Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4)

by Cassandra Gannon

  “All the young died by your sword?” Trystan sounded skeptical. “I doubt that. Your memory of that day plays tricks on you.”

  “I didn’t kill them directly, but it was my fault.”

  “How many children did you kill with your own hand?”

  Galahad hesitated. “Technically, I guess… none.”

  “None.” Trystan’s eyes glinted in satisfaction, like he’d just proven himself right. “How many of the old and sick did you kill? You yourself?”

  He wasn’t getting it. “None. But, Trystan, I was…”

  “How many women?”

  “None. Alright? That’s not the point, though.”

  “How many men did you kill that day?”

  “Why are you so focused on numbers? What do they prove? Even one was too many.”

  Trystan grunted, like that was debatable. “Sometimes you must do what is necessary. I killed a man this morning. I do not dwell on it.”

  “You killed two men this morning.” He arched a brow at Trystan’s blank stare. “The guy by that big rock.”

  “Oh. Him? He does not count.” Trystan waved the dead guy aside in a typical show of Trystan logic. “I am saying that warriors often kill each other. You were on the wrong side of the battle, but your guilt over this is…”

  Galahad interrupted him. “It wasn’t a battle. It was murder. And it was my fault.” His voice rose. “That entire town burned before my eyes, and the children died in the grass, and it was all my fucking fault.” His words echoed through the night.

  Fingers brushed through his hair, comforting him when he didn’t deserve it. Galahad leaned into Trystan’s palm and felt his defenses crumbling at the gentle touch. He hadn’t spoken of Legion since the official inquest. As much as he didn’t want Trystan to know about that day, the words began to pour out of him.

  “The slaughter of it was… unbelievable, Trys.” He closed his eyes. “People ran, and my men just kept firing, and the flames kept spreading. And it was like I was frozen, just watching it all happen. I can see it all again, every time I close my eyes. Every knight there was to blame, but especially me.”

  Trystan’s head tilted. “So, no knights acted honorably?”

  “No.”

  “Not even Bedivere?”

  “No.”

  Trystan made a frustrated sound. “They built a statue to Bedivere’s bravery. You know this, yes? Now you tell me it is all a lie.” He paused. “That bronze monstrosity will come down, as soon as I return to Camelot.”

  “What good will that do? People will still believe what they want.”

  “It will improve the look of the courtyard, for starters.”

  Galahad shook his head. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I just have to try and make amends, for that day. That’s all that matters, now. I have to live a life of truth and peace. You see that, right?”

  Trystan’s hand continued to caress Galahad’s hair. “I see that Legion was not your doing. It was perhaps not even Perceval and Bedivere’s, as terrible as they were. It was Uther who sent you all there and Uther who gave the commands. Leave him behind you. That is how you will heal.”

  His voice was like a balm. The timbre of it and the accent soothed Galahad somehow. Just listening to it pushed some of the darkness away.

  “I’d followed Uther since I was a boy. I loved him like a father. I truly did.” Galahad blinked hard against the stinging in his eyes. “…And now I hate him. I hate what he did to me and to the world. What kind of son hates his father?”

  “A son whose father is a monster.”

  “Can you ever stop loving your parent, though? Even when you discover they’re twisted and wrong? Can you just turn that off? Ordinary people can’t, right? I think it’s the Badness in me.”

  “You are far beyond ordinary. And whatever Badness is in you, it is a drop in the ocean of your Goodness. And Uther was not your father.”

  “In my heart, he was. That’s my point. Uther… shaped me.” Once Galahad began talking, it was like uncorking a bottle. “Lyrssa carried him away, but his ideas and teachings are still somewhere inside of me. Recruits for the Knights’ Academy are taken from their real parents when we’re young. I barely remember mine. In all the ways that matter, Uther is my father.” He paused. “Maybe I do still love him, down deep. Would that be worse or better?”

  Trystan’s comforting hand hesitated in Galahad’s hair, ignoring the question. “Your parents did not come back to that school to visit you?”

