Page 59 of To Love a Dark Lord

In the light, alone.

A comfort, a warning, a gift? He did not know. And he knew perhaps he never would.

Shaking his head, he let out a slow breath. “Thank you.”

No good comes in being rude to the gods.

He blinked his eyes open, light shining in them, streaming from a nearby window. He hummed and turned his head, though it felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Ah, he knew this feeling well—waking up after being severely injured.

It was miserable every time.

His mouth tasted like blood. The room smelled of its metallic, coppery tinge and sweat. His sweat. With how much blood he knew he had lost, his heart would have begun to work in overdrive, sending him into a fever.

The wound should have been fatal, even to him. The Gossamer Lady was the only one who could heal such an injury, and there was no chance of that having happened. How was he alive? More importantly, why? Had the Ancients, had Avalon, resurrected him? For what purpose?

Behold the light your shadow casts.

And it was the light that was bothering him at the moment. Wincing, he turned his head back to the window, squinting at the bright sun. He wanted someone to draw the curtain. There was someone there in the bed beside him, and he felt the strain in his features relax at the sight of her.

Gwendolyn had been sitting at his side, holding his hand. She must have decided she needed to lay her head down for a second before she had fallen fast asleep, legs still dangling off the bed, tendrils of her firelike hair pooling around her.

She was so beautiful.

Behold the light his shadow casts, indeed. Reaching out, he gently stroked her hair with his other hand. The touch jolted her awake, and she sat up, lost for a moment.

He went to say hello, but found his throat was too dry to speak, and only managed to cough. The sound pulled Gwendolyn’s attention to him. Her eyes were still red from what he assumed must have been crying.

“Mordred!” Frantically, she shifted closer to him, stroking his hair out of his face. “Oh God—Mordred.” She kissed him, desperate but gentle.

How he wished he could return the gesture, far less gently. But he was in no shape to do anything of the sort. He gestured his hand at the dresser beside him where he saw a pitcher of water. Not so long ago, he had seen Arthur do the same…

“Oh! Right—right. Sorry.” She filled a mug before helping him sip it slowly. Every drop of it felt like heaven. “I hope you weren’t awake long without me, I just—I guess I was really tired.”

He could not imagine why. “Firefly,” he finally managed to say, though it felt as though he had eaten a few fistfuls of gravel for dinner.

“It’s all right.” Gwen stroked his hair again tenderly. She was smiling at him, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes. Something that her relief could not touch. And deep within it, a tinge of fear.

There was a cost to his recovery. There was a price to be paid for his life. What had Gwendolyn sacrificed? She had already forsaken her home. She would never see Earth again, when she could have been free.

What else would she have to surrender because she loved him?

Carefully lifting his hand to her cheek, he rested his palm there. She leaned into his touch, eyes shutting. He saw the exhaustion. Grief. He wished to ask her what had happened.

No, he should wait. His focus had to be upon healing, for their time was short. The Gossamer Lady had declared war. Though they would believe him dead, they would come for Gwendolyn in his keep.

Although he did deeply wish to know.

“You—you should rest.” She sat back, gently placing his hand down. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk when you’re back on your feet.”

Curiosity got the best of him. “What…trade?” he managed to choke out.

The flicker of pain and fear on her face looked as though he had struck her.

“I—of course, you’d know. Somehow.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I couldn’t let you die. I tried to heal you, but then…well. I’ll tell you the whole story when you’re up and about. If you try to throttle me, you’ll pop a stitch and Mae will be livid.”

That made sense, he supposed. Nodding weakly, he rested his head back into the pillow and let out a long, ragged breath. Sleep sounded wonderful, especially as breathing was currently a rather painful endeavor. The bitch must have collapsed his lung with the blade. He would have to be sure to return the favor.

“Goodnight. I love you.” Standing from the edge of the bed, Gwendolyn kissed him again before she headed to the door. She was partway through shutting the door when she paused and looked back at him.

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