Page 25 of To Bind a Dark Heart

Deftly, he wiped it from her cheek with the back of one of his claws. His voice was soft, achingly tender, as he pulled her closer to him. “Would that be so very unpleasant, in the end?”

“I…” Would it?

Would itreally?

She didn’t know. It was all too much. She sniffled again, trying to hold back more tears. “I don’t want to be a prisoner.”

“You would be safe with me.” He picked her up, easily lifting her in his arms. The world around them melted and changed. He placed her onto the soft surface of his bed. Not even a moment passed before he was kissing her. It was lacking the angry passion of the previous dream. This was gentler, but no less needy. No less desperate for her.

She returned the embrace, needing to feel him there beside her. Needing to have some semblance of hope that everything was going to be okay. That he might forgive her, that they might have a future together.

Is that what I want?

To be with Mordred?

Even if it means I’ll be his prisoner?

Wouldn’t it be worth it?

It was just a dream. He wasn’t really there. He was likely still furious with her in reality and wanting to pull her head off her shoulders. But here, in her fantasy, she could pretend like he was there.

That he wanted her back.

That he loved her.

God. Was that what she really wanted?

For Mordred to love her? Why?

Was it because of how she felt for him?

She didn’t love him…

Did she?

In his arms was the safest she had ever felt in her life. Somewhere the fear that plagued her life was far away and meaningless.

Love.

And she knew it wasn’t a matter of whether or not she was destined to love Mordred.

It was simply about how long it would take for her to accept that she already did.

When she could feel the dream fading away, his lips pressed against her cheek. It already felt so far away. “Come back to me, firefly.”

But it was only a dream.

He wasn’t the real Mordred.

No matter how much she wished he was.

* * *

Lancelot kept his sword sheathed and his helm off as he headed deeper into the glade. He knew he was going in the right direction, as the small, glowing, flitting insects that dashed about in the twilight were growing more numerous.

The grass around his boots was thick and lush, almost blue-green in color as he sought out the Gossamer Lady. The trees went from their normal collection to entirely birch, the white paper-like bark almost seeming to glow. The air had an ephemeral quality to it.

It was the kind of place that would lure any man deeper—and certainly, the Gossamer Lady had done that plenty of times to unsuspecting folk. She might not have been born fae, like Galahad, but she certainly had adopted their mannerisms upon being gifted with magic by the isle.

---