Page 64 of To Love a Dark Lord

“Wake up.” She slapped her palms against her temples. “Wake up, stupid. Wake up!”

The dream baseball game continued, the crack of the metal bat against the ball echoing across the field. She sighed and lay back on the grass, staring up at the blue sky of her dream. “This is stupid.”

There was no way Mordred would leave her asleep like this. Not forever. But just long enough to have finished his murder spree and take the throne. If she didn’t wake up now, Galahad and Zoe would be dead, and who knows how many with them?

“Wake up. Wake up wake up wake up!” She screamed at the sky, but nothing but the cheer of the crowd around her responded.

It was a statement she’d made a thousand times since coming to Avalon. And she had the feeling she’d make it a thousand more times before this place was done with her.

“This fucking sucks.”

History would repeat itself for Galahad, Mordred would see to that. But perhaps not in the way that the Knight in Gold would predict.

They believed him to be dead.

And that would work very much to his advantage.

“When dawn breaks, Galahad will ride forward and ask for the surrender of Gwendolyn. You must tell him that in a fit of grief, she has killed herself.” Mordred did not take his eyes off the campfires at the edge of the forest.

“Um…” Bertin—Mordred refused to address or think of the scarecrow as Bert—was clearly not a fan of the plot. “Why? Where is she?”

“Gwendolyn has opted to stay in my chambers for the duration of the fight. The death of her former friend and ally will hurt her too much to witness. Her sympathetic heart is what we all adore about her—but it brings her untold harm.” Mordred placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. It was not meant as a threat, but if Bertin took it as such, all the better.

The scarecrow sighed. “I’d like to talk to her.”

“She is resting.”

“Right.” Bertin walked away, thinking better of questioning Mordred’s obvious lie. He paused before leaving. “And my soldiers?”

“They will wait here in the keep. When I spring my trap, the other elementals may panic and rush forward in an attempt to seize the keep. If that is the case, you will need to defend your future queen.”

“Hm. Fine. That’s a decent plan.” With that, the scarecrow left.

Good. He did not need Bertin to like him or trust him—simply to obey him. This moment was crucial. Mordred could defeat Galahad on his own, but with the addition of the Gossamer Lady, of Caliburn, and of an unknown number of elementals…the situation was still a roll of the dice. He would need every advantage he could gain.

His jaw ticked.

How many times had he stood on the ramparts and defended his home from those who wished to see his head on a pike? How many times had his former companions been the ones to greet him?

It did not matter.

This would be the last.

He would see to it.

TWENTY-TWO

Gwen had no other brilliant idea except to just walk. She didn’t know where she was going, she was doing some weird kind of lucid magic-dreaming by herself. But she didn’t have anything else to do. So she picked a direction and just went.

And with nobody else to talk to, she did the most logical thing. She talked to herself.

“All right. So. I need to wake up. But then what?” The dream landscape had taken her to the parking lot of a mall that she used to frequent. She kicked a small, loose chunk of sidewalk, sending it skittering in front of her. “How do I stop Mordred? Do I even want to?”

That was silly, of course she did.

“I get it. Zoe probably has to die. Probably.” There was likely no way around that one. The Gossamer Lady had skewered Mordred like a kebab with what had theoretically been his own sword at one time. If pressed, Gwen would admit it was the right call, even if she hated what it would do to Galahad.

It was the Knight in Gold whose death she didn’t think she could stomach. Mordred had been right about that—if she had to watch it happen, there was no way she couldn’t get involved. There was a good chance that Galahad would prefer death over living without the love of his life.

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