Page 20 of Queen Takes Camelot: Gwen
It took all my will not to leap to my feet, race to the elevator, and test out this new theory. I was afraid to embrace the flutter of hope in my chest—for fear it would wither and die. I couldn’t even voice the idea, though my Blood had picked up on it in our bond.
“Forgive me, my queen.” Lance squeezed my shoulder gently. “But I suspect even the Isador heart tree won’t access Avalon directly.”
“He’s right,” Mordred said. “A physical object like a tree that’s rooted deeply in the soil would likely only access the earthly plane itself, unless you gained a new power that would allow you to pierce the veil to the Otherworld directly. If the Chalice Well is truly a portal to Avalon, then I would suspect other watery portals might exist that involve a passage through to the non-earthly plane. That’s why our tales involved the Lady of theLake, and why Avalon and Tír na nÓg were often referred to as islands or the Land Beneath the Waves.”
The hope unfurling in my chest didn’t wither or crumble but grew larger. A shining pearl that started to fill me with soft, gentle light. “I don’t need a tree. I need water.”
“Maybe.” Mordred’s eyes flashed brighter, catching the light growing inside me. “But I suspect that you won’t have to get wet at all.”
“How?”
“If my theory is correct, and Avalon is just another name for the otherworldly plane where the fae live, then a passage to Tír na nÓg will work the same as the Chalice Well.”
Bors grunted and shoved away from the wall. “So you’re telling us that we need to find a fucking fairy mound to get to Merlin?”
“Not at all.” Laughing, Mordred wheeled his chair back around to his laptop and brought up a browser window. “We need aburialmound.”
9
Bors
There wasn’t much that I hadn’t faced in the many centuries of my lives. The original Sir Bors had been the only surviving knight to return from the grail quest. But even I wasn’t too keen on wandering around a burial mound. Especially if that meant putting our queen at risk.
“What’s the matter, Bors?” Grinning, Mordred glanced back over his shoulder. “Afraid we might run into a few spooky shades?”
I fingered the leather-wrapped pommel of the sword hanging at my hip. “Aye, things that can’t die again are more dangerous than things that bleed.”
“Agreed,” Lance said. “We have enough trouble on our hands without disturbing the dead, let alone the fae. From what I remember of the stories, they don’t take too kindly to intruders.”
My nerves itched. I tightened my fingers on the pommel, fighting down the urge to draw my sword. We weren’t in any danger. So why were my internal alarms sounding?
Worse, my queen noticed my turmoil. She turned her head, studying me with those solemn bottomless eyes. Drowning me in emotion. Wave after wave of longing, love, and agony flooded me. Centuries of waiting for her to call me. Lifetimes of dying, watching her from afar. Dying in her defense. Dying to reach her. Dying before I even caught sight of her.
Endless yearning. Aching. Desperate to see her. So much pain. So much need.
I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I’d been reborn—but I could count the times I’d actually touched Guinevere on one hand.
“I’m here,” she whispered, cupping my cheeks in her hands.
But I couldn’t see her. Swept away in a tidal wave, I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. Darkness filled me. Brutal cold. I sank deeper and deeper, waiting to reach the bottom, but it never came.
She dug her fingers into my cheeks, a lifeline against the tide sucking me under. “Come back, Bors. I won’t let you go. Not this time. Not ever. Bors!”
Drowning. I couldn’t hold on. I couldn’t find my way back. Too much pain. Too much darkness. A soft voice echoed eerily through the water.“The lake knows your name.”
Something bright and jagged cut through my mind like a broken sword. A merciless vise gripped my throat. Pain clouded the water, but this was good pain. Wholesome. Clean. It washed away the darkness and the world stopped sinking. My feet struck soft, gleaming sand. The bottom firmed. Grounding me.
I sucked in a deep breath and choked.
Salty water filled my mouth. My shirt was wet.
Panting, I stared down into my queen’s stricken eyes. “What the fuck was that?”
My throat ached, my words raw and broken. It took me a moment to realize it was because Lance still had my throat tight in his fist. His left arm locked around my waist, pinning me against him. His right hand squeezed my throat. If we’d been in bed, alone…
That left hand would have been wrapped around my cock while he pounded deep into my ass.
I shuddered, unable to breathe again, but this time because of longing. Goddess, it had been so long. Too long. But we hadn’t dared come together very often until our queen called us, even though it’d been almost four hundred years.
