Page 70 of To Love a Dark Lord

Wearing his full armor, complete with the helm that resembled a dragon, its horns jagged and dangerous like the rest of him, Mordred watched them.

Gwendolyn was nowhere to be seen. Half the archers were aiming inward—at Galahad, Percival, and Zoe.

“Before we begin.” Mordred began to walk down the stairs, slowly, taking his time. Savoring the moment. His cape whispered against the stones behind him, following him like a twisted shadow. “I would like to assure you that Gwendolyn is very much alive. She will not be waiting for you in whatever afterlife is bound to greet you when I remove your heads from your shoulders.”

Galahad narrowed his eyes, placing his own helm back over his head. “Where is she?”

“Resting.”

That was not likely. “What have you done to her?”

The Prince in Iron laughed, tinny and hollow from within his helm. “You came here to kill her! And now you wish me to believe you are concerned for her safety?”

Galahad had to admit it was a bit farcical.

Mordred shook his head. “Tell me, old friend, how many times have we sparred, you and I?”

Galahad gritted his teeth. “I have lost count. But I do know I am more often the victor.”

“True, true.” Mordred cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, readying for a fight. “And tell me, Gossamer Lady—are you willing to fight fair, this time?”

“I will not dignify that with a response.” Zoe showed no fear in her voice or her demeanor, if she felt any at all.

“Suit yourself.” Mordred shrugged idly. “Simply attempting to make conversation.”

“Why?” Galahad could not help but wonder aloud.

“Hm. I suppose, in some small way, I am sorry to have to kill you. As for Zoe, I could not care any more or less about her. We could have been allies, perhaps even friends—but she saw the quick end to that. But you, Galahad.” Mordred’s voice grew sad. Almost regretful. “I am sorry to see your life end.”

“It is not over.”

“Yet.” Mordred chuckled.

“You will die for your crimes, Mordred,” Percival interjected.

“Oh. Hello, Percival. When did you arrive?” Mordred chuckled. “Forgive me for overlooking you. You never were of much consequence.”

Percival growled and took a step forward. Galahad raised his hand to stop the Knight in Copper before he did anything foolish.

“You cannot stand alone against the three of us,” Percival snapped.

“Three? Two and a quarter, at best,” Mordred taunted the knight, waving his hand dismissively. “And I am being generous.”

This was a breed of cruelty that Galahad had never before seen from Mordred. He had been a great many things, but never flippant. It made him deeply nervous. What had happened to the Prince in Iron in the Crystal? Who, and what, were they fighting against?

This would not go like their sparring matches, of this Galahad was certain.

Zoe took a step forward in defiance, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “There are three of us, and you have no other allies. You are alone. You will die here. Arthur would spit upon you if he could see you now. Who are you to stand against us?”

“Who am I?” Mordred began to laugh, a quiet, sinister sound that poured ice water into Galahad’s veins. He held his arms out at his sides, palms up, as if to say behold. “I am the shadow of Avalon. I am the wrath that lurks in the darkness. I am finally that which I was meant to become so long ago. I refused to accept it, but now I can see the truth.” He drew his sword.

The sound of the metal shrieking against the sheath set Galahad’s teeth on end.

“Who am I? I am Mordred. I am the cruelty of Avalon. I am the King in Iron.” Mordred aimed the tip of his blade directly at Galahad. “And I will be the ruin of you all.”

Gwen was running for her ever-fucking life. In a dream. Being chased by Grinn. Who may or may not actually be real, or just her version of dreaming up the murderous, mouthy, bitter demon.

Who was trying to kill her. Slowly. Painfully. Torturously. And who was mocking her, every step of the way.

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