Knight Hunted (The Return of the Queen Book 1)

by L. A. Grant

  “It’s okay,” I said, not sure what else to say. He’d been holding so much grief that it had all been released in one moment of passion. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, and he stopped moving.

  His fingers released mine, and he looked at me, eyes resolute.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” he said, then gave me a thin grin, “I could use some fresh air.”

  I smiled, feeling satisfied in all the right ways. “That sounds lovely. But the others said I should stay in the tower, and that would keep me safe.”

  He took my hand and helped me up, his voice steady as he spoke.

  “You’ll be safe with me,” he whispered. “And there are roses in the courtyard I think you’ll love.”

  49

  Percy

  Arlena leaned in for a kiss, the flush of sex clinging to her cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat still covering her beautiful body. I kissed her, wanting to take her again. To push her against the wall. On the ground. On the bed again. I didn’t care. I just wanted to hold her.

  Now. Forever.

  Your oath will be tested.

  I made a joke and handed her her clothes. She looked disappointed, but threw them on, with the promise of more fun when we returned. She wanted me, too.

  Your oath will be tested.

  We stepped outside the room, the corridor blessedly empty, though for all I knew Merlin had magic enough to affect even Avalon. He’d probably sent that monster to get Hayden and Wane out of here. Where were they, anyway?

  It didn’t matter. They’d be fine. By the time it was all said and done, Arlena would be gone.

  Forever.

  Your oath will be tested.

  I walked down the stairs, trying not to look at her. But she took my hand, and I couldn’t help but hold it back. I wanted to take her. To love her. To stay by her side forever.

  I suddenly understood Lancelot, and that hurt, too. Because I was no better. Because I would give up everything to stay with Gwenhwyfar. To ride out into the night and out of this story. To abandon all the oaths of knighthood.

  Your oath will be tested.

  But I can’t. I gave my oath to Arthur. I gave my life to him. I was the last knight that stood. The one who could be trusted to bring Arthur and Excalibur to Avalon. The one who would bring Arthur back, some day.

  Your oath will be tested.

  She hesitated just as we were about to step out of the tower, but I turned back and smile reassuringly. She kissed me again. I tasted her, and how much she loves me. I understand why Arthur loved her. Why Lancelot threw everything aside for her.

  But I was not Lancelot. I was Percival. I stood when all others fell.

  I would not fail.

  I stepped outside, and she followed me, trusting. I brought her to the rosebushes, white blooms made silver by moonlight, and she smiled. But her smile turned to doubt as the shadows stirred and Merlin stepped out.

  Your oath will be tested.

  She took a step back. “You are not Merlin,” she said. I turned to her in surprise, then back to Merlin. His lips curled into a sneer.

  “I’m not,” Merlin answered, but in a different voice. A voice that sent a chill through my entire body, I called forth my sword.

  Morgana. Merlin’s image faded away and there she stood, raven-haired, ivory-cut cheeks, red lips like blood.

  My sword struck down, but before it connected, something sharp pounded my thigh and I collapsed.

  Arlena screamed and pulled me up. Something else struck my side, and I dropped my sword.

  Your oath will be tested.

  50

  Wane

  “I would be okay never taking another arrow again,” I groaned, staying near Hayden. The bear had collapsed under the many cuts and blows. My bow was gone. I didn’t dare shift – a falcon was great for target practice. And there was no way I was abandoning Hayden.

  Not now. Not ever.

  We’d managed to retreat into the tower, where Mordred and his goons couldn’t follow. Morgana’s magic must have hushed the sounds of battle and kept everyone in bed and away. She wouldn’t have been powerful enough back then, but her powers must have grown.

  Hayden groaned beside me, shifting a paw.

  “Hang on, old friend. We’ll find a way out of here.”

  Footsteps rang down the hallway near me, and I turned, ready to fight with my fists. Lance turned the corner, eyes darting from me to Hayden, his thin silver blade appearing in his hand.

