Page 80 of To Love a Dark Lord

“I can command iron, the same as him. I can keep them alive.” She knew. Just knew she could. It was bizarre, being so tapped into the island. She laughed quietly. At the look of confusion at her laughter that she got from those nearby, she shook her head. “Sorry. I wanted to meet Merlin, and then I became him.” Pushing to her feet, she looked over at her friends. “Who will come with me to Camelot?”

Tim nodded with a squeak-squeak-squeak. He was clearly on board, even if he was one of Mordred’s creations.

Maewenn twisted her hands in front of her. “I—well. What would you do without a good cook?”

“I don’t know what I’d do without my good friend.” Gwen smiled at her. She patted Eod on the head again before walking into the building.

There was one last fight to be had.

And it was the one she was looking forward to the least.

TWENTY-SIX

Mordred did not know what to think.

He did not know what to do.

Gwendolyn…had mutilated her hand. He had not even considered that she would do such a thing. To remove her own finger? It was beyond what he had thought her capable of. But perhaps that was his own lesson—to never underestimate his firefly.

But was she his firefly no longer?

Had he broken their bond in an attempt to seal it in his own selfish way, for his own means?

He is exiled.

The door opened and shut behind him. He did not need to turn to know who it was. He vanished his armor, letting the weight dissolve from him. If she meant to kill him, he would accept that fate. He would not fight her.

Neither of them spoke.

Gwendolyn approached the table and picked up the gauze-wrapped piece of herself. With a gesture, she lit the fire in the hearth ablaze, and tossed the digit into the flames. Hopefully, it was no longer immune to the heat like the rest of her.

“I would have woken you.” It was a paltry excuse.

“But you wouldn’t have set me free.” Her tone was cold but not harsh.

That was true. He walked to his bar to pour himself some whiskey.

“Make me a double.” She walked to one of the chairs by the fire and sank into it.

A small smile graced his face as he obeyed. “Do you intend to kill me, Gwendolyn?”

She paused for a long moment. “No.”

“Do you intend to forgive me for my transgression?”

Another long pause. “No.”

That was fair. He brought her the glass she asked for, and sat in his own chair, but not before placing the bottle on the table between them. He had the feeling it would be mostly gone before too very long.

“Fuck you.” Gwendolyn stated after a long pause.

“I deserve that.” He sipped his whiskey. Another long stretch of silence before he added, “Well done, killing Zoe.”

She sighed. “I wish it hadn’t been necessary, for Galahad’s sake.”

“They made their own decisions.”

“You had to be stopped, though. They weren’t wrong about that.” She nursed her own glass of alcohol. “But I guess it had to be me.”

---