Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4)

by Cassandra Gannon

  Galahad’s expression turned open and warm. “God, I am so crazy about you.”

  “Fine.” It was all settled. “Now, tell me you still claim me and that I am still in your care.”

  The knight instantly complied. “I claim you and you are in my care. Forever.”

  Trystan made a sound of satisfaction at the quick reply. “You are everything to me, knight.” He slid his palm under Galahad’s, so they were holding hands against his chest. Konrad had been wrong. It was not horrible, at all. “Am I everything to you, as well?”

  Galahad’s fingers curled around Trystan’s, holding on tight. “Yes.” He whispered.

  “Good.” To Trystan, that exchange was the equivalent of wedding vows. Gryphon culture didn’t give a shit about fancy ceremonies. If mates pledged themselves to each other, it was done. “Now, I respect that you wish to live a life of peace and so I will pressure you no more about slaying these assholes who kidnapped you.”

  Galahad looked genuinely touched. “Thank you, Trys.”

  “I will just kill them for you.” It was no great hardship. Trystan pressed his lips to the side of Galahad’s obstinate head. “Wait here.” He went stalking towards the campfire.

  “Trys! That’s not what I… Damn it.”

  “Who the hell are you?” The biggest man demanded as Trystan drew closer. He scrubbed at his tearstained cheeks and braced his feet, ready for conflict. “What do you think…?”

  He never got to finish that angry demand.

  Trystan slammed his sword through the man’s chin, upward so it came out the top of his skull. For an endless second, he held him there, somewhere between life and death, standing like a puppet in the firelight.

  “You tried to steal my knight.” He leaned forward holding the man’s shocked gaze as he perished. “I don’t like that.”

  He yanked the sword out again and the dead man fell in an uncoordinated heap in the dirt.

  The other two were even easier to kill. They swung weapons at him so clumsily even Avalon could have avoided the blows. Morons. They were dead instantly. Trystan stepped over their carcasses, unwilling to waste his energy digging graves for such men. Let the animals have them. At least they would have some use.

  “That’s the guy who owed me five gold pieces.” Galahad said, moving into the firelight. “I seriously doubt he’s going to pay up, now.”

  “He would not have honored the debt, anyway. He does not seem the sort.”

  Galahad sighed and looked around with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe you killed all three of them in twelve seconds. They were dead before I even got over here.”

  Trystan made a face. “I know.” God, it was so unsatisfying to fight talentless men. “Stores shouldn’t sell swords to those who cannot use them. It gives idiots confidence they do not deserve.” Given that this part of the world was filled with new and exotic weapons, he supposed he should be grateful that the imbeciles weren’t armed with something more dangerous. They wouldn’t have been able to use those weapons either, but they might have actually inflicted some damage.

  “No, I mean… You are such an artist, Trys. When you fight, it’s just beautiful.”

  Trystan grunted. Of course Galahad liked to watch him fight. He liked to watch Galahad fight. It was completely understandable. They were both warriors. Both the same. The only two men in the world who could rival each other in battle.

  Trystan hesitated, a new idea occurring to him. A way to return a sword to the knight’s hand without upsetting him with violence. A way to help him overcome his phobia of the blade and leave the dark memories behind. “You think I am a talented warrior, then?”

  “Of course.” The words were earnest, surprised that he’d even asked. “If you had been born in Camelot, you’d be called the best knight ever.”

  Trystan smiled at that. “No.” He said truthfully. “I believe there is only one of those.”

  Galahad shook his head, missing the point. “You are the greatest warrior in the world, Trys. Not just because your skills are beyond compare, but because your whole life embodies the Knights’ Code. No one else even comes close to you.”

  Picturing himself as a King’s Man was not exactly thrilling, but Trystan still accepted the compliment. “Thank you for the reassurance.” He intoned, in what he hoped was a suitably grave tone. “It is helpful. I sometimes feel… worry than I am slipping.”

