Page 89 of To Charm a Dark Prince

“Word travels quickly, my liege.” It was Galahad. Of course it was. Who else would be daring enough to confront him on Lancelot’s fate? Certainly not Percival.

“He deserved it.” Mordred pressed his fingers to his forehead, shutting his eyes. He was going to have a headache before all of this was said and done. “He was attempting to coerce Gwendolyn into betraying me.”

“Ah.” Galahad paused. “And is she…?”

“Resting in her bed. She did not take to the sight of Lancelot’s imprisonment.” He bristled at the suggestion that he would have sent Gwendolyn to the Crystal as well, before realizing it was a perfectly logical conclusion.

“Ah,” the knight repeated. “I am surprised that you did not simply execute him.”

“That was my first intention. The young lady objected.”

Galahad approached the fireplace, holding out his hands to warm himself. The fae was a tall and gangly thing, and always cast odd shadows on the wall behind him. “It may inspire her to do something rash.”

“Yes. I suppose it may.”

The Knight in Gold’s expression fell as he pieced it all together. He turned to Mordred. “Tell me you jest. Why would you goad her into taking action against you? To what ends?”

“I wish to see what she will do. I wish to see if she is a true ally, or simply another forced to serve me.” He glared at Galahad. He had never truly forgiven his knights for their betrayal so long ago. He was unsure as he ever would. But the closest who had come to earning it was the one before him.

Galahad sighed and shut his eyes, shaking his head in obvious disappointment. “You write the prophecy before you and seek to fill it. If you are so bullheaded as to inspire those around you to commit—”

“Commit what, knight? Treason? To attempt to kill me in my sleep? I had loyal friendsonce, or so I believed them to be. Until you lot proved me wrong.” He grimaced. “Go. Begone. I do not wish to speak to you any longer. My actions are my own.”

Galahad watched him for a moment before bowing his head and leaving the room without another word.

Mordred downed the rest of his glass. He fetched the bottle that time, and intended on finishing the rum before dawn. Perhaps then he might sleep.

But likely not.

* * *

Gwen woke up to someone licking her face. Luckily, it was a dog. She gently nudged Eod away from her. “Easy—yes—hello, good morning—” She couldn’t help but laugh as the hound belly-crawled closer and kept up his insistent licks and nudges. “I get it, I get it, it’s morning and you want out.”

At the magic word that it seemed all dogs knew—out—Eod was on his feet, wagging his tail and jumping off the bed to stand eagerly by the door.

For one small second, the dog’s antics made her forget about Lancelot.

But it came back with a harsh vengeance.

The good thing about pets, however, was that they didn’t give a shit about grief or sadness when they had a simple need. And Eod needed out. His tail thumped on the floor as he sat, staring at her impatiently.

“Yeah, yeah.” She pulled on a cloak over the metallic clothing she was still wearing and put on a pair of simple boots. She must have incinerated her last pair, which…whatever. Mordred could deal. She opened the door, and watched as the dog ran happily down the hallway toward the door. She followed him, not knowing what else to do.

Not knowing where else to go. Or who to talk to.

She felt utterly helpless. Hopeless. And trapped.

Poor Lancelot.

She needed to save him—needed to break the Crystal. Buthow?Mordred would never let her anywhere near the thing. And if the guards alerted him that she was trying to sneak down there, he’d put her right inside with everybody else.

But she had to try anyway. She had to. But she needed a plan. She needed to somehow get Mordred out of the picture long enough to find the Crystal again and try to melt it with her fire. She either needed to find a way to get him indisposed or away from the keep.

Great. Cool. But the question still remainedhow?

She passed Mordred’s study as she went toward the front of the building. She was surprised to see him sitting in his chair, staring at the fire, an empty glass bottle that looked like one of those antique onion-style ones sitting by his foot. He looked abjectly miserable.

Good.

---