Page 57 of To Charm a Dark Prince

“Nothing. Nothing.” She tried to keep from laughing again. She was about to get beaten up in a so-called training session. She shouldn’t be lusting after the guy she was supposed to be figuring out how to overthrow.

Well, at least she kept herself from laughing again. The rest? Too late.

SEVENTEEN

“Pick your sword, and we shall begin.” His armor molded over him like liquid metal. She caught herself staring at him again in awe as it overtook his body. Everything except the helmet. Caliburn shimmered into existence beside him, and he plucked it from the air.

“What about the necklace?”

“Today we will only work on your sword work and footing. Until you understand more of how to control your body, your strength will be unpredictable.”

That didn’t sound fun at all. “This is gonna be rough, isn’t it?” The tone of her voice matched the dread she felt. She picked the same short sword off the rack.

“Yes. I suppose it will be.” Damn it if he didn’t sound like he was smiling. Sure,nowhe was smiling. “On guard.”

For as bad as she was expecting it to be?

Yeah. It was worse than that.

“Ow!” Gwen shook off her hand as she backed away from Mordred. The bastard wasn’t taking it easy on her at all. She felt that impact from his sword into hers all the way up to her shoulder. It was jarring, to put it lightly. “Ease up, you jerk.”

“Your opponent will never ease up.” He swung his sword again. That time, she managed to duck under his arm and run behind him, at least putting some distance between them. “And consider this training for when you decide to turn against me.”

Oh.

That’s why he was cranky.

“Mordred, I—” She squeaked and ducked another swing of his sword. “Can we justtalkabout this?”

“No.” He used the opportunity while she was speaking to step forward and shoulder-check her, knocking her to the ground. She landed onto the packed dirt with a grunt, and before she could move, he had the point of his sword hovering over her neck, barely an inch away. “Talking on the battlefield will result in your death.”

“Noted. But if you’re upset with me—”

“You were off riding with Lancelot, were you not? The bastard likely told you all the details of his betrayal and why he now serves me by force.” Mordred stepped back, letting her climb to her feet on her own. “Pick up your sword. We will go again.”

Great. Damn it all. She picked up the blade and readied herself for him to strike. “He told me his side of things.”

“There is no other side.” Mordred swung, and she managed to dodge that time. She hadn’t figured out how she was supposed to fight back, but she was at least learning how not to get knocked around like an idiot.

Though she suspected he wasn’t trying. “What do you mean?”

“The knights betrayed me. They sought my head in hopes the elemental power bestowed upon me by Avalon would choose the dying Arthur. I murdered them all in my rage, and used my mother’s craft to raise them from the grave to serve me. Is that not what he told you?” Mordred attacked her again, and she dodged—although this time he shoved her as she passed by him and sent her staggering forward.

“Yeah. That’s what he said. I figured you had a softer explanation.”

“No. I keep them in my service as a reminder to all of the cost for betraying the Prince in Iron. They were like my brothers—mykin.”He snarled.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Now she was fighting an angry Mordred. She didn’t like this. “Maybe we should stop—”

“No.” He swung for her again, twice as hard.

She squeaked and ducked, hearing Caliburn cut through the air above her. That could’ve seriously killed her. She ran for the far side of the courtyard. “Mordred! Enough!”

“How long before you do the same, Gwendolyn? How long before you seek to bury a knife in my back, hm?” He stalked toward her. “First you scheme with this force that brought you here, and now with Lancelot.”

“I’m not scheming!” Okay, maybe a little, but not like he was claiming. “I don’t know what to do, and I haven’t told anybody I’m going todoanything!” She dodged his next attack, but barely. She wasn’t stupid enough to try to deflect his swings with her own sword. He was a giant, angry, rusty, fuming Mack truck on legs. She had a snowball’s chance in hell.

“But they have asked you to.” He was on her again. Damn him and his long legs. He swung, she ducked, and he used his other arm to knock her flat on her ass. Again.

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