Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4)

by Cassandra Gannon

  “I do not look at it that way.” Trystan scoffed.

  “Kill Marcus tomorrow.” Galahad went on. “He deserves it. Anyone who hurts you should be wiped off the face of the world. I believe that with everything in me. But, don’t ever regret what happened to you, because this path was the right one. It led you to the people who needed you most.”

  Trystan considered that. “You also would have died without me saving you from smoke inhalation with the pigs. And at the snake tomb. And with Solomon Grundy. And many other times, had I not been there.”

  Galahad rolled his eyes, much like his normal self. “Nah.” He sat on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes. “I would’ve been okay on my own. I always am.”

  “You would have died.” Trystan repeated. “And I would have lost all of my clan, without even knowing you.”

  The knight seemed surprised. “You consider me part of your clan?”

  Did Galahad not understand that? How could he miss it? It wasn’t as if Trystan had been subtle. Everyone in Lyonesse had noticed that Galahad was his and St. Ives was going to find out real damn quick. The first person who looked at the man wrong would go through a goddamn wall. It was absolute lunacy that Trystan now had to explain what was already so blatantly obvious.

  “Of course you are part of my clan.” Trystan crossed to stand in front of him. “You are in my care. I have told you this.” If he gave Galahad some clearer reassurances, perhaps it would ease the knight’s mind and bring him closer, again. “You are an indispensable part of my life, now and forever.”

  Some of the distance faded from Galahad’s gaze. “I consider you my family, too, Trys. No matter what happens between us, that won’t change.”

  Galahad had never had a real family. For him to say such a thing was important. Still the phrasing of his pledge seemed wrong. Why would anything change between them? “I am content with our…” Shit, what was the wingless word for “mating?” “With our relationship, just as it is.” Trystan decided. “Are you content?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Relief filled him. “So, do not forge another ‘relationship’ while I go off to kill my enemies and all will be well.” He ran a hand over Galahad’s shimmery hair and was pleased when the man didn’t move away. “Once I return, I would only have to kill that male, too. And his grisly death would no doubt trouble you.”

  He said that ridiculous idea lightly, but Galahad seemed to take it in a serious way.

  “Well, hang on… Hypothetically, if I met another man, you couldn’t just breeze back into town and hurt him, Trys.”

  Trystan blinked at him, trying to catch up. “…What?” Galahad had never once indicated an interest in anyone else. Until this moment, he’d claimed that only Trystan would do for him. Fireworks of panic, and possession, and fury detonated inside of Trystan’s skull, all at once, making it hard to think. “Wait, what?”

  “It wouldn’t be right for you to target a totally innocent guy, just because I’m sleeping with him.” Galahad reiterated, sounding perturbed by the suggestion. “I mean, if you left, we’d have to rethink the idea that we’re dating exclusively. We’d obviously agree to see other people…”

  “I would not agree to that! Why would I agree to that?”

  Galahad kept talking. “…So, you couldn’t then return to Camelot and kill whatever poor guy I chose. It wouldn’t be fair”

  What the fuck…? Trystan gave his head a clearing shake. It didn’t help. “Fair?”

  “Theoretically, if I cared for someone enough to sleep with him…”

  Trystan cut him off, again. “You cannot care for another male, when you have already claimed me!” Was Trystan losing his mind? How was that not the most sensible thing in the world?

  “Isn’t there a gryphon rule for this situation?” Galahad asked, because he was always asking the most insightful goddamn questions at the worst possible times. “There must be. When a gryphon leaves the person who’s claimed them, the one who’s been abandoned must be allowed to move on, right?”

  Certainly, there was such a rule, but Trystan didn’t give a troll’s ass. “I will not be abandoning you, so what does it matter?”

  Galahad’s eyes narrowed slightly. “If you left me for who-knows-how-long to do who-knows-what, technically I’d be free to find somebody else.” He wasn’t willing to fight about Trystan’s mission, but he would stand firm on his philosophical right to seduce strange men. It was infuriating. “It’s hard for me to imagine finding anybody else, obviously. But, for arguments sake, if I did, it wouldn’t be cheating.”