  “No. They sometimes promised to, but they always had other plans. More important places to go. I’m not someone who people changed their plans for.”

  In Camelot, there were few things that would help you climb the social ladder faster than having an offspring selected for training into knighthood. In his shadowy recollections, Galahad saw his parents as proud strangers, waving him off as he left home. Honored that their son had been chosen for greatness, because it would help their own status. More interested in the glory he’d bring to the family name than in the actual child, crying to stay at home with them.

  Maybe he hated them, too.

  Trystan drew in a deep breath, like he was trying to calm himself. “The Knights’ Academy is an abysmal system for training warriors.” He decided. “The entire school will be immediately changed. Children must be raised with care or they become damaged.”

  No shit.

  “When I was very small, I had this fantasy where my parents would come to the Knights’ Academy and demand to have me back.” He looked at Trystan. “Would your parents have come to save you from the zoo, if they’d been alive?”

  “Yes.” The word was certain.

  “I’m glad.” Galahad said honestly. “I’m so glad you had that, Trys. I wish my parents had been like yours. For years, I thought maybe they’d miss me so much, that they’d take me back home. But they didn’t. They died before I graduated and I never…” He trailed off with a sigh. “Anyway, by that time I’d replaced them with Uther and Camelot and being a King’s Man. I followed everything they taught me. Did everything he asked. Why did I do that?”

  “Because if you were successful enough, and Good enough, and won enough, you hoped you would be wanted. If you never fail, perhaps you will not be forgotten by those who should care for you.”

  Galahad looked at him sharply.

  Trystan arched a brow.

  Shit.

  Galahad sighed. “In my head, it seems more complicated and less pathetic.”

  “It is not pathetic to desire a clan. You said yourself that Uther was your surrogate father. You wished to make him proud of you. To win his praise and affection, so he would value you as a son. He used that desire against you.”

  “That’s all the more reason I can’t ever be a man who would follow Uther, again. I can’t ever be like him.”

  “Your concern over this is pointless. You are not like the dead king. His teachings did not warp you.”

  “You’re so sure, huh?” Galahad certainly wasn’t.

  “Yes. If you were like Uther, you would not dream of the past with pain and regret. You would remember it would thirst.”

  Galahad snorted. There was very little in his past worth remembering, at all. He spent most days trying to forget his life even happened.

  “You wouldn’t care about buying a magic carpet for Avalon, either.” Trystan continued. “Keeping your word to her would mean nothing.”

  Galahad shrugged. He would give up both his lungs for his goddaughter, so buying her a gift seemed like a very small thing.

  Trystan paused for a beat. “And you certainly wouldn’t wait for a gryphon’s consent, if you desired his body. You would scheme to take what you want by force and my wishes would be meaningless.”

  That possibility had never occurred to Galahad. Not even once. “I would never hurt you, Trystan.” He would die first, without even a moment’s hesitation. “It’s my job to protect you.”

  “I know you believe this. Wou
ld Uther ever seek to protect another?”

  Galahad blinked. No. The old king hadn’t cared about anyone. Not Galahad or Arthur or Avi or the people of Camelot. Just himself.

  Trystan rubbed a lock of Galahad’s hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Uther was a monster.” He repeated. “You are not. I would not lie to you about such a thing, knight. I also try to live a life of truth.”

  Whether it was because of the bluntness of his words or his reasonable tone, Galahad felt strangely comforted by that promise. Maybe it was just Trystan himself, being so close to him, that brought peace. Jesus, the man was flawless inside and out. Galahad didn’t want to recall the nightmare, anymore. He wanted something else. Something beautiful and clean.

  He wanted Trystan.

  Galahad looked up at him, his body super-charged with sudden need. “Speaking of desiring you, are you ready to say ‘yes,’ yet?” He asked abruptly. “I’ve been seducing you for days.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You are not ready.”

  “Yes, I am. You’re the one who wants to wait. Sex was my idea, for Christ’s sake.”

