Page 13 of To Charm a Dark Prince

Gwen was shaking from adrenaline, but it was slowly starting to simmer down. She was really sick of the nonsense she was being put through, but she had a feeling it was only just the beginning. “I—I—” She felt dizzy. She stopped talking before she passed out.Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

“I am the mayor of this town. My name is Grigory Lamor.” He reached out a hand to her. His nails were black and kind of pointed.

Taking his hand, even though she was still trembling, she nodded once, weakly. “Gwen. Gwendolyn Wright.”

“Good to meet you, Gwendolyn Wright from Earth. Please, come with me. I would like to offer you my hospitality until we can get to the bottom of what has transpired. Tell me, did you have anything to do with the fireball in the sky?”

“It wasn’t my fault…”

He smiled. “I believe you. Well, you caused no damage. Come. I will have someone fetch you new clothes and I will see Wilhelm’s clothes returned. Are you hungry, Miss Wright?” He began to walk down the street toward where she could see some larger homes clustered together. They looked more modern than the others—if only barely.

She fell in step beside him, noticing that the guards were still following them both. “You can just call me Gwen, and I—I’m okay, really. Just scared. I don’t know what’s going on.” Frowning at the guard with horns, she ducked her head. “Sorry I screamed.”

The guard looked extremely worried, but she didn’t know why. He didn’t reply, but Grigory did. “Coming from Earth, I expect you have had little exposure to anything mystical.” He clasped his hands behind his back.

“None. Magic isn’t real where I’m from.”

“It used to be.” Grigory sighed darkly. He had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, tied with a white silk ribbon at the base of his neck. He would have looked like somebody fromHamiltonif it weren’t for the fact that he had deer legs.

“What happened?”

“That is a story for another night. Or at least best told over a glass or two of wine.” He smiled at her again and waved a hand through the air as if to dismiss the thought. “It is neither here nor there. I am far more curious about you and how you came to join us.” He approached the front door to what she assumed was his home. It was beautiful, if still full of weird angles. It had a wooden fence out front that she mistook for wrought iron because of its shapes, but upon getting closer, she realized it looked like it…grew that way. As if a series of trees and vines had just decided tobecomea fence.

Avalon was weird.

Maybe if she knew she was safe and wasn’t going to be tortured by some terrible Iron Prince, or if she wasn’t lost, confused, and out of her league, she’d be able to appreciate how beautiful it all was.

But she was too scared. She felt like at any second she was going to have a breakdown—if something didn’t murder her first. She followed Grigory inside his home. The manor had what looked like hand-painted murals above the wainscoting. It depicted a colorful field in bloom with summer flowers, a glade, and an adorable village she could recognize as the one she was in.

Creatures of every kind imaginable were painted amongst the trees and buildings. Dragons, griffins, sea serpents, and more. Women with butterfly wings danced with centaurs. Creatures big and small seemed to frolic before her eyes.

Walking up to it, she marveled at the artwork. It was old and faded, and clearly had once been much brighter. But even still, it was gorgeous. “Whoa…” A sea monster in a lake that looked like it was playing with a woman on the shore caught her eye.

A billion questions ran through her head at once. Who had painted it? When? How old was it? Who were the people in the art, were they real? Did this place really have centaurs and sea monsters? Could she meet one? Did shewantto meet one?

“A depiction of Avalon when it was whole. Before the prince…” Grigory trailed off. “Come, Miss Wright.” He hummed. “Gwen. If you are truly a stranger to Avalon, there is much you should know.” He brought her into a sitting room. Lavish—well, colonially lavish—furniture was arranged around a flickering, still-too-pale fire. A young woman in a servant’s gown was setting down two glasses on a tray in the center of an ornate stone coffee table.

Grigory gestured for Gwen to sit and took a spot in the chair across from her. She sat down, but perched at the edge of the chair nervously, ready to run at the first loud sound.

“Tell me everything that happened. But first, please.” He picked up a glass and offered it to her. “To calm your nerves.”

That sounded like a good plan. She took a sip from the glass. It wasn’t a harsh flavor, though it tasted a little odd. Maybe it was just an Avalon thing, that wine here tasted different than what she remembered from home. She took another sip. She figured with everything that had happened, she was allowed a glass of wine. It wasn’t like she was planning on getting smashed. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Grigory sat back. He had sharp features that were accented by the light of the fire and cast stark, flickering shadows.

“Is the fire always that color?”

“Hm?” He glanced at the flame, and sadness creased the corner of his eyes. “You know, I hardly even notice anymore. No, Gwen. The fire should not be that color. Avalon is only a shadow of its former self. And so are we all, I am afraid.” He took a sip of his own glass of wine.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know anything of this isle and its history?”

“I sawThe Sword in the Stonewhen I was a kid, and kind of got obsessed with it, so I guess I know all the legends, but something tells me it’s really different than the Disney flick”—she stopped at his blank stare—“sorry, Earth thing. Movies. Moving pictures. Whatever.” Now she felt stupid. “I know about King Arthur, and Excalibur, and Merlin. Lady of the Lake, magic and faeries. But all the stories are pretty conflicted.”

“I see.” He chuckled. “So you know nothing true about Avalon.” When he was smiling, he didn’t look nearly so severe. She could almost forget the fact that he was so clearly inhuman.

“Only the myths and the legends.” She took another sip of the wine. “Sorry.”

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