Page 2 of To Love a Dark Lord

As she walked, Gwen sighed again. She’d found herself in this terrible habit. She didn’t know what to do with herself. There were plenty of villagers who had taken up semi-permanent residence in Mordred’s keep since he had been imprisoned. They mostly kept to themselves, finding places in the giant keep to set up residence. A few of them had even started maintaining and using some of the outbuildings like the forge, the mill, or the stables.

Though nobody dared try to make use of the kitchen. That was Mae’s domain, and she was not the kind to share.

Yet, somehow, the building had never felt more lifeless to Gwen.

And that was saying something.

Bert the scarecrow had become a sort of advisor to her, as she tried to chart her path forward. She knew these things took time, but it felt wrong to just sit around and wait. The elementals might come for her at any point. Or worse, they might just start murdering each other for fun, putting Bert’s people at risk.

It was just so hard to focus. Gwen felt like something had been torn out of her chest. There was an ache in the pit of her stomach that just wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she tried to distract herself from it.

Mordred’s absence might drive her to madness. Or at the very least, to alcoholism. She wished Galahad was still around; he might have been able to give her advice on how to deal with the loneliness. But it felt wrong to pester Galahad about the loss of the man she loved, now that Galahad was allowed to be with the woman he loved.

Especially since Mordred was to blame for Galahad being away from Zoe for so long.

Gwen was pacing the keep late at night, suddenly understanding why Mordred had such a hard time sleeping. She just couldn’t sit still. She was anxiously waiting for something without knowing what that something was. It was a restlessness that wouldn’t leave her thoughts alone.

If she was waiting for Mordred, she was going to have to wait a really long-ass time if she didn’t manage to free him. Nine hundred, ninety-nine years and forty-six weeks and three days. But who was counting?

Her late-night pacing had become a nightly occurrence the past four days. It was to the point now that Eod didn’t even lift his head anymore when she climbed out of bed. He would just roll onto his back, grumble, and stretch out to take up the extra space.

Yeah. This sucked, and it was going to drive her up a wall. She wandered into Mordred’s study and went to his bar, pouring herself a rather large glass of whatever burning amber liquid there was the most of. She wasn’t going to be choosy; it wasn’t about the flavor. It was about knocking her out cold.

As Gwen sipped her drink and stared at the dimly lit study, she couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of emptiness. He was out there somewhere—Mordred. Suffering, trapped inside the Iron Crystal.

Was it justice? Did it even matter?

The fire in the hearth crackled and popped, casting dancing shadows on the walls, but it did little to dispel the loneliness that enveloped her.

She swirled the glass in her hand, lost in thought. Gwen couldn’t help but replay their last conversation in her mind, and her actions at the council that had decided Mordred’s fate. She had chosen this for him over death.

With a heavy sigh, she walked over to his chair by the fire and sat down in it. It was huge, sized for him, not for her. The ornately carved arms were marred with scratches from his metal gauntlets. Slowly, she traced her fingertips along the gashes in the polished wooden surface.

Mordred was gone.

Pulling her legs up onto the chair with her, she snuggled into the upholstered back and shut her eyes. She could smell him—like metal, cedar, and a little woodsmoke.

How long would that scent linger? How long until it was gone? How long before all traces of him in the keep faded?

Gwen let herself be enveloped by the scent of Mordred that lingered in the chair, willing him to be there beside her. She could almost picture it. Could almost trick herself into thinking he was there and was just having one of his quiet brooding spells. But it was all just a ghost of the man she loved.

She knew that no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t change the past. What was done, was done. Mordred was a prisoner, and war was inevitably going to return to Avalon. The only thing that remained to be seen…was what Gwen was going to do about it.

Leaving Mordred imprisoned meant war that would never end.

Freeing Mordred meant worse war, but maybe an eventual end to it.

And for some miserable reason, it was for her to decide which was better. Climbing out of the chair, she decided she needed a snack. Something to go with all the alcohol. Heading through the corridors, she couldn’t help but reflect on how normal it was all starting to feel to her. She knew the twists and turns. Finding her way to the kitchen was no longer a task, and the sight of the iron guards was no longer strange and frightening.

“I’m starting to think the keep is cursed,” Maewenn said as Gwen walked in.

“Oh?” Gwen smiled faintly. “How so?”

“First, Mordred couldn’t sleep, now you? Pah.” Maewenn went to the open fireplace to place a kettle on a hook over the low-burning fire. “And you need tea, not alcohol, to solve that problem.”

“If you say so.” Gwen sat down on a stool. “I was actually looking for a snack, if you have anything kicking around.” She didn’t like having the cook fuss over her, but it was how the metal woman showed she cared.

“Always! You know me. Can’t be happy if I’m not busy.” The cook headed over to a table to begin preparing some bread, meat, and cheese. Gwen’s favorite. She had always been a grazer, and picking at things like that was both tasty and distracting.

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