Page 68 of To Love a Dark Lord

But first, the scarecrow must play his part. Mordred disliked putting so much faith in someone—let alone an ally of his soon-to-be wife. Bertin’s loyalty was elsewhere. He could only hope that the villager would understand that what aided Mordred in this case would aid Gwendolyn.

If not, he would deeply enjoy ripping the scarecrow’s metal head from his shoulders and melting it down in his forge. He suspected Bertin knew that would be the cost of betrayal.

This day would be a day of bloodshed. A day of glory. A day of vengeance.

This day would live in the history of Avalon for a thousand years to come—for this was the day he would take his rightful place upon the throne.

The Prince in Iron would cease to be.

And the King in Iron would rise.

TWENTY-THREE

Galahad slowed to a stop in the shadow of the keep.

Behind him, just at the edge of the woods, was their elemental army. All but a few had answered the call to put a stop to Mordred—even if he was already dead, they needed to make sure of it. They had united behind Zoe, as the Gossamer Lady had predicted they would. Creatures and monstrosities of every shape and form. Fire, stone, tree, river, ice, lightning—all in service to the Gossamer Lady.

They itched for revenge. To see the keep sundered and destroyed, a surrogate for their rage against the fallen Prince in Iron.

It felt so strange, coming back to what had been his home, now as an enemy. Galahad had spent centuries in this place. He knew every nook and cranny, every door, every notch in the wooden beams. He knew the names of the servants who must now be nothing but rubble on the floors, fallen when their master Mordred died.

Now, he had come to kill a young woman who did not deserve it.

It felt wrong.

Endlessly wrong.

But what was he to do? He could not betray the woman he loved—the one he had sworn his soul, his heart, and his fealty to. And he could not say he disagreed with Zoe’s logic either. Gwendolyn was nothing but unpredictable—would she seek to avenge Mordred’s death? It would be what he would do in her situation.

It would be a quick and painless end to her suffering. It would be the kindest act he could give her. With her love dead, she must be agonized in his absence. Perhaps she would go willingly into the ever after to be with Mordred. Not that Galahad could say what happened to elementals—or witches—after death in Avalon.

There were figures on the wall, watching him. That was surprising. Even more so was how varied they were—men and women, creatures with horns, creatures without. They were mortals. Villagers.

“Who are they?” Percival asked from behind him.

Galahad did not turn his head when he responded. “Gwendolyn’s army.”

Percival snorted in laughter. “A collection of scrawny, feral cats would be more imposing.”

The doors to the keep opened and a single figure walked out to greet him. A man with a rusted metal pumpkin for a head, carved with the crude visage of a face, like one of those made to entertain and ward away his people, the fae, during the autumn months. His body was haphazard. Straw was shoved into clothing to make up his limbs, and he had a broom handle for one leg beneath the knee. A sentient scarecrow. How odd.

Keeping his guard raised, Galahad rested his hand upon the hilt of his sword. Simply because the scarecrow did not seem to pose a threat to him, did not mean there was no danger in the situation. He did not dare glance over his shoulder at his Gossamer Lady and the collection of elementals who waited for her orders.

“I do not know you,” he called to the scarecrow when he was within earshot.

“But I know who you are,” the scarecrow replied as he walked closer, seemingly unconcerned by the force at the door. “I’m Bertin. Gwen’s—” He broke off. “I knew Gwen.”

Knew. Past tense. “I am here to demand the surrender of the lady of the keep. Her life is forfeit. If she surrenders, all of you will be spared.”

The scarecrow’s shoulders slumped. “I’m afraid you’re too late for that.”

Galahad pulled his helm from his head, wishing to study Bertin without the restriction of his visor. “I do not understand.”

“She—” The scarecrow shook his head. “She jumped from the tower. Off the cliff. Killed herself. Because of what you and your lady did. Couldn’t go on without the man she loved. This place is ours now. Our home. She left it to us. Go away. Now.”

It did not sound like a threat. For what threat could a small pack of villagers pose to thirty-odd elementals? No, it was not a threat. It was…a warning. He furrowed his brow.

Zoe floated up beside him. “Her promises to you are null and void. This place is a travesty—a corruption upon this land. We plan to raze it to the ground. If you all value your lives, you should leave immediately.”

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