Chapter 4

Chapter Four

LANCELOT

"Lance, wait!" Gwen's melodic voice rang out behind me, stopping me where I stood. I drew in a deep breath, steeling myself before turning to face her. I’d just finished my evening patrol and was due at the table, but I had a feeling I was going to be later than I expected.

She approached, golden hair shimmering in the fading light. The sight of her beauty, once welcomed after a rough day, now only served to twist the knife of guilt deeper into my chest.

"Lady Gwenevere," I nodded. “What brings you out so late?"

"I had to see you." Her blue eyes searched mine imploringly as she came to a winded stop, breathing heavily. "We've hardly spoken in days.”

I averted my gaze, unable to bear the hope and longing reflected in her eyes. The words I had rehearsed turned to ash on my tongue. How was I supposed to crush the heart of this kind woman who wanted nothing more than for me to love her as much as she loved me?

"Gwen... You knew what this was before it began. I never led you to believe otherwise.” Every word was another knife. I could see each one of them slicing into her. Tears gathered in her eyes.

"I don't understand. Have I done something to offend you? Lance, I’m so?—”

I turned, cutting her off before she could beg me not to leave. Taking in a deep breath, I looked up at the castle, at the flickering glow of the windows that dotted the towers.

"I warned you from the start," I said as I slowly faced her again. "I am not a man who believes in love. When I took you to my bed, it was with the mutual understanding that I could walk away at any moment. No strings, no expectations. You agreed to that."

She flinched as if I had struck her. "But I thought...I thought things had changed between us. The way you looked at me, the way you held me..."

"You saw what you wanted to see. I’m not the man you want me to be, Gwen. We both know I’ll never be him. I treated you well. The way a man ought to treat the woman in his bed, but if you imagined anything beyond that, then I’m sorry, but that’s not my fault."

She took a step back, her hand pressed to her heart as if to keep it from shattering. Tears streamed down her face. As hard as it was to see her tears, every word out of my mouth was the truth. I didn’t love Gwen. I liked her, sure. Even considered her a friend. But my feelings had never gone beyond fondness.

A pair of amber brown eyes, long chestnut curls, and a smirk that made my entire body heat flashed in my mind for the briefest moment. I shook her away, running my hand down my face. Now wasn’t the fucking time.

"You deserve so much more than I can ever give you. You deserve a man who will love you with his entire being, who will cherish you and treat you like the treasure you are. That man isn't me."

I paused, letting my words sink in. The evening breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle, a cruel reminder of the sweetness that life could offer, but not for me. I was a man haunted by my own demons, unable to give myself fully to another.

"I know it hurts now, but in time, you'll see that this is for the best. You have so much love to give, Gwen. Don't waste it on someone who can't return it." Gwen's tears glistened in the moonlight. "From this moment forward, there can be nothing between us but friendship.”

I watched as Gwen's face crumpled. She backed away from me, shaking her head like she no longer recognized me. She turned and fled, her sobs echoing through the courtyard. The sight of her retreating form, golden hair streaming behind her, sent a pang of guilt through my chest. I knew I had hurt her deeply, but it was a necessary pain. Better to cut ties now than to let her cling to false hope. In the end, I was fae, and she was human. It was a match doomed from the start.

With a heavy sigh, I turned and strode towards the castle, my boots echoing against the cobblestones. The weight of the night hung over me like a dark cloud, but I pushed the feeling aside. I had more pressing matters to attend to.

The round table stood at the center of the war room. My fellow knights were already seated, their faces bored. I took my place, nodding as I settled into the chair.

"Forgive me," I said with a sigh as Galahad slid a goblet of wine my way and I grabbed it gratefully. "I was unavoidably detained." I winced and couldn’t even attempt to hide it.

Gawain leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his steel-gray eyes. "Unavoidably detained, eh? Let me guess, a certain golden-haired maiden needs consoling after you broke her pretty heart?"

I shot him a withering glare, but it only seemed to fuel his amusement. Galahad, ever the peacemaker, placed a calming hand on my shoulder. "What Gawain means to say is that we understand, Lance. It's never easy to let someone down, especially someone as kind-hearted as Gwen."

I grunted, taking a long swig of the rich, full-bodied wine. The warmth spread through my chest, easing some of the tension that had settled there. "It had to be done. Better to get it done now, before things become complicated."

Gawain chuckled. "Well, look on the bright side. With Gwen out of the way, you're free to pursue other... interests ." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and I felt a flush creep up my neck.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I growled, but the memory of those amber eyes and chestnut curls flashed through my mind once more. I shook my head, trying to dispel the image.

Tristan's silver eyes suddenly flashed an eerie, glowing white that contrasted strikingly with his deep, night colored skin. The room fell silent as we all turned to stare at him, the air suddenly heavy with tension. I felt a chill run down my spine as I watched him, his body rigid and his face contorted in a mask of concentration.

Tristan hailed from the Unseelie Court of Avalon, from a long line of seers and mind magic. There might even be a bit of druid blood in his line, but we weren’t sure.

The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Galahad and Gawain exchanged worried glances, but I kept my gaze fixed on Tristan. I'd seen him have visions before, and it ever failed to make me uneasy.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the glow faded from Tristan's eyes. He blinked, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight had been lifted from them. His gaze darted around the room, taking in our concern.

"What did you see?" Percy asked.

Tristan inhaled deeply, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Mordred," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I saw Mordred."

The name hung in the air like a curse, sending a ripple of unease through the room.

Gawain leaned forward abruptly. "What about that bitch?"

Tristan shook his head. "She was in a dark place, and all I could hear was the sound of hundreds of crows. She was in pain. Screaming, but there was no sound coming from her lips.”

Dread filled me instantly and sobered every knight in the room. Mordred was dangerous, and Uther had let her run amok in Camelot for far too long before her exile. She craved the throne and would stop at nothing to get it, even going so far as to use dark magic to force the sword from the stone and steal it for herself.

If Tristan was seeing her in his visions, then it meant nothing good for us.

Nothing good for Arthur either.