  “What happened?” he gasped, walking up to me, eyes sharp. I clasped his hand in relief.

  “Mordred,” I said, “and Morgana.”

  “Arlena?” he asked.

  “We left her in the room. They sent a flying fury to draw us out. I doubt she’s still there.” Damn it damn it damn it. We should have sensed the trap. The witches would have dealt with the beast. They hadn’t because they couldn’t.

  What fools we’d been!

  “Go check her room,” Lance said, “I’ll go scout outside the tower.”

  “Lancelot,” I started to protest. It was a suicide mission. Chances were that Morgana was waiting there, and he was no match for her.

  “We all have paths to follow,” Lance said. “Now, go! And find help for Hayden!”

  He slipped out before I could protest.

  “Hang on, Galahad. I’ll be back,” I said, and made my way upstairs, as quickly as I could, knowing I would only find an empty room and shattered hopes.

  51

  Arlena

  I grabbed Percy, who had taken two arrows, and dragged him to the abbey. It was the only door not currently blocked. Mordred stepped out of the shadows, flanked by dark-clad knights. And that damn boar.

  “Come on,” I said to Percy as I pulled him up the stairs. He was bleeding so badly. If he shifted, he could heal, but I wasn’t sure how to get him to shift. I had to reach safety. Maybe the high priestess was in the abbey.

  Another wave of arrows came and I ducked to cover Percy. When none hit, I looked up. A magical shield seemed to cover the abbey.

  “Come on,” I said again, and pulled Percy as best I could.

  Morgana stepped forward and placed both hands on the shield, the entire thing crackling with energy.

  Please let someone see this and come help.

  The abbey didn’t have doors, simply an archway. I wished I could block it, but this place was pretty empty. A stone room with an altar in the middle.

  I dragged Percy to the altar. We could at least hide behind it.

  “Arlena,” Percy said, choking on blood.

  “Save your strength,” I said, and placed him behind the altar. He looked terrible. Blood clung to the silver of his hair, matting it down. He’d lost his sword, which was the only weapon we’d had.

  “I’ll find us a way out,” I said, the crackling energies outside growing in intensity. They’d gain access soon.

  I stood up and looked at the altar. Something was etched in it, a dragon holding a sword. Every sound dropped away as blood rushed to my ears, my fingers tracing the symbol. The trail of my fingertip turned bright red, a light shining from within the altar, the stone collapsing within. The red light turned white.

  The entire top of the altar had vanished, and a large sword rested there, red jewels encrusted in its hilt, a dragon claw made of gold clasping the perfect silver, glowing blade…

  “Excalibur,” I whispered, taking the blade in my hand. It wasn’t heavy, as though made for my grip. I held it up to see it better, realizing too late that the crackling sounds had ended.

  A bolt of power shot my way, blue like Morgana’s magic, and I instinctively blocked it with the sword. The blade absorbed it, and I turned it toward her, redirecting the magic. I missed, hitting the roof instead, which partly shattered under the blow.

  She meant business.

  But so did I.

  “Excalibur,” Morgana whispered, her eyes turning bright blue, all ten fingers extending toward me. I braced to take the blow
with the sword, but it was too much, and I was too unused to the magic. The blade flew out of my grasp and was flung behind me, and I collapsed near Percy.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Morgana mocked as she walked toward me. “I intended to drain the powers of Queen Gwenhwyfar, but this is a much better prize,” I looked at Percy, tears running freely from his eyes now as blood dribbled from the edge of his lips, breaths struggling to escape.

  She crouched near me, pushing a strand of red hair from my face. My head swam with anger and fatigue, my entire body aching from the blow. Morgana’s whisper sent a shiver down my spine. “Welcome back, King Arthur.”

  King Arthur.

  My name. From long ago. It rang in my head as true, settling over my weary heart, Excalibur silent on the ground, out of my reach.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to Percy, and slipped into darkness.