  It wasn’t hard for Trystan to imagine Galahad finding another man, at all. Within moments of Trystan’s departure any number of wingless, do-Gooding artists would be lining up for the knight to choose from. One might even be Galahad’s True Love, who he would share his deepest thoughts with, and rely on without reservation, and willingly fight for.

  P’don. P’don. P’don.

  “I mean, the same freedoms would apply to you, obviously.” Galahad went on, like that made any kind of difference. “Historically speaking, the odds are a lot higher that you’d meet someone, than I would. Once you were out in the world, you’d probably thank me for making this easier on you.” He gave a contemptuous snort. “But that’s really not helping me make my point, so we won’t dwell on it.”

  Trystan tried to translate that bullshit. “You believe I’ll thank you for bedding another male behind my back?”

  “I’m not actually going to meet anyone else.” Galahad said tiredly, like Trystan was the one being irrational. “I wouldn’t even want to. You don’t just start dating other men, once you’ve found your…” He broke off and waved a hand. “Forget it. We’re way out in the weeds here, because, as usual, you want to get bogged down in semantics.”

  “How is it semantics that you plan to bed other men? You literally said these words.”

  “I did not say that! Jesus, it’s an abstract debate, Trystan.”

  “Abstract?” Trystan echoed suspiciously.

  “Yes.” Galahad ran a hand through his hair. “Focus on the cause-and-effect relationships of this plan, because I’m trying to make it clear what you’re really suggesting here. I’m using hyperbolic examples of how events might play out, if we followed this path you’re advocating. Understand?”

  “Believe me. I am very clear on how events will play out.”

  If another male touched Galahad, Trystan would kill the son of a bitch. That was clear as a cloudless sky. Trystan had already claimed this man. That had been clear since nearly the first day they met. Galahad was his mate, given to him by the gods and secure in Trystan’s care. No one was stealing his goddamn mate, while Trystan still breathed.

  Very. Fucking. Clear.

  Bellowing any of those extremely clear facts would do nothing to achieve his goals, though. The knight was already on the verge of vanishing. One clumsy grab would send him dissipating into the mist forever.

  “I would have your promise that you’ll wait for me.” He got out in a semi-normal tone. It might have been an “abstract” discussion in the knight’s mind, but Trystan needed some concrete reassurances. “Now, Galahad.”

  He sighed. “It’d be better if we don’t have any promises like that. When people promise to come back and don’t… It leads to hard feelings. I would never want that between us, Trys.”

  Galahad’s mother and father were to blame for this.

  Trystan saw that suddenly. They were why the knight was so hard to get close to. His parents had dropped him at the door of the Knights’ Academy and never looked back. That experience left Galahad with the deep certainty that no one else could be depended on. Galahad always expected to be unwanted, in the end. It was why he obsessively excelled at everything he tried. To be worthy.

  To be loved.

  With that thought, a new light dawned.

  Maybe Galahad doubted that Trystan could love him. That must be why he was pulling back. Because he already suspec
ted that Trystan’s feelings weren’t good enough.

  Shit… Trystan closed his eyes, momentarily overcome with the scope of his problem. Love was the biggest emotion. It had to be. He had no idea how he was going to hold even a sliver of it. Love was gigantic and all-encompassing, while his abilities to feel anything were next to worthless. He struggled to even identify his emotions, let alone offer them to someone who deserved nothing but the best.

  But, if Trystan didn’t give Galahad what he needed, the man would never be his. He would just show Trystan pieces of himself, as he did with most people. Trystan didn’t want pieces. He wanted everything. If he was going to get it, he needed to be calm and reasonable and show Galahad that he had control over all the confusing feelings that swamped him.

  Trystan took a deep breath. “I will not touch another, while I am gone.” He spoke as evenly as he could, considering nameless emotions were ricocheting in every direction. “I give you my word on the matter, even if you do not give me yours.”

