Camelot's Crow | ✓ [BOOK 3]

~ 43 ~

THE PRINCE EXPECTED TO see people around him when he woke up. More specifically, he expected his friends. He hoped he'd open his eyes to find that he was in a bed, druids and faeries alike fussing over his wounds, while everyone he loved was smiling at him and telling him they'd won, that Mordred had been defeated and the kingdom had been restored. That was far from the case, however.

His body still ached, but the pain was dull and distant, and as he stood himself up, his bones creaked as though he was opening an old cupboard that had been abandoned for years, rusted at the hinges and splintering with age and neglect. He rolled his shoulders and looked around him, at the strange sight stretching out before him.

Every child dreamt of a kingdom in the clouds. Images of a large, elaborate castle and mountains of cotton sung them to sleep at night, and Kit was no exception. This was no kingdom, though. He stood ankle-deep in a large pool of water that stretched on further than he could see, blanketed by thick fog that obscured everything in his sight, even his hand as he held it in front of his face at arm's length.

He'd heard stories of the Otherworld, everyone had. But this was nothing like it. This was dark, confusing, dreary. If he was dead, was Lionel here, too? Was his mother?

"Lionel!" he called. His voice echoed off of the water, but there came no response. "Mum?"

It was quiet, too quiet, and with every second that passed, Kit could feel the anxiety brewing in his chest. If this wasn't the afterlife, what was it? Was he in some sort of state of limbo? Some strange in-between? He wondered if Chalice ever saw this place when they were in their place of not-death.

He braved a step forward, and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat when a figure appeared before him at that exact moment, tall and dark and painstakingly familiar.

"You," he seethed.

Mordred was smug. "Yes," he purred. "It's me."

"Am I dead?"

The man said nothing, only gave a small half-shrug, allowing Kit to put it together himself.

"How did you do it?" he demanded.

"What? I didn't kill you, remember? It was that loverboy of yours. He killed you, I didn't lay a finger on you." Mordred had his palms up as though it would exempt him from everything he'd done to him. But it didn't.

Morgana. He'd been the one to drive the blade through Kit's gut, but Kit would not be so quick as to label him a traitor.

The prince was fuming. "That wasn't him."

"Sure it was. You don't think a faery is capable of such betrayal?"

"Not Morgana, he would never. It was you. You got in his head and made him kill me and as soon as he comes to and realizes what he's done, it'll kill him, you bastard!" He lunged for Mordred, clawing at him desperately, but he stepped out of the way, letting Kit throw himself into the water.

Mordred frowned. "You said so yourself, Kristofer, Morgana would never hurt you. 'Not really,' you told him. How does it feel to be so painfully wrong about him?"

"You've gotten stronger," Kit growled, picking himself up again. "Too strong. And Morgana was weak, just like the rest of us. Nothing you say will make my trust in him falter, not after everything we've been through."

"Oh, yes, because you're so madly in love with him, you've become as loyal as a puppy. I must've forgotten about that." He smiled that same unsettling smile, sending a shiver down Kit's spine. "Tell me, Kit, what has he ever actually done to gain your trust? Besides stab you in the back and bat his pretty little eyelashes when it was most convenient for him to have you again?"