Page 75 of The Sword & the Stone

I felt his rhythm falter, his thrusts growing erratic and desperate. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to bruise ashe chased his own end. With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt one final time, his body going rigid above me as he spilled himself deep inside me, cursing as he moaned.

We lay there for a long moment, our chests heaving, hearts pounding in sync as we drifted down from the dizzying heights of pleasure. Lancelot's arms tightened around me, cradling me close as he rolled onto his side, pulling me with him.

I tucked my head under his chin, my cheek resting against the solid wall of his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat was a soothing lullaby.

The room was quiet except for our slowing breaths and the distant melodies of faerie music floating on the breeze. The gossamer curtains drifted lazily on the balmy air, like delicate wisps of mist.

My fingers followed the swirling paths of the runes painted on his golden skin, tracing idle patterns on Lancelot’s chest. His hand came up to cup my cheek, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.

"I think I might have been wrong," he murmured, his voice low and rough. My breath caught and my heart lurched, and a slow, sated smile stretched his lips. “I was wrong about so many things.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

MORDRED

I creptthrough the shadows of the temple in the heart of Camelot, my footsteps silent on the ancient flagstones. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the whispered prayers of the faithful. Moonlight filtered through the high, arched windows, casting a blue glow over the towering statues of long dead gods that lined the walls.

There, kneeling before the altar, was Uther Pendragon. The mighty king, the man I once called father, looked small and vulnerable in this sacred space. His head was bowed, his hands clasped in fervent prayer, wearing white robes of worship.

It was so easy to don the robes of a priestess and slip through his guard unnoticed. With the knights of the round table off on their quest, Uther was more vulnerable than ever. For just a moment, I pitied the old fool.

Until the scars on my hand throbbed, a visceral reminder of all he had taken from me. My resolve hardened, cold as the steel of the dagger I drew from the folds of my robes.

I glided forward like a wraith cloaked in shadows. The dagger glinted in the moonlight as I raised it high. Uther tensed, sensing my presence too late. He turned, his eyes widening in shock as they met mine.

"Mordred," he breathed, his voice echoing in the cavernous temple. "Wha-what are you doing here?"

A cruel smile curved my lips. The same cruel smile Uther had the day he banished me. "Taking back what you stole from me. And just know that after you’re gone, your precious faerie whore’s daughter will never be safe. I’ll hunt her down like the fucking dog she is. Then, the throne will be mine."

My hand was steady as I plunged the dagger into Uther's chest. His eyes bulged in shock, a choked gasp escaping his lips as the blade pierced his heart. Crimson bloomed across his white robes, so beautifully stark and vivid in the moonlight.

I watched dispassionately as the life faded from his eyes, his body crumpling to the cold stone floor. The mighty Uther Pendragon ended in the most human way possible by the daughter he once cast aside. Poetic justice, some might say.

I knelt beside his cooling corpse, my fingers trailing through the spreading pool of blood. Power thrummed through my veins, and it was intoxicating. With Uther dead, Camelot was ripe for the taking. The knights of the round table were gone, and there was nothing stopping me.

But I needed the sword.

I needed the Grail.

Closing my eyes, I groaned. There was always one more fucking step. But the immortality that cup would give me would secure my spot on the throne for eons.

I reached deep within myself, tapping into the well of magic that coursed through my blood. The dark magic I’d taught myself since Gaius never saw me as a worthy pupil. Not likeMerlin. The air around me shimmered and rippled, my form blurring and shifting.

In a burst of shadows and feathers, I transformed into a murder of midnight crows. I ascended towards the vaulted ceiling, my wings beating in perfect unison. Through a high window I flew out into the chill night air. Arthur would be approaching the next trial soon, and I would be there when the portal finally opened.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ARTHUR

The rustlingof voices and thunderous footsteps jolted me awake. Lancelot was already in motion, hastily dressing himself. "What's happening?" I asked groggily, my voice hoarse as I stumbled out of bed and grabbed a robe from the nearby dresser.

Lancelot's entire body tensed as he peered out the window and scowled. "I'm not sure. Stay put while I go find out."

He was across the room and out the door before I could protest, the heavy oak door swinging shut behind him with a resounding thud. I dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling with the dress, used to trousers and tunics.

The door burst open a moment later and Merlin strode in, his eyes wild and his long hair disheveled. "Arthur, you need to come now. Something's happened."

"What is it?" I demanded, my heart lurching into my throat at the barely contained panic in his voice. "Merlin, what’s going on? Where’s Lance?"

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