Page 17 of To Charm a Dark Prince

“Remember to breathe now and then.” His voice was deep and smooth. “You may find it helpful.”

Shudderingly, she filled her lungs, listening to his advice without really meaning to. Her head instantly felt a little less foggy. But not by much. “Please, I—I don’t want to die.” She was crying. When had that started? She supposed it didn’t matter. When something hissed on the ground by her feet, she glanced down to see the tears that fell from her hit the dirt as tiny black puddles of lava.

She was cryinglava.Fear gripped her like an iron vise. No pun intended. “What’s happening to me? I don’t understand.”

The backs of those terrible pointed claws stroked over her cheek before they uncurled and his metal-covered palm cupped her chin. He watched her as if she were some kind of fascinating anomaly. “From where do you hail, firefly?” God, that voice of his. It was like velvet. It shouldn’t calm her down, but it did. It felt like a warm blanket on a cold night. Not that she needed one right now, because she wasstill on fire!

Wait. Did he just call her firefly? Everything was happening too fast. It was all too much. She wanted to crawl into a hole and have everyone leave her alone for a second.

He seemed patient in waiting for her answer at least.

She sniffled. There wasn’t any point in lying. Grigory was going to tell him anyway, she was certain. “Earth…”

He let out a deep sigh. “I see. And how is it that you have come to be chained to a post?”

“The—the mayor tricked me. Drugged my wine.” She felt so damn small standing in front of him. Never mind the fact that she was—oh damn it all. She was naked again. The clothes must have burned up when she caught on fire.

Glancing down at herself again, Gwen realized that she wasn’t just on fire now, she was made out of fire. She really wished she could take the time to appreciate that fact, but there was a giant spooky guy standing in front of her who had knives for hands and an enormous rusty dragon.

Both of which were probably going to kill her.

And the man still had his palm resting against her cheek.

Dropping her head, she gave up. “Please just make it quick…” Her voice sounded as small as she felt.

When he placed the back of one of his claws beneath her chin and lifted her head back up to look at him, she wasn’t sure what to do but go along with it. His touch was gentle, even if it was strange.

“What is your name, firefly?”

“Gw—Gwendolyn Wright. But j—just Gwen, is fine—” Now she was stammering all over herself like a total idiot. She swallowed, and tried to follow his earlier advice. Breathe. Just breathe.

“Well met, Gwendolyn Wright.” He lowered his hand. “I am Mordred, the Prince in Iron. And I—” Without warning, he flicked his arm up to his side, the cape that was made of sections of fabric suddenly stiffening and turning to metal in a split second, almost like a wing. He was using it to shield them. She heard somethingtinkoff the outside surface. He lowered his hand, the panels returning to fabric and falling to his side. “Treacherous imbeciles,” he said through a snarl.

It took her literally that long to realize Mordred wasn’t alone. She hadn’t dared take her eyes off him or his enormous dragon. But there were two other dragons gathered farther away—one made of gold and one made of silver that had patinated a deep gray in sections.

A man in golden armor was already stalking toward a man in tattered linen clothes, barely visible in the darkness. The villager who was being approached by the knight had a bow held in his hands. The villager dropped it to the ground as he turned and ran away in terror. He must have shot an arrow at them. But that made no sense, why would he shoot at someone wearing full armor?

Oh.

He hadn’t been shooting at the prince. He must have been shooting ather.

The prince lifted his arm and swept wide with it, gesturing strangely. She didn’t realize what he was doing until a sword shimmered out of the air and appeared floating next to him—floating in mid-air.

The blade was almost as long as she was tall. It was just as twisted and bizarre as the rest of his armor, looking more like it came out of a fever dream than reality. He flicked his wrist, and she watched as the blade shot through the air.

It whipped past the man in the gold armor, straight for the man holding the bow. The man was still running away, but he wasn’t as fast as the flying sword. It punched straight through his rib cage.

Gwen looked away, a choked noise escaping her. She was glad the man was far enough away that she didn’t hear much of the impact. Shutting her eyes tight, she felt more tears run down her cheeks and heard the drops of lava hiss into the dirt.

Magic. Flying swords. Dragons. Mordred of King Arthur fame. Men in strange armor. She was made of flame. But a man just died like it was nothing.

Avalon was strange and interesting—but she was quickly realizing it was just as equally deadly.

“Bring me the mayor.”

She decided very quickly she didn’t like the prince’s tone of voice when he was angry. What was once velvet and soothing was now hard and cold. It made her shiver. She knew her life was forfeit now. Whatever happened, she had no control over it. Even if she was on fire.

When she felt brave enough to look, she saw the man in gold—who might as well have been a streetlamp wearing armor for how tall and thin he was—was now ushering Grigory forward toward the prince.

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