Page 60 of To Love a Dark Lord

“I’ll tell you this much—I finally met Merlin.”

The door shut behind her.

And Mordred knew no good would come of this.

None at all.

“Explain it to me again?”

Gwen sighed and rested her forehead on the edge of the dining room table. She didn’t blame Mordred for not quite getting it. She didn’t get it either. It had only been a day since he insisted on walking around the keep and sitting down at the table for dinner. Part of it was the fact that he healed fast. Part of it was the fact that he was a stubborn bastard.

But he wanted dinner. At the table. She understood, honestly—Mae was a lot when she didn’t have a patient to fuss over. When she felt like she had a mission, she was unstoppable.

“The young wizard was actually the old wizard, but not yet. He traveled back in time and became the old wizard you knew as Merlin.”

“But it was the same man.”

“Yeah.” She had been dreading this conversation the entire time. It had been like walking on eggshells around him. Every moment he was awake, he was watching her, waiting. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. And she could sense it coming.

“His future created the myth that his past was built upon.” Mordred hummed. “I cannot say I am entirely surprised. He was always infuriatingly abstruse. It is suitable that his life be the same.” Picking up his goblet of wine, he took a sip from it.

She had tried to keep him from drinking. That went over about as well as she’d have expected.

“I am more annoyed that I did not see it.” He sat back in his chair, spinning the goblet idly between the tips of his claws on one hand. “Although I suppose it serves me right. I never paid him much mind.”

Lifting her head, she decided she wasn’t sober enough for this herself, either, and swallowed half the goblet of wine in one go before refilling it from the bottle.

“Will you tell me what transpired?” Mordred’s molten, rust-colored eyes were boring into her. “Or, are you still frightened that I will ‘pop a stitch’?”

He learned fast. She’d give him that. “I mean, it’s…It’s fine.” Standing from the table, she couldn’t help but pace. There was no point in trying to hide her nerves. “It’s going to be fine. You just can’t be pissed—I had no choice.”

“I feel as though you did.”

“Yeah, I could’ve let you die. That was the other option.” She rolled her eyes. “Which isn’t a choice.”

“Ostensibly, yes. It is.”

“Well, it’s a shitty one, okay?” She didn’t know why she was getting frustrated. Taking a breath, she held it for a second before letting it out, trying to calm down. It mostly worked. Kind of. Maybe. A little.

“Gwendolyn.” There was that tone. The disappointed voice that made her want to throw something at his head. “Tell me.”

This was not going to go well. This was not going to go well at all. Cringing, she braced herself for his outburst. “The island wants me to become queen. Doc—Merlin—whatever—he gave me the crown. Said that if I stopped pursuing it, or if I ever gave up the throne, you’d die.”

Mordred was silent for a long moment. “And what happens if you try but fail to become queen?”

“I…” That was a good question. Merlin hadn’t said. “I don’t know. He just said I can’t stop trying, or once I’m there I can’t give it up.”

Mordred hummed but said nothing else. Simply looked off into the distance, his expression unreadable.

When he didn’t say anything for what felt like minutes, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Mordred?” She could see the wheels turning, but she couldn’t predict what he was thinking. It could go any direction.

“Who am I to argue with the Ancients?” He sipped his wine. “They have chosen you.”

“I—I mean, let’s be clear here, I don’t want to be queen. I didn’t want to be chosen.” Shaking her head, she went back to the table, sitting in the chair next to him. “I’m going to be a shit queen.”

“I do not think so. You care as deeply for this world as I do. And you are something I am not.”

“What?”

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