  52

  Percy

  Arthur!

  Arlena hadn’t been Gwenhwyfar. She’d been our king, come back disguised, hard to find. Come back as Arlena, whom we could all protect and love.

  Whom I’d betrayed.

  My body ached, but if I shifted, I might still be able to save her. I locked eyes on Morgana, who gently touched Arlena’s hair. I gritted my teeth, almost choking on my own blood. The moon shone down, the air was stifling, and the cry of the wolf wouldn’t obey me.

  I couldn’t shift.

  Morgana looked at me, pity in her eyes. I would eviscerate her.

  “What’s wrong, Percival? Having a hard time shifting? Tsk, tsk. Could you have betrayed your king?” She smiled. “Those pesky oaths.”

  Mordred stepped up to Arlena and smiled at his mother. He picked up Arlena. Took her in his arms, cradling her.

  They were taking her away.

  But Morgana was right. I’d betrayed Arlena.

  I’d betrayed Arthur.

  Your oath will be tested.

  And now I had to pay the price. First, with my powers.

  Then, with my life.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d given up my life for my kingdom. I just wished with all of my broken heart that I could have saved Arlena first.

  53

  Lance

  All eyes were on the altar when I arrived. I scanned the room quickly, grabbing as many details as possible. The boar stood near the altar, as did Mordred. He was holding Arlena, and she seemed unconscious, or dead.

  I turned my blade, slicing down two knights before they could scream. I took out another one as their bodies crumpled to the floor, quick-footed and unfaltering with my killing blows. For me to hesitate would mean my death.

  Two of the knights turned. I parried a blow and sliced off his head, using the momentum of that attack to cut the next one down.

  A familiar figure stood behind the altar.

  Morgana.

  She locked eyes with me for a single moment, then smiled that cold smile of hers.

  “Lancelot,” she mocked, “always just a moment too late to save the day.”

  She held up her hand and I screamed as they all vanished, carried away by her portal. I ran to where she’d been, my eyes wide at the sight of the shattered altar. Excalibur lay on the floor at the back of the room.

  “Arthur,” Percy gasped from behind the altar. “Arlena is Arthur.”

  His eyes closed and I knelt by him, checking his pulse. It was weak, but still there.

  “Don’t you dare die on me,” I grunted and picked him up, throwing him over my shoulders to carry him toward the tower. Towards the healing powers of Avalon’s witches. “Your job is to live long enough to save Arlena.”

  I glanced at Excalibur, then turned around to save Percy. It’s what Arlena would want. It’s what Arthur would have wanted.

  She’d hadn’t been Gwenhwyfar. I’d known it, deep down.

  Gwenhwyfar was gone. She’d died alone, after I’d left her. And she hadn’t returned to this time. Why would she?

  And now, Arlena was lost to me, too. I loved her. In a different way then I’d loved Gwenhwyfar, but just as strongly.

  And she was gone.

  My heart broke all over again, but I kept moving forward. I was growing used to the pain.

  I just hoped Percival would be able to fight through his, too.

  So that we could save Arlena, and bring her home, to claim her rightful throne as easily as she’d claimed our hearts.

  Epilogue: Arlena

  My hands were bound behind my back, and my feet were tied, too. My mouth tasted of copper, and my ears rang.

  “Welcome back,” Morgana said beside me, looking at me with interest. I had no idea where we were. I was on a table, I thought. Everything was foggy.

  “Where are we?” I said, then added weakly. “Let me go.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. She must have been beautiful, once. She still was, except for the cold hatred that burned in her eyes. “I’m so thrilled to have you. Scooped right out of Avalon. That’ll piss off Elaine. Plus,” she continued, as though gossiping with a girlfriend, “you freed Excalibur! That’s even more exciting. We can use that, too.”

  I swallowed hard. She’d gotten the sword. With me and Excalibur, what could she do, exactly? I wasn’t sure, but from the gleam in her eyes, it couldn’t be good.

