Page 62 of To Love a Dark Lord

“I do.” Galahad shut his eyes.

“We will approach the keep at dawn, in hopes that you are correct—that she will surrender.”

She would.

Then she would die.

And Galahad would be left to wonder if he could live with himself and his deeds.

Mordred smirked as he saw the fires flickering in the distance. It seemed Galahad sought to repeat recent history.

“What do we do?” Gwendolyn asked from beside him, hugging his arm as she watched the field as well. “And…they told us they were here. Wouldn’t a surprise attack have been better?”

“They believe me to be dead. They will think you are here alone with your army of villagers. If I know Galahad, he is hoping to procure your surrender.” Mordred huffed a laugh. “Which, if the facts he believes were true, I am certain you would.”

“Probably.” She paused. “Yeah. I would. To spare the villagers. Even if Bert would be super pissed about it.”

She had a noble heart. And such a thing was easily used and manipulated. Mordred knew that from personal experience. To think that he had submitted to the laws of those who sought to harm him. Never again.

Nor would he allow Gwendolyn to take from him that which was rightfully his. He adored his firefly. And he would cherish her for all the time they had to share. The discord between the two truths was churning in his mind. He had a solution to the issue, but to say that it would strain their love would be putting it mildly.

Perhaps it was his turn to betray her. The Ancients knew how many times he had forgiven her for the same. Love was eternal, but anger was temporary—she would forgive him in time. And time was something they would have in abundance once his work was done.

“Y’know,” she interrupted his thoughts. “If I become queen, and we get married…you still get to be king.”

“King consort. It is different.” He placed his hand atop hers where it rested on his arm. “But I understand your meaning, and I appreciate it.” Pausing, he turned to her. “Did you just casually agree to marry me?”

“I mean, yeah.” She smiled up at him, shrugging shyly, as though it were no matter worth discussing. “I figured that was obvious.”

His heart soared and fell into oblivion at the same moment. “Then I believe the modern custom is to provide you with a ring, is it not?”

“Sure, but it’s not a big deal.”

Holding his hand up, he closed his fingers into a fist, and summoned his power, weaving an intricate ring of iron. He pulled magic from himself, just a thread—just enough—and created a shining, faintly glowing shard of crystal to sit in the center of the band. When he opened his palm, her eyes went wide, her smile broadening.

Mordred knelt. “Will you be my bride, Gwendolyn Wright?”

“I—I already told you,” she murmured, staring at the ring in awe and disbelief.

He chuckled. “Then do me the honor of saying yes, will you?”

“Yes.” She laughed as if she did not quite believe it. “Yes! I’ll marry you. I love you.”

Standing, he kissed her. She jumped, wrapping her arms behind his neck, and he took her weight easily, her feet no longer touching the ground.

When he released her, she took the ring from him and studied it, turning it over in her palm. “What’s making it glow, your magic?”

“Indeed. A piece of me.” He was almost proud of her for recognizing it and growing suspicious. He could hear it in her voice. “So that I will never leave your side.”

There was a smile on her features as she turned the ring over in her hand, inspecting every delicate curl of iron that grasped the shard that resembled opal. There was a moment when he thought she might reject it—when she thought she might see through his scheme.

But she trusted him.

For now.

She slipped the ring on her finger.

When nothing happened, she smiled, laughed, and studied it. “I—I love it. The glow is subtle enough that it won’t keep me up at night.”

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