  “No, you are wounded and need comfort. It is not the same thing as desiring a mating. I would be taking advantage of you and you are in my care.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I mind.”

  “Shit.” Galahad banged his head back, frustrated but unsurprised. Trystan really was an angel. Gray areas didn’t exist for him. There was just honor. “Well, could you go back over there in the dark, then? Looking at you is making some things worse for me.”

  Trystan’s eyes went down to the huge bulge in the front of Galahad’s pants.

  Galahad arched a brow at him. “See?”

  “I do not want to be in the dark, either.” Trystan said quietly. “I would prefer to stay in the light with you.”

  Christ, he was really hard. It was painful. Trystan got that this was painful, right? “What if you just untied one of my hands?” He tried. “Then I can fix my problem and…”

  “I could fix it for you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Lyrssa refused to give Uther the graal, he brought in Igraine to curse her. The sorceress was born Good, but used very wicked spells. She cursed Lyrssa to known Uther’s pain.

  To never be able to have more children.

  But she went farther than Uther’s condition and ensured that the gryphon would have no young to raise.

  No births. No adoptions. No surrogates.

  No one to carry our stories.

  Like a disease, this curse slowly spread outwards. At first, a few were effected, then a few more. Eventually, it was all gryphons who bore the weight of the spell. We tried many ways to get around the terrible words of it, but nothing worked. Our adoption rituals did not seal. Our women did not become pregnant. Our male’s seed was dead as soon as it was spilled.

  There was nothing we could do except hand over the graal. And we could never hand over the graal.

  How the Wingless War Happened

  Skylyn Welkyn- Gryphon Storyteller

  Pellinore Foothills- West of Ted-ville

  Galahad stopped short at Trystan’s calm offer. “Huh?”

  “I will not mate with you tonight, but I also do not wish to witness your suffering.” Trystan declared, like he was the soul of consideration. “I will get no sleep, knowing I am not caring for you properly. Besides, you’ve claimed me, yes?” He asked that a lot, like he wasn’t sure Galahad really meant it.

  “Yes. I claim you.” Trystan was everything to him. It was that simple and that complicated.

  “I do not claim you, yet.”

  Yet.

  Galahad suppressed a victorious smirk at the word. Trystan was still planning on claiming him, despite everything. That was enough. “I can wait.” He assured him.

  Trystan’s eyes lingered on Galahad’s triumphant grin and he sighed in something like surrender. “When you get that wicked smile on your face, I see your mind working in all kinds of Bad ways and I am… lost.”

  “I noticed that. It’s working out great, for me.” Galahad nodded, enthusiasm for this plan rising. “Can you start ‘easing’ me now? I promise, I will smile at you a lot, both during and afterwards.”

  Trystan’s mouth almost seemed to curve. “I have no idea how you’ve stayed a virgin. It certainly wasn’t by playing hard-to-get.”

  “It was simple, actually. Things just have to feel true for me to seduce a guy and they only feel true with you. Cuts way down on who I let ‘deflower’ me.”

  Trystan’s gaze met his. “I am not complaining that you refuse all others, but it seems remarkable that casualties have not resulted. If you chose to seduce another like this, I would wage war on the man. And I’m good at war. I would win and he would die.” It was a warning. “You understand this path goes only one way?”

  “You’re the only direction I’m heading, Trys. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Gryphons do not worry.” His hand went to the front of Galahad’s pants, finding the pulsating erection under the fabric. Rubbing in some magical way that made Galahad think of beautiful things, again. “We don’t have to worry.”

  “Oh my God…” Galahad breathed in awe.

  Trystan made a pleased sound. “So, you need me to care for this, yes?”

  Galahad lived a life of truth, so he didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely fucking yes.”

  Trystan’s eyes gleamed, as the size of the bulge increased. “Never with another man.” His tone was arrogant. “But look how ready you are for me. Perhaps I am seducing you.”

  “Perhaps I just like you more than everyone else.” It was a massive understatement.

