wished so hard for there to be some kind of miracle.

She wasn’t so lucky. This wasn’t going to be that easy. Finishing the tea, she let out a wavering breath and closed the door behind her. Or rather, she was about to, before Eod popped his head into the room, sniffing at the piece of cheese in her hand.

Chuckling, she ruffled the dog’s fur. “You have a knack for that. Here you go, buddy.” She gave the dog the remaining piece. Eod gobbled it down happily before running and jumping up onto Mordred’s bed, turning around a few times before flopping down on the fluffy down comforter.

“Where Dad?”

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