Page 42 of Queen Takes Camelot: Gwen
GWEN
It was far from a fair fight.
No one could face Lancelot du Lac in a duel and win. Not when he held a sword. Even when his opponent wielded the legendary Excalibur.
The original King Arthur had surely fared better with a sword in his hand than this man before me now, or he never would have gained his knights’ respect. He charged recklessly, swinging the elegant sword like a club. Lance easily sidestepped each blow, or simply leaned out of the way. He let Arthur swing and hack until he was red-faced and wheezing.
Then Lance smiled and landed the first blow.
I’d seen him beat the shit out of Bors and never draw a single drop of blood. Sir Bors, who was easily one of the best knights of the Round Table second only to Lancelot.
But when Lance swung his sword at Arthur, he made a deep slice across his forearm. Yelping, he clutched the wound and backed away. Only to yelp again when Lance left another cut on his opposite shoulder. His thigh. His side.
Methodically, Lance landed blow after blow, leaving long, bleeding cuts on Arthur’s body. None of them were deep. None of them were mortal. Even though he could have easily decapitated his opponent or simply sliced off a limb.
The man who’d honored his best friend by never drawing a single drop of blood, now deliberately set about draining every last drop of blood from his former king with all the skill the goddess had given him.
I almost felt sorry for Arthur. Almost. It took him half a dozen wounds before he realized exactly what Lance was doing to him. Even then, he thought he could bluster his way out.
“I’m your king, Lancelot. I order you to lay down your sword!”
Lance flicked his sword up carelessly, nicking one of Arthur’s testicles.
“OW! You fucking moron! How dare you injure your lord and master?”
So Lance left a deeper cut on Arthur’s other testicle, nearly separating it from his body.
Staggering in pain, Arthur finally started to look scared. So naturally he turned to me for help.
“Please, call this off, Guinevere. I’ll forgive everything. We can still work things out.”
Dispassionately, I watched in silence as Lance made a series of quick, sharp cuts that left the letter G carved in Arthur’s chest. “My name is Gwen.”
He stumbled toward me, hands outstretched to grab me. Maybe to beg for forgiveness—or in a last-ditch effort to use me somehow to sway Lance toward mercy. Before he could lay a single finger on me, Lance dropped a hard, quick blow to stop the attack.
Both of Arthur’s severed hands fell to the ground. Before Excalibur could hit the ground, Lance snatched it in his left hand.
Eyes wide with shock, Arthur fell to his knees before me. His mouth opened and closed several times, before he could actually get any words out. “Please. Gwen.”
Not even breathing hard, Lance stood behind him and met my gaze. Both swords ready in his hands. With a flick of his wrists, he could easily decapitate Arthur. All he waited for was my order.
:Do you want the honor of his death?:I asked him silently.
:It matters not to me, as long as you’re safe, my queen. Do as you will.:
I stared at the man who’d caused me and my ancestors so much agony. So much grief. I couldn’t even begin to understand why he’d tortured us for so long. Why he’d ever thought he was owed a woman’s pain. Why he’d even thought to take a queen’s power for himself. He’d reveled in our suffering. Even now, he looked at me expectantly, as if any moment I would realize my mistake and beg his forgiveness. He’d fed on pain and darkness all these centuries.
It was time for pain and darkness to feed on him.
“Merlin,” I whispered softly.
My dark fae stepped forward. “Aye, my queen?”
“You may now have what I promised you.”
“With pleasure, my queen.”
Thick shadows enveloped Arthur, writhing eagerly with flashes of sharp obsidian and midnight glass. He shrieked, a high-pitched wail that almost made me cover my ears. But I remembered Guinevere making similar sounds over the generations of the curse as her power faded and Arthur’s grew.
