Page 56 of To Love a Dark Lord

“He will be livid, yes. Perhaps, he might try to capture you or make you his enemy. But he cannot hate you. It is not possible.” It was clear he was trying to sound reassuring. He wasn’t.

“Thanks for the optimism.”

“I am simply being realistic.” Merlin shifted with a grunt. “I recommend against aging. It is quite painful.”

“I’ll do my best. I don’t think this place will let me live that long.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “It keeps trying its damndest to kill me.”

“And yet you are stronger than ever. The island has been preparing you for what is to come. Training you.” He grinned.

“So that’s where Merlin learned his tutoring technique.” She paced for a moment again, scratching the back of her neck. “If I take the crown. If I agree to fight to become queen. They save Mordred?”

“Kind of.”

She stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean, kind of?”

With a dismissive sniff, he looked off into the shadows of the chamber. “You know how gods can be. Always have to have clauses and gotchas.”

When he didn’t say anything more than that, she glared at him. “Merlin.”

“They have agreed to heal Mordred. But if you surrender your goal of taking the throne, or if you become queen and then relinquish it? Mordred will die.”

A feeling like cold water ran down her spine. She stared at Merlin and searched his eyes for any hint that he was lying. Or, any hint that there might be something more, something else to the bargain. But he simply met her gaze and said nothing. Nothing at all.

If she didn’t become queen, Mordred would die.

Either now or later.

If she ever gave up the crown, he would die.

But if she became queen, it was betraying Mordred and ensuring that she would be at odds with everyone on the island, possibly for eternity. She rubbed her hands over her face. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly.

She had to choose. And choose fast. Because Mordred didn’t have much time.

Let Mordred die.

Save Mordred and make him her enemy. And declare war on all those who would seek to keep her from the throne.

Shutting her eyes again, she shook her head. “Fuck this place sometimes, seriously.”

“You can say that again.”

Galahad sat atop his golden steed as he watched his lady converse with a group of frightened elementals. They were from Thorn’s pack and were terrified that the Gossamer Lady had come as an emissary of Mordred.

But such was not the case.

This was their third conversation like this. And he knew how it would go, for each time was the same. With Caliburn floating by her side, Zoe would smile and soothe their fears, telling those elementals who remembered her rule all those centuries ago that she would reclaim her throne. And telling those who had never known her as queen that she had once sacrificed her crown to Arthur, but now it was time to take it back.

That Mordred was dead.

That Gwendolyn was the real threat, and she must be stopped at all costs.

That Thorn’s death was a tragedy, and she must be avenged.

It twisted a knot in Galahad’s stomach to hear Zoe pretend that Thorn was an ally and a friend. The truth was, they were headed to the former elemental warlord’s camp to do the same as Mordred had done—kill the upstart and remove another player from the board.

But Zoe no longer had any problem bending the truth, it seemed. And the frightened elementals drank it up, their nervousness disappearing with remarkable speed. They believed her. They wanted to follow her. They would pledge their loyalty to the Gossamer Lady.

And so, little by little, conversation by conversation, their army grew.

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