Page 64 of To Charm a Dark Prince

He simply wished with all his might that this time it would be different.

NINETEEN

Gwen was a confused, conflicted mess as she walked into the great hall for dinner. She had gone with a dark red dress that she thought might look nice with her wacky multi-colored hair. She wished she had a mirror so she could see what she looked like with orange-red-yellow hair. When she had thought about how her dad would havefreakedat the sight of her, her heart had broken again. She missed her parents. She also worried about how distraught they must be.

But there wasn’t anything she could do about it.No. There is. I can try to destroy the Crystal like Merlin wants me to and then Merlin’ll send me home.In all the insanity of the day, she had almost forgotten about the cynical black cat. The only way to go home was to break the prison that was holding back all of Avalon’s magic.

And to betray Mordred in the process.

She cared more about the latter than the former, honestly. She felt bad for Mordred, going through his world never being able to trust anyone. But even he seemed to understand that it might partially be his fault.

Never mind the fact that he was handsome, sexy, and clearly wanted to take her to bed.

She was still left with a choice, however. Betray him and go home—if she could even trust Merlin, either—or swear fealty to Mordred and stay in Avalon.

The knights were all gathered when she walked into the great hall. She smiled as she walked up to the table. Food was already served, with an enormous roast pig as the centerpiece. It was still hysterical to walk into what looked like a spread put out for a Renaissance fair, but hey. She figured she could probably teach Maewenn how to make hamburgers if she was really desperate for a taste of home. “Hi, guys.”

Lancelot was already beaming at the sight of her. “And there is the huntress herself.”

“I didn’t hunt anything, Lancelot.” She rolled her eyes, if a bit teasingly, as she sat down.

Mordred was watching the exchange with a guarded expression. He was resting his temple on his gauntleted knuckles.

“You did scare off a bear, at the very least.” Lancelot raised a pewter mug to her. “Quite fearlessly, I might add.”

Mordred arched an eyebrow at that. “Pardon?”

She sighed. “Look, there was a bear in the woods. Eod picked a fight with it, and I rode my horse at it to scare it off. It was just a little black bear, all by himself. It wasn’t like it was dangerous.”

“How is it that you are so very frightened of us, but not of a bear?” Galahad asked, honestly seeming to be confused.

She snorted. “Y’all showed up ondragons.Giant, freaky, evil, metal dragons. And I’d been told that the Prince in Iron was going to murder me. So, y’know, there was that.”

“You have a fit when meeting me, yet you did not have one of these ‘panic attacks’ of yours, while facing down the bear?” Mordred asked.

Picking up a small bowl that was about the same size as a salt shaker and, judging by the saltinit, seemed to serve the same purpose, she plunked it down in front of her. “Bear.” She gestured at the dead pig. “Dragon.”

Lancelot snickered.

“Besides,” she continued. “I’m used to wildlife, having grown up on a farm. Bears are pretty rare, but trust me—American badgers are worse.”

Galahad hummed. “Well. Here is to you, Gwendolyn Wright, protector of dogs.” He lifted his mug to her.

Smiling, she picked up her own that was placed at her setting and raised it back to him. “Sure. Why not.” Sipping the liquid in the mug, she blinked and stared down into it. “What’s this?”

“Mead,” Mordred answered. “Have you never had it before?”

“I think I’ve drank more here than I ever did at home.”

Lancelot tilted his head to the side slightly. “Why is that?”

“Drinking age is technically twenty-one. I’m nineteen.” She shrugged.

Lancelot let out a “huh” and shook his head. “Very odd, modern culture.”

“It has its ups and downs. I think I prefer it to living in Ye Olde Times.” She sipped the mead again. It was good. Sharp and tangy, and weirdly fruity. It wasn’t as bitter as the wine was the night before. “I don’t think I’d last very long in medieval England.”

“Why not?” Lancelot smiled. “I think you would have made quite the lady.”

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