Marc knew what he needed to do.
Morgaine picked up Excalibur, a pretentious, wicked grin stretched across her face. “Finally, Arthur’s son is dead and Excalibur is mine.”
She looked over at Marc as he leaned against the wall. He looked past her toward Trystan as the witch approached him.
“Your love for him made you weak. Now, with your death, there will be no one left to challenge my rule.”
Marc struggled to his feet. Tired and worn, he braced himself with his hands on his knees, bent over. He watched her carefully as she moved closer.
Morgaine couldn’t let the Prince regain any of his strength. She walked swiftly toward him, the sword raised above her head with two hands, then vanished into a puff of smoke. She reappeared at Marc’s side, the blade already in a downward motion.
“Off with your head,” Morgaine growled.
As the sword came down from behind him, Marc dropped to one knee and rolled his body into Morgaine, pushing her off balance. As she fell backward, Morgaine leaned forward over the Prince, still clutching the grip of the sword in both hands.
Marc reached up over his shoulder, grabbed the hilt, and pried Excalibur from her grip. As he did, he thought only of his promise—his love for Trystan. A pale green aura emanated from the markings etched in the blade. Marc turned the sword and brought it around and underneath him, plunging the point of the legendary weapon deep into Morgaine’s belly.
Morgaine staggered backward as Marc withdrew the sword.
One foot at a time, Marc stood and turned to face her.
Morgaine stumbled to the ground, one hand over the wound in her stomach. She leaned on her other arm and attempted to drag herself away from Marc. Blood covered her hand and soaked the cloth of her dress. Her jaw dropped for a moment before she clenched her teeth.
“Blood magic, but the heir is dead. How can this be?” she growled, angry, confused, and in pain all at once. The powerful magic of Excalibur moved through her body, eating away at her blackened soul.
“Because Excalibur draws its power from the love in one’s heart and the nobility of one’s soul.” Marc slowly advanced toward her.
“But I took that away from you.”
“For a brief moment, you did, but death does not destroy love and I realized I had a choice. I could give up or I could fight for what I believed in.” He paused for a moment. “Your reign of terror is at an end, Morgaine.”
Marc stood over her as she writhed in pain from Excalibur’s sting. With mustered strength, he plunged the sword through her middle until it met with the earth beneath her. The markings on the sword glowed brightly.
An intensifying light emanated from under her skin, streaking in all directions. Illuminating her from within until, in an explosion of white and green, Morgaine burst into flames. Within seconds, the flames died, leaving only ashes.
