The rest of the men watched quietly.

Gareth sighed. “Verily, my lady. If you will not wear the bracelet, it does not matter. If I cannot have you, I do not want anyone at all.”

Millicent slowly closed her jaws.

Harcourt’s eyes rolled back into his head and he shifted to human.

She almost sobbed with relief. She released his neck and pulled the bracelet off Harcourt’s arm, slipping it onto her own wrist. She rose to her feet, waiting for it to tighten, to claim her once more as Gareth’s lover. She stared at the band of silver, the colors within the moonstone swirling and winking.

“What’s this?” demanded Lord Sussex, breaking through the circle of men who surrounded them, Queen Victoria hard on his heels.

Millicent lifted her chin, winced at the memory of steel bars surrounding her, but faced the Master of the Hall of Mages with every intention of defying him. “I go wherever Sir Gareth goes.”

Lord Sussex raised his white brows, which climbed even higher when his niece ran to Gareth and threw herself in the knight’s arms.

“Your powers astound me, lad,” he said to Gareth.

Millicent frowned. “The queen is just under another spell. We used Sir Gareth’s blood to bind her to him… it seemed… easier, than trying to explain about Ghoulston.”

“And what’s your excuse?”

“I… I have none. Other than I owe Sir Gareth my life.”

“I see.” Lord Sussex bent down, patted Harcourt’s cheek. The were-lion’s eyes flew open and he clutched his neck, tried to speak. “Hush, lad. You’ll be fine… unlike many of my other baronets. I lost too many today, and Ghoulston will pay for that.” He glanced up at Millicent. “If not for your aid, and that of your underground friends, I would not even be talking about this, my dear. But as I understand it… isn’t the relic supposed to choose who wears it?”

Millicent glanced back down at the bracelet. She squeezed the band of silver, but it continued to dangle loosely on her arm. She stifled a cry of dismay. She had willingly given the relic to another. Could the blasted thing have somehow sensed it?

It would never claim her as Gareth’s lover again.

No. She would not believe it… and it did not matter! Damn the stupid hunk of metal! Millicent would never forsake him again. She clamped her teeth and shoved the bracelet higher up her arm until it stayed there.

Gareth stared at the relic, his forehead creased in bewilderment. Queen Victoria continued to hug his arm and gaze adoringly up at him.

“Obviously the relic no longer chooses you, Lady Millicent,” said the Master. “So you might as well give it to me.”

“Never.”

Bran shifted to bear, let loose a growl that reverberated louder than the black dragon’s. Harcourt responded, shifting to lion, the fur around his neck bloody, but facing off against the bear with a snarl that revealed his wicked long teeth.

“My spells cannot harm them,” continued the Master, nodding at the men shifting to beasts all around them, “but I can open a chasm in the earth to swallow them all. Is that what you truly want?”

Millicent glared at the old man. “I cannot let you keep the relic.”

“Enough.” Gareth stepped forward. “Stop it, all of you!”

Lions, tigers, jackals, hyenas… they all turned to stare at the knight, their growls fading.

Gareth nodded, then turned toward Millicent. “I said no more bloodshed. And I meant it.”

“I will not give him the relic!”

“Then give it to me.”

She blinked. He could not mean it. But Gareth held out his hand, his glorious blue eyes fixed on her, and she saw the sadness within them, the sorrow that spoke of centuries of living, of seeing too many deaths, too much wickedness. She could not add to his grief.

Millicent squeezed the band of silver one more time. It would not tighten. She could not force it to choose her. She slipped it off her arm, held it within her fingers.

She would be handing him her broken heart. Surely he knew that?

Gareth nodded, his long blond hair swaying in the light breeze.

Millicent placed the relic in the palm of his large hand.

Her breath caught on a sob. Ah, no. She could not cry. But neither could she breathe.

Gareth turned to Bran. “Take her home.”

Bran shifted to human. She felt his arms circle her, his gentle tug. “Come away, Millicent. Come away.”

She threw Gareth a last silent look of appeal. But he just stared at the relic, his face creased with misery and confusion.

Millicent shifted to panther, and followed Bran into the shadows of the night, back to the dark recesses of the Underground. Where she belonged.

Eighteen

Gareth watched Millicent until her black fur blended with the night, until all the Undergrounders disappeared from sight. He did not understand. He knew he loved Millicent with all of his heart. So why had the relic not chosen her again? Why had it tightened before, and not now? Perhaps… perhaps Millicent had been right all along, and he had been a fool to believe in her love… especially after she had betrayed him.

