Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4)

by Cassandra Gannon

  That might have been truthful, but it wasn’t all of the truth. Trystan could tell that the knight wasn’t sharing everything with him. The reports of Legion were wrong. He knew that much. This man could not butcher children.

  “I have never lied about Legion.” Galahad insisted, like he sensed Trystan’s skepticism. “It’s just nobody wants to hear what I have to say. After a while, I gave up trying to make them listen. What good would it do? The only true way to honor the dead is to keep the darkness down inside of me.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m Good. All the tests said so, when I was born. But I’m telling you… there is almost the same amount of Badness in me. I know it.”

  Trystan knew it, too.

  Hidden beneath his golden hair, and his bright smiles, and his award-winning spoken-word poetry performances, Galahad possessed an edge. A mind that was shrewder than you’d suspect. A self-assurance that only came from knowing he could best everyone present if he needed to. A drive to get what he wanted, regardless of the consequences.

  Every once in a while, some of the man’s latent Badness would come out. Galahad would get some insane idea that no one else would even try and that small, fearless smirk of impending victory would flash. His mouth would curve at some magical angle and his eyes would sparkle like the stars and it was a revelation to witness. Divine and erotic and more beautiful than anything Trystan had ever imagined.

  He cleared his throat. “Avalon is Bad, according to those same tests. So is my brother.” He paused in his dinner to poke at the fire with a stick, building the flames back up. “None of the results mean anything to me. They have no bearing on a person’s heart.”

  “In my case, it should mean something.” Galahad looked tired. “I’m the most dangerous man you will ever meet, Trystan.”

  That was undoubtedly true, but it didn’t matter. Trystan’s instincts told him the knight was special and Trystan trusted his instincts. “I believe we all have Good and Bad within us.”

  “Scarlett Riding-Wolf’s theory? That’s what you’re going with?”

  “Yes, because it’s right.” Trystan didn’t even question it. He finished off the lizard and tossed the carcass away, before Galahad suggested they hold funeral rites for the creature. “We all possess both qualities, in some quantity or another.”

  “The quantities are the key part, though. Even if her theory is right, I have way more Badness in me than you do.”

  “You don’t know that…”

  “Have you ever killed someone who posed no threat to you?” Galahad interrupted. “Did you ever lose everything you ever believed about yourself in one single moment of darkness?”

  Trystan hesitated.

  “Because I have.” Galahad bit off a bite of cactus, with something like vindication. “I’ve been so out of control angry that nothing else mattered. I was almost back there again, yesterday. If that zookeeper was in front of me, he’d be dead. I promise you.”

  “Because he oversaw my captivity?” Trystan had a list of people to kill, but that old man wasn’t on it. “I told you, there is no need for you to take that on yourself.”

  Galahad shrugged. “He’d be dead.” He repeated with total surety.

  Trystan believed him and for some reason it was warming. Few people had ever cared about him enough to plot the slaughter of his enemies. “If you were as Bad as you believe Ayren’s men would be dead, too. Even in your anger yesterday, you did not kill them. You have more control over yourself than you believe. You would do well to let this Badness out more, so you can learn to channel it.”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if I have a sword and someone dies?”

  “You still ascribe all the power to the weapon.” Trystan arched a brow. “But the power is not in the weapon. The power is in the warrior. Only you can find a way to balance the forces inside of you.”

  “I won’t risk being armed.” Galahad repeated stubbornly. “Especially around you. I could hurt you, if I lose control.”

  Trystan tilted his head. “You truly think you would win, if we fought?”

  “I think that I usually know I’m going to win. With you,” he paused, considering it, “I’m not sure.”

  Trystan was intrigued by that answer. The knight was the only one who could ever pose a credible threat to him. The two of them were the best at what they did. Nobody else even came close. Galahad’s skills should be a cause for concern, but instead Trystan found the idea of fighting an equal… stimulating.

  Galahad polished off his cactus with a sigh. “We don’t have anything for dessert, right?”

  “I could catch you a lizard.”

  “I’ll pass.” He sighed again. “It’s times like this that I really miss Gala-Chips. Of everything I’ve ever invented, they’re my favorite.” He paused for a beat. “My popcorn and chocolate chip idea has a lot of potential to be popular, right? I’m thinking of calling it ‘Pop-Chocolate.’ Or do you like ‘Gala-Corn?’”

  Gods, it really was like talking to someone who existed in two worlds at once.

  Trystan shook his head, trying to return him to the matter at hand. “If you do not like weapons, why do you collect guns?”