  It was not a real lie. Just a small bit of theater. Enacting countless doll adventures with Avi gave Trystan some background in pretending and he called on all of his skills. It was hard for a gryphon to play act. Everyone knew they were too direct for it. But luckily, since everyone knew they were too direct for it, it didn’t take much to fool someone when you gave it a shot.

  “Slipping?” Galahad’s eyebrows compressed. “What do you mean slipping?”

  “Well, it’s difficult to find partners to practice my swordsmanship with, these days. Midas sometimes tries, but he was never trained in combat. He’s better at street fighting.” Trystan sighed, as if it was all terribly vexing. “Without practice, I fear my skills will diminish and one day it will not be so easy for me to win.”

  No, he didn’t fear that, at all. But Galahad loved worrying about nonsense. Planting this new concern in the knight’s head was all it took to have him frowning with adorable alarm.

  “Well, you have to practice, Trystan. It could be dangerous, if you don’t. Men attack you all the time. I’ve seen it. You need to be ready.”

  Actually, Trystan had been the one attacking in every battle Galahad had witnessed, but it was adorable that he thought otherwise.

  “Oh, I’m sure I will be fine.” He waved a palm, as if his possible death at the hands of unstoppable assassins was a small thing. “How many more people could possibly be plotting vengeance against me? I am very likable, yes?”

  Galahad literally paled.

  It was all Trystan could do not to smirk. He’d never smirked before, but now it was right there tugging at the edges of his mouth. Perhaps he should be on a TV show, after all. He was clearly as skilled at acting as he was at all things. He could see the knight’s mind working, counting up the unfathomable number of enemies Trystan had collected over the years. He waited…

  “I’ll practice with you.” Galahad blurted out, right on cue. “I’ll do it.”

  “Oh no.” Trystan firmly shook his head. “I would not want you to break your vow to never touch a sword on my account. I will be fine. There is no need to feel anxiety over more practiced men slaying me as I innocently walk down the street. My lifeless eyes staring up at the sky for the last time, as my blood pours…”

  “Practicing with a sword wouldn’t be breaking my vow.” Galahad interjected. “No one would be hurt, so it would be okay. Alright? You’ll practice with me.” He nodded like it was all settled. “We can spar every day.”

  “Well…” Trystan drew out the word, like he was thinking it over. “I suppose, that would be alright. If you truly think it’s best.”

  “I do. I really, really do. I will protect you. I promise.”

  The emotion that filled him was… pleasure. Trystan’s primary drive was caring for others. It gave him a path. But, he hadn’t realized that he also liked being cared for until his knight arrived. He liked the feeling of warmth it gave him when Galahad promised to protect him. True he had manipulated the man into the pledge with ridiculous fear-tactics, but it was still very pleasant that they worked so easily. His innocent, heroic, Good-hearted mate was watching out for him. That made life so much better.

  “Thank you, knight. You have relieved my mind…” Trystan began.

  The next heartbeat of time was filled with overlapping events. Trystan saw Galahad’s expression change in the firelight. Read the sudden panic on his face. Heard a strange sound behind him. Turned to see what it was.

  And then the world went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Yes, crybabies. We all know that the gryphons a
re nearly extinct and it’s a shame that it had to happen.

  But it had to happen, okay?

  Evolution, folks: Get with the damn program or get out of the way.

  Just last week, I heard about these portable rabbit hole devices, right? Like some kind of amazing mix of science and magic that open short-range, but controlled dimensional portals.

  The military applications for these things are off the charts! That’s what our society can build. We have weapons and tech that could blow up the world. Meanwhile, what have the gryphons ever invented?

  Goddamn leprechaun stew?

  “Stopping the Savages” Podcast

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

  Beach of Ultima Thule- Edge of the Moaning Sea

  Sir Bedivere, Martyr of Legion, glowered at the slain kidnappers on the beach and then at Galahad. “I should have known you’d find a way to fuck this up for me.”

  Galahad’s jaw tightened.

  Why had all the assholes survived the war?

  His eyes flicked to Trystan’s unconscious body, afraid to move for fear of setting Bedivere off. The ex-knight was standing over him, a strange looking gun pointed at Trystan. “What did you do to him?” Galahad asked in the calmest voice he could muster.