But the proof shook him to the core.

Queen Victoria plucked the bracelet from his hand. “Surely it will work for me.” She slipped it over her wrist, frowned when it did not tighten, then shoved it up her arm. “Well, I shall just keep it until it does.”

Lord Sussex scowled. “When will your… potion wear off the queen, Sir Gareth?”

“I’m not sure. A few hours, perhaps a few days.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in letting her keep the relic until then.” The Master turned to his baronets. “Now, then, gentlemen. Let’s get the wounded back to the Hall. Victoria, will you reassemble your carriage? We can carry most of them—ah, the message sprite.”

Lady Yardley strode toward them, her eyes round with wonder at the carnage about her, Ambrose flying near her shoulder.

The Master rattled off a list of demands to Ambrose, sending the sprite back to London for more wagons for the injured. Lady Yardley approached Gareth while the rest of the baronets scurried to do their master’s bidding.

“What happened?” she asked. “Where is Millicent?”

Gareth sagged to the ground at the sound of her name. Sorrow had dogged him for so long he thought he had become used to it. But this… this soul-tearing agony threatened to overwhelm him.

“Oh, you are injured,” cried Queen Victoria. “Uncle, we must get him into my carriage.”

And Gareth suddenly realized his pain wasn’t all mental, that most of the blood covering his tunic might be his own. His vision began to fade to black. Well, the relic would soon suck him back in and he would reappear healed and whole like always, the pain just another memory.

But the pain in his heart would still be there, and that hurt far worse.

Gareth had only a jumble of impressions after that. He felt someone lift him, felt the bouncing of the carriage as they traveled back to London. Heard snatches of an argument between the queen and her uncle about where Gareth should be taken.

The queen must have won, for he saw the diamond-studded walls of Buckingham Palace, and not the warded ones of the Hall. He was carried upstairs to a bedroom paneled in strings of diamonds, and laid on a bed of clean linen sheets. Cupids danced above him, carved into a wooden canopy. He heard whispered conversations, felt the calming warmth of healing magic, and was stripped naked and washed by a stern-looking matron.

When would the relic suck him back in and end this nightmare?

“How is he?” whispered Queen Victoria.

“He’ll recover,” answered Lord Sussex.

Gareth cracked open an eyelid. His entire body still ached, but the sharp pain in his side had faded with the healer’s magic.

“He is awake,” said the queen, who stood in a beam of sunlight that slanted from a floor-to-ceiling window. “Thank heavens. I am… yes, I am rather fond of him.”

Gareth bolted upright in bed, gasped in pain, but refused to collapse back against the linens.

The queen stood in a beam of sunlight.

Sunlight.

“It’s about time you quit playing possum,” drawled the Master.

“It’s morning,” replied Gareth in amazement.

“Jolly right. You’ve been winking in and out of consciousness for hours.” The old man studied him with a frown. “Wait… by Jove! Aren’t you supposed to be taken by the relic with the dawn?”

“Yes.” Gareth swung his legs over the side of the bed. They had dressed him in some kind of gown, but he wouldn’t have cared if he had been stark naked. He stood, his legs a bit shaky, but managed to walk over to that beam of sunshine. Queen Victoria backed up a step, staring at him with wondering eyes. Gareth walked into the golden light, felt the warmth spread over his shoulders and down his arms. He narrowed his eyes against the glare and smiled at the queen. Truly smiled. For the first time in centuries. “Yes! I’m not supposed to be here. I should be in the relic. I should not be in pain. But I welcome both. Both!”

“You’re babbling, man,” said Lord Sussex.

“Babbling? Yes! The enchantment is broken and… and I have not turned to dust! After centuries of darkness, I stand in the light. After eons of immortality, I am finally mortal! Me, Gareth Solimere, once a knight of the Round Table, and once cursed by the great Merlin himself. Do you not understand what this means?” Gareth spread his arms, lifted his face to that glorious sun. “I am free! Finally free to live out a normal life.”

“But how?”

The Master’s softly spoken words brought Gareth up short, and his arms fell limply to his sides. How, indeed. What had happened to break Merlin’s curse? Had the relic finally acknowledged Millicent as his one true love? No, the bracelet had not tightened on her wrist…