  “You should probably know that your knights are dead,” she said, her voice flat. My breath caught in my throat, tears springing into my eyes. I forced them back. I would not give her the satisfaction.

  “So a rescue isn’t something you can count on,” she said. I swallowed hard, a tear burning down my cheek. “Cooperate, and I won’t hurt you.” She gently wiped the tear away, her touch like a slap, my tears vanishing as anger took over.

  “I will never cooperate with you,” I hissed, my eyes locked on hers. She didn’t seem surprised and just shrugged.

  “I didn’t miss you,” she simply said. “Now be a good queen, king, whatever, and come along.”

  A gag was shoved in my mouth and I was picked up unceremoniously, my legs and arms tied too tightly for me to even struggle.

  Not that it mattered. They were all dead. All four of them, bodies growing cold in Avalon.

  I wasn’t able to save you, but I will find a way to honor you. All of you.

  I’d make Morgana pay, and I’d reclaim the sword and kingdom that were rightfully mine. And then I’d grieve for the knights who’d died protecting me, in this life and the last.

  To be continued…

  Keep reading for a preview of Knight Taken,

  book 2 of The Return of the Queen Series

  Get a free short story about the Knight of the Bear, Hayden’s Calling!

  https://dl.bookfunnel.com/la0wupdg7g

  Lance

  The stairs led down to the dank dungeons below Avalon, a rarely used part of their castle.

  I understood more than any other knight of the Round Table how unfair and unkind the world could be. Born into a poor family, I’d fought my way to the top, only to fall in love with the one woman I shouldn’t have. I’d left this world fighting for my king, and was brought back to protect him, but without my powers.

  The dungeons were rarely used because the prisoners never lasted long. I pulled my blade free from its scabbard as I entered the deeper shadows.

  Neither would this one.

  When I thought Gwenhwyfar had returned, it made sense. I’d come back because of her. To protect her, to get a second chance at love.

  A real shot, without court or laws getting in my way, without oaths to betray. She’d been different, but still, I’d fallen in love with her.

  Only it wasn’t Gwen. It was Arthur, returned as Arlena.

  My heart broke at the thought that Gwenhwyfar hadn’t returned.

  And then Morgana had taken Arlena, and my heart shattered more than I’d ever thought possible.

  I lurked amongst the shadows, between dark, empty cells, rats scurrying away at my approach. I was alone down here, except for my prey. Knigh
ts don’t like to get their hands dirty, pursuing ideals of honor and chivalry.

  I was honorable, and I was chivalrous. But I was not a regular knight. I was an oathbreaker. And I could do what needed to be done.

  I stopped before the man chained to the back wall of the furthest cell, rats eyeing him like their next meal. Naked, stripped of armor and decency, like he’d stripped us of our liege. He deserved no better for being one of Mordred’s black knights.

  “Where did they take her?” I asked in a whisper. The head shifted, lolled up. A black eye tried to open but failed. He bled from several wounds, flies buzzing in them even this far beneath the earth.

  A slow rumble erupted from his chest, low laughter. “Do you think we’d tell you, Lancelot of the Lake, mighty betrayer of the crown?”

  I answered with my blade and jabbed his side, carving a piece of flesh. He cried out in pain.

  “We can do this quick, or we can do this slow,” I said, my voice a casual whisper. He bled, but not profusely. You could carve a lot of flesh before you hit a major organ or artery.

  “I’ll never tell,” he spat.

  I carved the side of his right thigh.

  “I’ll go between your thighs next time,” I said, as though selecting glassware in a store. Casual, uncaring, doing what needed to be done. “You’ve got lots of useless flesh just hanging there.”

  He spat near my feet, and I sliced, cutting the edge of his manhood. He screamed. I didn’t cut it off – he’d bleed out too quick.

  I needed answers, first.

  “Please,” he said, as though realizing for the first time that I wasn’t joking around.