  Bedivere was silhouetted against the swirling surface of a dimensional portal. It didn’t look like a normal, naturally occurring rabbit hole, which probably meant that it was some kind of manufactured one. Wherever it had come from, it had brought Bedivere right to the kidnappers’ campsite.

  …Which meant Galahad’s guess had been right. Bedivere was definitely leading the group of knights who’d hired the kidnappers to grab him from St. Ives.

  Huge surprise.

  There was no one else it could be. Bedivere was the ex-knight under Galahad’s command, who’d tried to kill Galahad in the desert, before the pig village. Now he was back to finish the job. He wanted the map and he’d hated Galahad since the War.

  That wasn’t a combination that led to Good things.

  “I shot the gryphon up with angelycall.” Bedivere’s dissipated lifestyle had aged him, so he now looked far older than his years. His cheeks were sunken, his dark hair lank around his sallow face. “It’s the same shit we used to knock out Lyrssa, when we captured her before Legion.” Bedivere poked the cylindrical gun at Trystan’s neck and tilted his head at a mocking angle. “You remember Legion, right, Captain?”

  “I remember everything about that day.” Galahad’s mind was racing. In that moment, he could have killed Bedivere without hesitation, but he couldn’t reach the ex-knight before the man shot Trystan. He was too far away. “And I remember you tried to murder me, a couple weeks ago, because you still blame me for what happened.”

  “Because you’re to blame!” Bedivere roared. “I couldn’t believe it, when I came back to camp and saw you sitting with my men in the desert. I knew then that God had sent you to me. So I could finally make you pay. So I can make up for my failure to stop you at Legion and be the hero I was always supposed to be.”

  Galahad didn’t argue. He wasn’t going to do a damn thing to set the asshole off.

  Instead, he dug deep within himself, suppressing his fury and reaching for some kind of reasoning that might work. “And you wanted the map, right?” He very slowly reached into the pocket of the coat Trystan had bought him. “Here.” He extracted the folded piece of paper. “I will give it to you. Just step away from Trystan.”

  “Why are you traveling with this demon, anyway?” Bedivere demanded, not coming any closer to Galahad. He was probably afraid. “Are you fucking him? Is that what you do now? Fuck monsters?” He made a scoffing sound. “It’s a good thing Uther isn’t here to see this.”

  “Yes, it’s a very Good thing Uther is gone from the world.” Galahad agreed quietly.

  Bedivere didn’t appreciate that opinion. “I saw what you did that day.” He seethed. “I saw it all. And I vowed right then that I would kill you, if it’s the last thing I ever do!”

  “Fight me then.” Galahad challenged. “Move away from Trystan and you and I will settle this like knights.”

  “I’m not a knight anymore thanks to you! And I’m not stupid enough to challenge you to a duel. You’d win. You always win.” Bedivere shook his head. “No. The only way to beat you is to cheat and so that’s what I’m going to do.” He gave Trystan’s prone body a kick. “As long as I have him, you’ll give me whatever I want, won’t you?”

  Galahad’s jaw ticked. “Yes.” It wasn’t even a choice for him. “But the reverse is also true. Right now the only thing keeping me from ripping your spinal cord out through your chest is Trystan. As long as he’s safe, I’m cooperating. As soon as he’s not safe… We’re doing all this differently.”

  Bedivere hesitated.

  “You’ve seen what happens when I let the darkness out.” Galahad went on, in a hard tone. “You’ve seen how far I’ll go. And that is nothing compared to what will happen to you, if you harm that man on the ground. Don’t fucking try me, Bedivere. I will make you wish you’d died in the fires of Legion.”

  Bedivere swallowed.

  Three more ex-knights stepped through the portal, behind Bedivere. They were Bedivere’s asshole friends, who Galahad had thoughtfully not killed last time they fought. None of them looked grateful about his consideration.

  “About time you got here.” Bedivere snapped at the men, recovering from his terror now that he had backup. “Galahad’s killed everyone.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Sir Urien grumbled, scanning all the dead guys scattered on the sand. His custom-made armor was covered in ravens eating a writhing figure alive. It perfectly summed up his tender feelings for his fellow man. “Well, at least we don’t have to pay them, now, right?”

