Page 91 of To Charm a Dark Prince

“I would too.” Gwen smiled at the cook. She didn’t know what would happen to Mordred’s armored creations if she actually managed to blow up the Crystal. But she reallyreallyhoped they’d be all right.

Taking the biscuit to go, along with a second one, she headed back out of the kitchen and off to her next goal. The sleeping powder she had to get from Mordred’s room was only one part of the equation.

She needed Mordred taken out for at least an hour, maybe more. So she would need to get the powder from the prince’s room and have something she could slip it into for him to eat or drink. Hopefully, it wasn’t too potent a taste.

Step one—getting the powder—was going to take her working up some serious nerve and the willingness to sink to a new low.

Step two—what she was putting the powder into—she could at least get a start on while she tried to figure out if she was capable of the first.

Because there was one guaranteed way into Mordred’s room.

The memory of his lips against hers during their last training session made her stomach drop. Going into his room at night, climbing into his bed…their training sessions gave her a sense of what she would be getting herself into. Her stomach twisted in anticipation, not fear. It made her question her sanity for a hot second.

But it was clear to her how much she wanted him. How much she wanted to be with him. Even now, even after what he had done to Lancelot, Gwen cared about Mordred deeply. And she had no doubt that the attraction was very mutual. She had wanted to see if something more developed between them. And it almost had. But now, either she was Crystal-bound or she was going to melt it. There was no other way forward.

Sleeping with Mordred in order to steal his sleeping powder…it felt wrong. Underhanded. It felt more like a betrayal than the rest of her plan put together.

But what other option did she have?

Carrying the extra biscuit meant, of course, that Eod was right there next to her the entire time. When she walked back into Mordred’s study, she wasn’t exactly shocked to see that the man hadn’t moved. Walking up to him, she offered him the uneaten biscuit. “To go with the booze. Before the headache sets in.”

He glanced at her and, with a small huff that might have been a laugh, he took the food and obediently took a bite out of it. “I have had more to drink in a sitting than that, and been just fine.”

“I’m sure you have.” She sat down in a chair on the other side of the fire from him. She figured they needed to talk, no matter what happened next.

“Thank you for your concern.” He paused. “I would have thought you would have no sympathy left for me.”

“I have sympathy left for everybody.” When he cringed, she shook her head. “That came out wrong. I know why you feel you needed to do it. I just…I disagree. And seeing that was—a lot.” A lot, as in it would haunt her for the rest of her life probably, but hey. Whatever. What were a few nightmares between friends? Or whatever they were. Or whatever they were going to become.

Friends. Lovers. Enemies.

Mordred shut his eyes. “Thank you, Gwen.”

He looked so tired, and not because he hadn’t slept. But because she could almost see the weight of the world on him. He wasn’t an old-looking man, even with his literal silver-gray hair. But now and then she could see it on his face that he was truly over a thousand years old.

She really did have sympathy for him.

But it only went so far.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Oh?”

She stood from the chair and headed to his desk for a piece of paper and a bit of charcoal. She began doodling out what she needed. “Since you can, y’know, make anything out of metal and all.”

He walked up beside her, clearly too curious to wait. “What is that?”

“A muffin tray.” She smiled. “Maewenn has some fresh blueberries and I have a craving for muffins.” She finished drawing the simple, twelve-slot baking tray. “It should be about this big,” she said, as she gestured with her hands.

“After what you have witnessed, you wish to cook?” He arched an eyebrow.

“It’s how I deal with stress. And it’s better than getting wasted.” She gestured at the empty bottle still on the ground next to his chair.

He opened his mouth to argue, clearly decided he couldn’t, and shrugged. “As you wish. Cast iron, I assume?”

“Yes, please.” She’d have to season the metal before she could use it. Her grandma had owned a huge collection of cast iron goodies, and so Gwen was pretty familiar with their use and care. And she really did enjoy baking. She wasn’t lying about that either.

He gestured his hands out in front of him, and she watched in awe as metal simply formed between his fingers. It was still amazing to her to seemagic.Real magic. Sure, she could burst into flames—but she wasn’t used to it yet. And she kind of hoped she never got bored of it.

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