  Unreadable purple eyes met his.

  Trystan stared back, his gaze level. “I want you to feel… trust in my emotions for you. You spoke of trust to me, in Ted-ville, remember? You said that we should have faith in each other. Well, I want you to have faith that I will return to you, as soon as I am able. You understand this?”

  “I understand that you intend to return.”

  That was one of his patented “life of truth” evasions, where he pretended to agree without outright lying.

  Trystan tried again, attempting to get past the unreasonable reasonableness of the man. “It is not just an ‘intention,’ it is a fact. I have no thought of choosing another or staying away indefinitely. I would always come for you, Galahad. I feel very…” he struggled to identify his desperate, all-consuming need for the man, “attached to you.”

  “You’re ‘attached’ to me?” Galahad’s eyebrows climbed. “Is that what you’re calling this emotion between us?”

  “Yes.” He scowled. “This is not correct?”

  The knight studied him for a long beat. “You’re the one who’s always telling me what words really mean, Trys.” He shrugged. “I think it’s up to you to figure it out for yourself.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  So, after we realized that this old Fisher guy who drew the map was dead, we started thinking maybe he told someone. A little digging and it turns out he was in a zoo cage with this kid, right? Well, the kid’s older now, but maybe he still remembers something useful.

  Marcus-the-Yellow-Boot helps us catch this guy in a trap, using some old gryphons as bait. Now, this zoo-kid is a big guy, so we drug him with angelycall to get him under control. The drug knocked him out some.

  Then, we started asking him some hard questions about Fisher. Real hard. But no matter what we do, the son of a bitch won’t talk. We didn’t even bother telling him about the map, because he’s not saying a word.

  A part of me respected that.

  A bigger part of me spit on him when we dumped his ass in prison.

  Uther died not long after that, so we never did figure it all out.

  It was probably just a dirty gryphon trick.

  “Stopping the Savages” Podcast

  Sir Dragonet of Camelot- Former Troubadour of King Uther and Host of the Program

  St. Ives- Kit-Cat-Sack Street

  “This isn’t my fault.” Galahad declared. “I see on your face that you’re thinking this is somehow my fault, but this isn’t my fault.”

  Trystan didn’t seem convinced.

  “It’s not my fault!” Galahad gestured to the neon sign with an emphatic wave of his hand. “I had no idea that Mordy owned a strip club!”

  The Seven Husbands was written out in cursive neon all along the front of the building. Mordy’s establishment was a glittering, gaudy, architectural-disaster of a building situated on St. Ives busiest thoroughfare. Several thousand flashing lights and semi-indecent pictures were plastered all over it, adding to the overall sleaze of the place.

  Trystan arched a brow. “It’s a surety that you will cause some new type of chaos each day, knight. I wake up resigned to it, at this point. But the variety and unpredictability of the disasters is truly remarkable.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “I am not laughing. Believe me.”

  “I didn’t know this place was a strip club.” Galahad repeated, scowling up at the building. Kit-Cat-Sack Street seemed to be nothing but bars and brothels. Even in that dis-illustrious company the Seven Husbands stood out in its tackiness. “I would never have agreed to meet at a strip club, if I knew it was a strip club. A lot of my fans are children, for God’s sake. I can’t be associated with anything tawdry.”

  Trystan shook his head in exasperation. “You are missing the bigger issue here.”

  Galahad paused. “Good point. This is even worse than setting a poor example for kids.” He nodded, infused with new certainty. “This is about the exploitation of women.”

  “Lyrssa save me… It’s a male strip club.”

  “Really?” Galahad’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced Trystan’s way. “How can you tell?”

  “Because it’s advertising men.” Trystan pointed at the huge sign looming above them. It depicted a badly painted knight, nude except for a strategically placed broadsword and a come-hither smile.

  Galahad processed it for a beat. “Oh.”

  Trystan grunted, seeing he’d convinced him. “Told you so.”

