Page 35 of To Love a Dark Lord

“Yeah.” She went quiet for a moment. “He scares me, a little. But I just…I need him. I need his help. The villagers are being slaughtered.”

It hurt him to know that innocents were already being put to the torch, though he could not say that he was surprised. It came down to the same debate, no matter the predicament. “Here we find ourselves again, my king.”

“Huh?” Gwen looked up at him.

“This is the predicament all rulers find themselves in, one way or another. Though, if they are lucky, they will only have to register the math but once.” He felt tired suddenly. Old. Weary. He walked to a rock by the entrance and sat. He had no intention of fighting Gwendolyn.

Frowning, the young woman joined him, sitting at his side. “What predicament?”

He shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the stone wall. He could almost hear the shouting of the armies that had once waged war over the stone structure, though it had been on Earth at the time. And it was a very long time ago. “How many innocents must die before the death of the elementals is justified? How many souls must be weighed before war is righteous?”

Gwen shook her head. “I wish I knew.”

“There is never an answer. It is the cost of wearing the crown.” The sky overhead was beautiful, the clouds lazily floating by. It looked like rain was amassing on the horizon, but it was hours away. “It is the weight you will carry upon your soul until the day it is taken from you. Do you understand?”

“I do. Everyone who dies at Mordred’s hand will die because of me. Because I set him free. But every innocent life that continues will be spared too. But that doesn’t make the death less important. Less terrible.” Letting out a ragged sigh, she put her head in her hands. “This fucking sucks.”

Chuckling, Galahad rubbed her back. He could gather her meaning well enough. “Yes. In that, you are not wrong.”

“Thank you for not treating me like a kid. Or a moron.”

“You are neither. You are young in years but not in heart. And you are no fool.”

Her smile was faint and faded quickly. “If I step in there, are you going to stop me?”

“No. I will not aid you, however. This, you must do alone.” He stood, feeling his age once more. His body was not a day older since he had set foot on Avalon. But his soul felt every second. “I will go gather my injured wife.”

“Tell her I’m sorry.” Gwen headed for the entrance.

“Are you?” He arched an eyebrow.

She paused in her steps briefly. “I’m sorry it happened.”

“Fair.” He watched as she disappeared into the ruins. He would not tell her where to go, or how to access the lake beneath the tomb. That was her journey. And she achieved the impossible, everywhere she went. She would find her own way.

War would be coming.

And now it seemed he had to choose between the woman he loved and his brother-in-arms.

It would be a long flight home.

Gwen was glad to be spared a knock-out fight with Galahad. She’d have a real problem hurting him. Both emotionally and physically. The Knight in Gold had left with a troubled, weary expression on his face. Zoe’s actions had shocked him, as had her motivations. He was going to have to go home and contend with all of that.

It would have been nice to have some company, and maybe some help, but she understood. Galahad was doing enough by letting her pass. The choice was hers to make, and so was the burden that would follow.

This was on her.

She was about to let out a rabid tiger. When it ate the countryside, it was her fault. Sure, Mordred was a grown man and could think for himself. But he’d made his intentions very clear.

Her jaw ticked as she walked into the ruins. A gust of wind rustled some of the dry leaves that had gathered in the corners of the rooms. She wished she could have seen it when it was in its prime—not just inside Mordred’s dreams. It must have been a wonder. Now, it was mossy and overgrown, the stones stained with rain and worn smooth with time. She stepped over a fallen beam as she headed deeper into the structure. She didn’t know where she was going. Not really.

Gwen turned the necklace over in her hand, running her thumb along the ridges of the iron shard. It reminded her of why she was there and that she wasn’t truly alone. Mordred was here. Trapped and suffering.

She wound her way deeper into the old castle. All the tapestries that must have adorned the walls were gone, long since eaten away by critters and destroyed by the weather. But the wooden rods that had held them up were still there, at least some of them. They hung at odd angles, but a few held on against all odds, the ropes that perched them there somehow having survived.

It took her minutes of wandering to find a doorway that went down into the basement. Whatever had covered the door was long gone, leaving the gaping chasm of darkness that was more than a little foreboding. She was going to a tomb, after all.

And then after that, a lake.

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