  “I think you like that I have you captured like this. The uniqueness of being at someone’s mercy often interests warriors. We like to take and, sometimes, we also like to be taken.”

  Crazily, he did like that. All his life, Galahad had had to be the strongest and the most aggressive in order to rise. He liked that Trystan was so dominant. So completely sure of himself and so totally Good. Galahad might fall into darkness again, but Trystan never would. He liked the feeling of safety that gave him.

  Plus, he just kind of liked being tied up.

  Galahad lay there helplessly, as Trystan’s free hand began removing his shirt. The buttons gave way under his nimble fingers and the whole experience was glorious. Trystan exposed the bare skin of Galahad’s chest, his palm spreading wide over the surface. Rubbing against the thick muscles, like he was claiming Galahad’s body as his own. Galahad was sure as hell not fighting that idea.

  He instinctively tried to move his arms, wanting to pull Trystan even closer, but his hands were still bound above his head. He made a frustrated sound, even as the restraints enflamed him further. Trystan’s fingers skimmed over his nipple and Galahad’s whole body jerked. He’d had no idea that would be so sensitive.

  “Trys…” His voice was thick and needy.

  Trystan made a soothing sound, dipping his head. “It’s alright.” His lips encircled the tight bud. “You will come quickly the first time. Just let it happen. It’s what we both want.”

  Galahad could barely think. His body yielded to Trystan’s touch, pressing against his hands. Needing more.

  “That’s it.” Trystan’s teeth scraped against the opposite nipple. “Give yourself to me. I will take such good care of you.”

  “I know you will.” Galahad didn’t want to miss any of this. He craned his neck to watch Trystan’s tongue lap at his skin, shivering at the sensation and the erotic sight. “Did I ever tell you that you look like an angel?” He got out. “Because you really, really do.”

  Trystan began slowly popping open the buttons of Galahad’s pants with his other hand. “An angel?”

  “Yeah.” Galahad tried to focus on his words, so he didn’t come right then and there. “You know, technically, I still own a production company and a bunch of shows. Not just my shows.
Other ones.”

  “I know.” Trystan lifted his head. “You also own several art galleries, a string of bookstores that only seem to sell coffee drinks, a robotics manufacture which creates artificial limbs for amputees, the most successful thoroughbred horse farm in the world, and an eco-conscious bicycle shop. All of them, somehow, turn a profit. You are talented at starting businesses.” He rolled his eyes. “And yet you still have no money.”

  Galahad smiled, slightly distracted by that rundown. “You memorized my whole resume?”

  “I learned all I could about you before my search. No one could memorize the whole of your resume, though. It would be like memorizing a phonebook full of impossible lunacy, shiny awards, and TV ratings.”

  “Hey, my ratings are always awesome. That’s easy to memorize. And if you ever want a job on a television series, I could get you one in like two minutes. For real. Take your pick. It’s not nepotism. Casting agents will adore you. I…” He trailed off with a gasp, as Trystan undid the last button and tugged his pants down. “Oh God, I adore you.”

  Galahad’s aching staff broke free of the confining fabric. The tip was already weeping. Trystan looked smug, as he took in the size of the erection he’d caused. Galahad was too far gone to feel embarrassed by his need.

  “Hurry.” He begged.

  Trystan didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. “I do not wish to be on TV.” He murmured, like they were having a normal conversation. He studied the hard flesh he’d uncovered with devouring eyes, but he didn’t end Galahad’s torment by touching him. “Honestly, I would prefer writing the show to acting in it. I enjoy stories. I have many ideas to improve your strange programs and help children learn valuable skills.”

  “Like how to behead all the puppets.” Galahad swallowed. “I remember.”

  “Not all of the puppets. Only the weak and pathetic ones, who cannot fight back.”

  Despite his current situation, Galahad laughed at that. There was no way to stop it. The man was just so… Trystan.

  Trystan’s mouth twitched upward, as if he was pleased that he’d made Galahad happy. It was a smile. The emotion was right there on his face. It wasn’t just in Galahad’s imagination.