Page 67 of To Love a Dark Lord

“Hm. No.”

“Why not?”

“I simply don’t care.”

She threw another pebble at him. It did about as much good as throwing a snowball into the sun. But whatever. It gave her something to do—like walking pointlessly through her dream landscape.

“Besides,” Grinn began, his voice growing quiet in a way she didn’t like. “I’ve come up with a new way of amusing myself, I think.”

Stopping, she turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I have an opportunity to do something I’ve been wanting to do for years.” He walked up to her slowly, resembling a panther, until he loomed over her. His glowing red eyes flickered like fire as he let out a puff of dark smoke from his nostrils.

“Which…is…?” This was starting to make her nervous. He couldn’t hurt her—right? It was just a dream—right?

“I think I’ll start by breaking your wrists and your ankles. Shatter them at the joints, so you can only crawl and whimper and flop around like a dying fish as I go about doing the same to your knees, elbows, shoulders—human skeletons are so fragile.” His smile grew vicious and cruel as he lowered his head closer to hers. “I’ve had to put up with your voice for over a decade, quacking away at me. Now, I want to finally hear it scream.”

“But—I—” She took a step back. He took a step forward. “Wait?—”

“Then I think I’ll cook your limbs. One by one. Let you watch your skin turn black and crumble away.”

“You—you can’t, I’m immune to fire.”

“In the waking world, sure. But this is a dream, isn’t it?” He laughed, and the sound sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m about to turn it into a nightmare.”

“Grinn, look—I’m—I’m sorry—” She put her hands up in a show of harmlessness as she retreated from him, glancing down at the ground occasionally to make sure she didn’t trip over a rock or a root. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I know. But I want to.” He readied to pounce. “If you know what’s good for you…you should be running.”

Yeah, it was hard to argue with that logic.

With fear pounding in her heart, even in her dream-turned-nightmare, she turned and ran. Grinn’s cruel laughter was followed by the sound of him giving chase.

She didn’t know what happened if you died in a dream in Avalon.

And she really, really didn’t want to find out.

Mordred watched from where he was waiting in the shadows of the parapets of his keep as the sun began to rise over the line of the trees. And just as he predicted, he saw a golden steed break from the treeline. Galahad sat atop the horse as he headed toward the keep at a walk. He was in no rush, it was clear.

Not ten paces behind was a copper horse. Atop it, another familiar man in armor. Percival, the Knight in Copper. Of course. The bastard would not hesitate at the chance to watch the downfall of a man he hated so very much.

Behind them, staying about a hundred paces away, came the elementals. Mordred counted about thirty in all—not a poor number, considering the Gossamer Lady’s lack of time in entreating them to join her. And he saw the lady in question, hovering over the grass, leading the elementals. They would want their forces known.

It was clear Galahad wanted to give Gwendolyn time to consider her options and to surrender. It was a good scheme—and if the facts had been as the knight understood them, then it would have been successful. But there was a cruel twist waiting for his former friend the moment he drew close enough for Mordred to spring the trap.

There had not been any time to hide his iron army in the field as he had done so many centuries ago. Instead, they would pour from the sides of the keep and flank the elementals, while Mordred attacked from the front and his dragon came from above.

The timing was key. Spring the trap too soon, and the elementals would have time to flee into the woods. Too late, and they might storm the keep. Only the villagers stood in the way, and he had no faith in their ability to withstand a drizzle of rain, let alone the force that was standing against them.

Mordred had three targets in the fray. The traitors. His so-called allies.

Percival, Mordred was not surprised about nor did he particularly care. The Knight in Copper had always been an insipid bootlicker, only looking out for his own self. Nor did he care overmuch about the Gossamer Lady’s betrayal. She was an elemental. It was to be expected.

It was Galahad that hurt. That stabbed at what was left of Mordred’s heart.

His so-called brother-in-arms.

Galahad would die by his hand this day, as would his beloved. In what order they would fall, Mordred could not say—his focus would be on neutralizing the Gossamer Lady and retaking Caliburn. That would give him the advantage he would need over the remaining forces.

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