“Her usual methods will not be of much use here,” he continued. “However, Merlin is particularly susceptible to beautiful young women.” Inwardly, Mordred winced the moment he said the words.
Nyneve prowled closer, something cruel and irresistible moving into her expression. “You find me beautiful?” she asked mockingly.
He offered her the same smile he had on the tilt field: slow, sly, predatory. The same smile that supposedly sent chills down others’ spines made the exposed skin of Nyneve’s chest flush. How interesting.
“I could extol your virtues for many, many hours,” he replied, letting his voice drop low and rough. “But you wished to hear the queen’s proposition, not mine. Should I continue, or do you wish to find other pleasures?”
Time stood still for a moment, just the faerie knight and the Druid girl in the garden. Though no song slipped between the willow tree’s boughs, Mordred felt the pluck of his Threads all the same, Fate’s nearness sudden and oppressive.
“The queen’s request,” Nyneve said, her words breaking the moment. “Tell me.” Her voice came out strained, uneven.
He bowed his head like he was nothing but a simple, chivalrous knight. “She believes Merlin will be most interested in you, thanks to your beautyandyour power,” he continued. “If you put yourself in a position to weaponize those wiles, and bring the queen information she might use to dislodge the sorcerer from Arthur’s side...”
Nyneve narrowed her eyes at him, but her response was quick. “And then?” she demanded, a sharp hunger in her voice, edged with a desperation someone like her should never feel.
“Then,” Mordred said, drawing the word out, “she would be willing to supply you with land, coin, and a stronger title.”
All the tension went out of Nyneve’s body. Her shoulders slumped, and she rolled her eyes at him. “You mean she would marry me off into a higher station?” she demanded, her voice rising in frustration.
Mordred shook his head solemnly. “No,” he replied. “Well, yes. On paper. But your husband would be fictitious, his lands and gold entirely yours. You would have the few freedoms afforded to a married woman in this kingdom, but without the prison of his touch or his desire for heirs.”
Silence cloaked the garden. Nyneve stood still as a statue, but her eyes were fervent as she held his gaze. If only he could understand the thoughts behind those eyes, all the cleverness and calculations.
“I will consider this offer from the queen, Sir Mordred,” Nyneve eventually said, crossing her arms. “But I do require time to think.”
“Of course. Simply find me when you have arrived at a decision. Find me for any reason at all, really,” he said.
“How generous of you, Sir Mordred,” Nyneve replied, though she kept her arms crossed. “I fear I would prefer for you to never cross my path again.”
“You wound me, Lady Nyneve,” Mordred replied, pressing one hand to his chest, just over his heart. “Who else do you intend to play these games with? I hardly think another in Camelot’s court would be capable of inspiring such bloodlust in you.”
“I am not playing games, Sir Mordred,” she said evenly, lifting her chin. “Women of my status do not have such luxuries.”
For a moment, he almost said something true. Something that would shatter his carefully crafted facade and call into question the convenient opinion Nyneve had formed of him. Instead, Mordred hardened his expression and merely shrugged. “All the more reason to accept the queen’s offer.”
“I suppose,” Nyneve drawled as she took a step away from the willow, back toward the courtyard, “if Ididaccept, you and I would be seeing much more of each other, yes?”
He didn’t move, but she surely felt his gaze tracking her across the stone pathway. “It is likely, yes,” he said, “given I am the Queen’s Champion.”
“Hmph,” was all Nyneve said, taking another few steps toward the path that led back to the main courtyard.
Far too late, Mordred heard a group of men, stumbling with drunkenness, turn around a corner, their raucous laughter shattering the cool night. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he watched one of them sight Nyneve, a hungry expression on his face. Cold rage twisted in his gut when he realized it was Sir Oran.
Nyneve had frozen, her fingers closing around that hidden dagger of hers, as Mordred arrived at her side. He entwined his arm in hers before she had time to remember she detested him. Then he took her wrist and placed it atop his forearm, the proper way for a knightly escort to walk beside a lady.
“Your Highness wanted you to see the inner gardens,” Mordred said loudly, playacting as though he had not noticed the noblemen. Nyneve certainly had, her limbs stiff and frozen, half in fear, half in fury. “Though it is mostly an ornamental space, it does connect to the kitchen gardens. A few medicinal herbs are grown here in large quantities, should Galen’s plot ever need to be supplemented.”
At the sound of his voice, the men, too much like a roving pack of hounds for his taste, averted their gazes and rounded the corner away from them. He felt her let out a long breath before glancing up at him.
“Appreciated,” Nyneve said, a bit begrudgingly. “Though I’m not sure why you think I need your knightly rescues.”
Mordred sighed, suddenly exhausted by every moment he suffered under the weight of the prophecy, the glamour, the lies. “I do not for a moment think you need anyone to keep you safe,” he replied. “But working magic a stone’s throw from Merlin, within his reinforced wards, did not seem like a viable plan. Nor did using that dagger tucked under your skirts. Not everyone is as eager for the bite of your blade as I am.”
She stared straight ahead, her teeth clenched. “Is Merlin not meant to fall to my knees in part because of my magic?” she demanded. “Why should it matter if he senses it now?”
“Nyneve,” Mordred said slowly, surprised by her seemingly genuine confusion. “You are meant to entice him. Enchant him. Not blatantly display that you are his superior.”
She slammed to a halt, whipping her head to stare up at him. Her mouth opened, but for a long moment, no words came out.“Y—you don’t...” she began, pressing her lips together for a moment before continuing, her mask back in place. “You don’tactuallybelieve I am superior to the most powerful sorcerer in this land. But it is a good attempt at flattery.”
