Working in the Emerald palace kitchens, I’d been to dozens of balls, just never as a guest. And the party Gwenevere threw in honor of King Mordred that night made even Dorthea’s parties look like teatime at Mother Goose’s. I kept peeking at Gwen’s face to see if she was Hydra, trying to make a play for the sword. But there was nary a wrinkle on her fake, smiling face. As the only girl here—well, the only girl not in disguise—Gwen was the belle of the ball. After Merlin had shared the news about the sword, Gwennie had her orderlies squeeze her into a purple eel-skin corset, which kept her middle rock solid. Unfortunately, the rest of her squished above and below and jiggled fiercely as she danced.
Filling her dance card was no easy task. Like me, none of the villains had ever been invited to a party before. Sure, they’d crashed plenty a celebration, but when you get an invitation, it’s bad form to arrive and immediately start cursing the guest of honor.
The food was…interesting. Hansel, who manned the kitchens, had learned a few tricks in the gingerbread cottage. The plate labeled “ladyfingers” made me a bit nervous. One of the other institute residents, Hannibal, had no such qualms and wolfed them down. And after Rasputin slipped a little Ever-After-Clear into the punch, the party was in full swing. Puck and his band of satyrs were literally hanging from the rafters.
Kato stayed closer to Mordred than a shadow. Everyone wanted a chance to have a word or ask a favor of the returned king. I stayed in the corner of the ballroom, where, as a servant, I’d learned all the good stuff happens.
To Mordred’s face, everyone bowed and said how pleased they were that Excalibur had chosen a king from the dark side of the moat. But as soon as they got out of hearing range, those same people gossiped that he wasn’t a true king since he’d gotten the sword magically rather than pulling it from the stone. Maybe the title “King of the Villains” was still up for grabs.
The Knights of Knee gave Mordred a potted bush as a sign of friendship, but as they moved past me, the knights whispered that the hybrid poison-ivy plant should free up the throne by morning. And they weren’t the only ones playing the game of thrones.
All over the ballroom, villains from opposite stories plotted together in groups. Dr. Jekyll had a lively conversation with the three bears in one corner, while the Headless Horseman and the Jabberwock jabbered by the grand staircase.
The unlikely pairings could’ve been the successful result of Gwenevere’s lessons touting the importance of a healthy support system. You know, “the enemy of my enemy is…someone you can use.”
That seemingly applied to friends too.
“Tag. You’re it,” Kato said and shoved Mordred at me. “Try to get him out of here while I head off Gwen. I think she’s trying to drag him back to her room so she can be queen again.”
Ew. Mental image.
I didn’t ask Kato why I had to help the misogynist Mordred, (A) because my mouth was still glued shut, and (B) because Mordred had had too much punch and couldn’t walk straight on his own. Which was going to make it so much easier to steal his sword and toss him into the lake.
Or maybe not. Kato let go of Mordred. He slumped on my shoulders, nearly knocking me over. I’ve known giants that weighed less.
“Heya. You should have this. Will put hair on thine chinny chin chin.” He giggled and slammed his cup into my chest, the liquid inside sloshing up the sides. It smelled rancid and was clearly laced with something stronger than pixie dust. Probably drink of the green fairy.
I shook my head and lumbered out of the room, dragging him on my back. The lake was too far. He’d squish me before we got there. Instead, I headed down the hall to our room.
“A huntsman should be like a wolf and yer just a wee pup. Bark worse than yer bite.” Mordred grinned sideways, his eyes lighting up like embers. “Ima just call thee pup.”
I was tempted to drop him but settled for merely rolling my eyes hard enough that they should have fallen out. In my mind, I cursed Merlin and his stupid crazy glue and hoped it would wear off soon. Then Mordred would really hear my bark.
“A king can always use a good pup.” He lowered his head to my ear. His breath smelled like a tavern. “Lemme tell thee a secret. The crown and the sword is cursed.”
That got my attention. I widened my eyes, like, Tell me more.
“Is nay magic. Just the nature of power. ’Tis a heavy trinket and lonely. Arthur went bloody mad. Saw danger lurking under every corner.” There was no correcting his clichés, as he drunkenly babbled on. “With a single stroke of a pen, our clans were labeled as traitors and threats to his perfect kingdom. He killed me mum, Morgana. And all my kin. Even me wee sister. He started a war to protect the weak, but no one protected us. I tried…” He wiped his face with his sleeve. “I’ll find the grail and make it right. S’all that matters.”
Once we reached the door, I tried to juggle his weight without falling face-first to the mahogany and iron rivets. Mordred tried to kick it in, but he missed. “Together. One, two, three…” We both planted our heels into the wood, and the door crashed open.
Mordred nodded at my shoes. “An odd one, you are. I like thee better when you aren’t yipping. Thou art a good listener. Good pup,” he said and patted the top of my head.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to shove him off. We shuffled over to the bed, and he was snoring before he face-planted on the pillow. I stepped back and looked at the dread prince Mordred, betrayer of Camelot. Passed out, his scowl and arrogance were gone. He looked serene, helpless.
The perfect kind of mark, I could hear Dad whisper from my past.
I felt a twinge of guilt. Mordred was right, and Arthur before him. Whether you were a king or just someone who had an object of great worth, you couldn’t trust anyone close to you. It was human nature to look out for number one—or to make sure you became number one.
Even sleeping, Mordred kept one hand on his ax. His coat shifted to the side and revealed his other hand resting on what I could only guess was Excalibur. He hadn’t taken it out of its scabbard to show anyone its holy glow, but I recognized the fabled hilt.
Very carefully, I lifted his hand, one finger at a time, off the sapphire-encrusted handle. I tugged softly to release it from its sheath. But the sword didn’t budge. Mordred had too much weight on it.
Well, hex. I wasn’t going to give up, not when I was sooo close to claiming the sword and breaking the bond to Dorthea forever. Just a nudge of his shoulder…
It happened fast. I pushed and Mordred pulled, yanking me down to the bed. I thought for sure my head was about to be lopped off. Hydra would probably add it to her collection. But no. Instead of bringing the ax to me, he wrapped me up to his chest like a velveteen rabbit, murmuring something about his Beboo. Very gently, he brushed his lips across mine. It felt like a lick of fire.
Then he snored louder than before.
“Ack!” I didn’t have a free hand or I would have scrubbed my lips till they fell off. I wiggled, I squiggled, I kicked and shoved, but the man was made of iron and wouldn’t budge. At least I could move my mouth again and speak. Why did all spells have to involve kissing?
I thought about yelling for help but was afraid of who might answer. So I waited and waited until Kato slipped into the room. He took one look at me and covered his mouth, guffawing.
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I can come back,” Kato teased.