  Galahad ignored that, but it was hard. And was he imagining things or did that sign kind of look like… him?

  “I am not a fan of art, but even I appreciate that imagery.” Trystan mused.

  “Still not funny.”

  “Still not laughing.”

  Galahad shook his head in aggravation. “You know, exploiting men is wrong, too.”

  Trystan continued to squint up at the gaudy advertisement. “That sign kind of looks like you, yes?”

  Galahad ignored that opinion and started down the street, towards the entrance of the club. “Most of the people who work in these kinds of places are young, and broke, and have no other options. They need help, not someone profiting off of their desperation. Mordy needs to understand that this is a real problem.”

  Trystan dragged his gaze from the sign. “What?” He headed after Galahad. “Wait, you cannot still think to meet with this man.”

  “Of course, I’m going to meet with him. How else can I explain all the inequities that he’s perpetuating? Either he makes changes or he’s out of my fan club. I mean it.”

  Trystan hesitated, clearly wanting to throw a fit about Galahad entering The Seven Husbands. Since their argument the night before, though, he’d been making an effort to be agreeable. All morning he’d been biting back his normal complaints and straining to stay calm.

  God only knew what he hoped to accomplish with the act. Galahad had spent twenty-four hours a day with the man for weeks, now. He knew that Trystan was anything but easygoing. But, it was kind of fun to watch him take deep breaths to refrain from bellowing every ten seconds. Galahad was curious to see how long he could keep it up before he cracked.

  “I feel… apprehensive about the idea of you having brunch with this person.” Trystan said very carefully.

  “Nothing Bad’s going to happen. I’m just going to reason with him.”

  Trystan literally cringed at that news. “I would feel more… comfortable if you reconsidered.”

  “I can’t reconsider. You’re supposed to meet Marcus here to kill him, remember? And I’d like to discuss shutting down this den of iniquity. So that means we’re stuck with this…”

  A goat-legged satyr gave an appreciative whistle, interrupting the retort. He was leaning against the corner of a building that sold discount sex spells, idly passing out pornographic advertisements to everyone who walked by. “Hey there, Gal-la-had.” He sing-songed. “Looking good, boy.”

  Galahad automatically glanced at the guy with a frown
. Sometimes people recognized him and made passes, but they were rarely so blatant. “Whoever you are, I’m not interested.” He said as politely as he could.

  “Well, I’m interested.” The satyr reached up to rub at his curved horns suggestively. “You at Mordy’s? I can stop by later and --uh-- you can perform some heroics on my cock, yeah?”

  Trystan’s head angled in an eerily homicidal way.

  Shit.

  Galahad ignored the weirdo and grabbed hold of Trystan’s arm. “He’s probably drunk.” He dragged Trystan away before the stranger’s blood was splattered all over the sidewalk. “Just let it go.”

  Trystan watched the satyr over his shoulder, his eyes burning with fury. “Fine.” He snarled, still pretending to be zen. He grabbed a wide-brimmed hat off the head of a random passerby. The guy turned to protest the theft… Then took one look at Trystan’s size and kept walking. Trystan snorted in satisfaction and plopped the hat on Galahad’s head. “Wear this.” He tugged the brim down to hide Galahad’s features. “That son of a bitch is the bigger issue, I spoke of. You see this, now?”

  “That satyr is one random nut. You’re overreacting.” Galahad pushed the hat out of his eyes. “Why am I wearing this? I don’t get sunburned and, even if I did, there is no sun in this place.”

  “So you are less noticeable and so I will be called on to slaughter fewer men.”

  Galahad sighed. “I don’t like hats. I always lose them.”

  “I don’t care.” He jerked up the collar of Galahad’s jacket, obscuring the line of his jaw. The man also refused to accept that Galahad didn’t need a coat, no matter how many times Galahad told him that he was impervious to cold. Trystan was obsessed with his clothing choices. It was cute, in an exasperating kind of way. “There are several thousand dickheads in this town just like that satyr, waiting to pounce.”