  “I still don’t understand why Galahad is even here.” Sir Lamorak snapped. He was blond and twitchy, with a nervous habit of tugging at his eyebrows. “How do you still remember enough to get all the way to St. Ives?” He demanded, tugging at his eyebrows and scowling at Galahad. “We doused you with amnesia potion, before you escaped. You should have forgotten all about the map.” He looked at the biggest man present. “Did you not use enough?”

  Sir Segwarides took offense at that. He’d always been touchy. “Bullshit! I used more than enough to get the job done.” He was a gigantic man, who insisted on wearing armor that was too small for his frame. “It must have been a crap product.”

  “All my spells are flawless!” Bedivere shouted. His voice echoed, even over the sound of the icy waves crashing against the shore.

  “If they’re so great, why does Galahad still have his memory?” Lamorak shot back, still tugging at his brows. “Why is it so hard to steal this damn map from him? I think the guy’s --like-- blessed or something. Protected.”

  “Either that or everyone else is cursed with stupidity.” Urien muttered with typical cheeriness. “Maybe a spell’s been cast on the whole world to just love the asshole.”

  Segwarides seized on that idea, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought of that, too! My mom has a shitty calendar of his watercolors hanging in our kitchen. His annoying little pictures stare at me when I eat my morning cereal. How else do you explain it, if not an evil spell?”

  Fairly easily. That calendar had been Camelot’s number one Christmas gift five years running. People kept buying it, even after the dates changed, because they loved Galahad’s paintings so much. Everyone in the kingdom owned one.

  Galahad kept his eyes on Bedivere, rising above the insults about his interpretive landscapes. “You’re the one selling all the dangerous magic in St. Ives?”

  “I have to make money somehow, don’t I? It’s how I buy fun toys like this.” He gave the strange gun a jerk. “You remember the Rath, don’t you? Well, I paid a guy to rig-up a mini version of it. For home defense.” He snickered. “Shall we see what it can do to your boyfriend’s face?”

  That gun was a smaller
version of the Rath?

  Jesus, no… Galahad had seen what the twisted magic it fired did at Legion. Seen the burning and screaming and death. He’d thought the technology behind it was gone forever. Seeing it now, aimed at Trystan, was like reliving every nightmare in his head. “Don’t.” He warned Bedivere quietly.

  Bedivere continued to taunt him. “At this range, I think it’ll blast the gryphon’s skull right apart. It’ll be like the War, when I was fighting beside Sir Perceval and we had to wring their heathen blood from our clothes after the battles.”

  “The War’s over.” Galahad said, his pulse thudding in his ears. Having this asshole threaten his True Love was making him crazy and he couldn’t afford to go crazy. “Whatever you did back then, it has nothing to do with Trystan.”

  “It has everything to do with you, though!”

  “You’re the one who ran and never came back to Camelot.”

  “What did I have to come back to?! Everything I believed in was dead!” He pressed down harder with the evil gun, its long muzzle digging into Trystan’s flesh. “I should kill this winged devil right here and let you see how it feels to watch…”

  “You need him to get the treasure.” Galahad interrupted.

  That caught Bedivere off guard. “What?”

  “It’s a gryphon treasure.” He nodded to the map. “Trystan’s people drew this. Only he can reach the end of it.” Segwarides stepped forward to snatch the map from Galahad’s hand. Galahad let him have it, all his attention on keeping Trystan alive. “You need him”

  “You’re lying. You always did care more about the gryphons than your own kind.” Bedivere snapped at him, eyes blazing with hate. “You always were on their side, weren’t you?”

  “I don’t lie.” Galahad glanced at Lamorak. “Tell him.”

  “He doesn’t lie.” Lamorak reluctantly agreed. “The rest of us spent days with him, out in the desert. Galahad lives a life of truth. He said it like a thousand times. He wouldn’t even tell Segwarides that he looked skinny in his new armor.”