Page 73 of To Love a Dark Lord

But that was not all. Metal spikes—jagged, rusted, and cruel—shot up from the ground at them. The Mordred of old might have demanded a fair and honorable fight to the death. Not engaged in such chaos with all the mannerisms of a rabid animal.

Galahad was bleeding from a wound underneath his shoulder pauldron. Percival was limping. Zoe was unharmed, but her expression revealed how frightened she was. Her ability to pull the life out of the air around Mordred did little good when the man was encased in iron.

This was the creature they had feared all along. This was the man they had sought to keep from rising to power. And in doing so, they had released him.

What fools we have been.

But Galahad could not think of regret. He could not think of how he had created the monster before them—this rampaging nightmare. Because one wrong move, and it would all be over, and he would be left to reminisce over his decisions in the ever after. If one waited for him.

The sound of metal on metal was deafening. No one could manage to gain ground. Only Caliburn gave Mordred any manner of trouble, as the impacts from the blade sent him back a step. But it seemed that the Prince in Iron had a solution to the issue.

“Enough of this!” Mordred snarled as he gestured at the blade, clenching his clawed gauntlets into a fist. Iron shot up from the ground, wrapping around the blade like vines, dragging it to the dirt. The blade struggled to be free, but the laws of Avalon were clear.

Iron defeated all. Contained all.

Such power was never meant to be wielded in such a way. And this was why.

Percival took the opportunity to seize on Mordred’s apparent distraction and dashed forward, swinging his own blade for the prince’s neck. But the decision was rash.

“No!” Galahad jumped forward, but it was too late.

Mordred caught Percival’s blade in his metal gauntlet. Percival gagged in pain as Mordred tightened his fist. The metal creaked, bent, then shattered, leaving Percival only holding onto a splintered shard attached to a handle.

The Prince in Iron was not done. He grasped Percival around the throat, tightening. “You were always such a waste of time.”

It seemed Percival was not to be without a last word. He drove the shard of his sword into Mordred’s side, finding a gap between two of the armored panels.

Mordred snarled in rage. Dug his claws deep into Percival’s neck. “You shall die as you lived—as a thorn in my side.”

He tore out the Knight in Copper’s throat.

Zoe screamed and moved to aid the fallen knight, but Galahad stopped her. “It is too late, my love.”

“But—”

“No.” He would not let her draw too close to the murderous prince.

Mordred released his grasp, his hand dripping in gore, his nightmarish armor spattered with the spray from Percival’s wound. The Knight in Copper slumped to the ground, blood pooling on the dirt around him, his expression hidden behind his helm the only remaining dignity afforded the dead man.

Galahad felt his stomach churn. He had spent over a thousand years with Percival. They were not friends, but they had been like brothers. “Enough, Mordred. Enough.”

“Do you think I will mourn him?” Mordred laughed darkly. “Please give me more credit than that.”

Zoe was crying silently, tears rolling down her cheeks as she looked upon Percival. “Let this end, Mordred.”

“Yes.” The Prince in Iron yanked Percival’s broken sword from his side. It was tipped in blood, but it had not bit deep enough to even slow him down. Mordred tossed it aside as if it were nothing more than a toothpick. “You are right. It is time to end this.”

The time to mourn Percival was over. Because if Galahad did not focus, he would quickly be joining his brother in death. Galahad readied his stance.

Mordred took a step forward. “And then there were two.”

“There has to be another way!”

“There isn’t, Mae.” Gwen was already trembling at the idea. “Trust me, I don’t want to do it either—but I don’t have a choice. I can’t go out there with this thing on my hand, he’ll just knock me out again. And if I don’t hurry up, everybody’ll already be dead.”

The cook wailed, and shook her metal head, pacing away. “I can’t! I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“I know, Mae—I know.” Gwen smiled at her, trying to be as reassuring as possible. “It’ll be okay. I’m asking you to do this. It’ll be a favor.”

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