  “I don’t collect them. I don’t really collect anything. I’ve really getting into minimalism, lately. Not just because I’m broke, but because --like-- how many,” Galahad made a vague gesture, as if trying to think of an object to complain about, “pairs of shoes do we all really need?”

  “An interesting mindset for a man with his own athletic sneaker.”

  “Do I have a sneaker brand?” Galahad frowned, like he couldn’t recall. “Maybe.”

  “Definitely. ‘Gala-Soles’ are red and hideously festooned.” And had sold eighteen million pairs.

  “Whatever.” Galahad lifted an unconcerned shoulder. “Consumerism is still a problem. Plus, minimalism is the most moral choice environmentally. So much pollution goes into our oceans from manufacturing.” He paused for a beat. “Speaking of oceans, do you think fish ever get thirsty?”

  “No. Fish absorb water through their gills.”

  “You think so?” Galahad pondered that. “How can you be sure?”

  “I think that you used to collect guns, before Arthur outlawed all firearms in Camelot.” Trystan answered, vainly trying to keep the man’s limitless mind on track. “You gave Gwen a gun to protect herself from him, in fact, even after they were banned, yes?”

  “Yes.” Galahad allowed, finally focusing again.

  “It was a Good choice.” Trystan grunted, respecting the man’s actions. “Gwen also said you are an expert in antique weapons. This is why you have been dragging around that rusted hunk of metal from the ogre girl?”

  “I know a little about guns.” Galahad hedged, without really answering. “But it was never about collecting them. I mostly like repairing them.”

  “Why?”

  “Guns remind me of me. We were both made to kill and now we can be… better. We get a second chance to be something beautiful and treasured.” He shrugged. “I like to give them a new life.”

  Trystan slowly nodded. “Alright. Fix the broken revolver, then.” There was certainly no harm in it. “But, you need a functioning weapon, as well.”

  “No.”

  Lyrssa, the knight was stubborn. “It is stupid for you to remain vulnerable in a land where so many beings hate you. You seem to have even more enemies than I do and I would have said that was impossible of anyone.”

  “I think you’re not as big of a badass as you pretend to be.” Galahad told him, sounding very sure. “I think underneath the sarcasm and grisly threats, you’re kind of a pushover, in fact.”

  Trystan snorted. “The four hundred and eighty men I’ve killed would disagree with you.”

  “Four eighty?” Galahad waved a hand to dispel the smoke when the wind changed direction, keeping his attention on Trystan. “What about the attack of the Mynyw Garrison?”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, there is no more My
nyw Garrison, for starters. You leveled it, along with the five hundred and twenty-six men who were sleeping there.”

  “I knocked down an enemy stronghold in an effort to stop Camelot from setting up a base there. They would have used Mynyw as a staging point for raids along the western frontier. Uther’s goons were not specific targets. They were just in the building.” Trystan shook his head. “No, they do not count as men I slayed.”

  When Trystan actually killed someone, they knew he’d fucking killed them, because he was standing over them with an axe. To Trystan’s mind, those lives at Mynyw were all on Uther’s head, because he was the one who’d hired mercenaries as the auxiliary forces for the War. He’d paid every scumbag with a sword to come to Lyonesse and then set them loose on the far reaches of his territory, weakening local resistance before the King’s Men even arrived.

  Before Galahad was there to see their cruelty.

  Trystan suddenly understood the strategy in the king’s plan. Would Galahad have stopped the mercenaries, if he’d witnessed their heinous actions? Trystan doubted it, but maybe Uther had thought it too big a risk.

  The knight was unpredictable.

  Galahad sighed, like he still disagreed with Trystan’s tally. “I fought against you in the War, Trys. I’m just saying that four hundred and eighty kills seems really low.”

  “I’ve kept count.”

  “Creative math aside,” Galahad went on, “if you killed everyone who crossed you, I’d be dead by now, too. All I do is cause you trouble. You said it yourself.”

  “There are only four people in the world I know I will never kill. You are one of them.” Trystan said honestly. “The trouble you cause me is outweighed by the fact that you are….” he shrugged, “special.”

  Galahad smiled at him, the shadows lifting from his eyes.

  Trystan glanced away. Shit. The path was looming before him treacherous and incredibly goddamn tempting. It was hard to recall why he was even avoiding it. It was hard to recall anything but how much he desired the man.

  “Can I touch your wings?”

  Chapter Eight

  Uther became determined to restore his body to what it had once been, regardless of the cost.

  His goal was impossible. All told him that no amount of magic or medicine could regrow flesh. Still, he would not accept the truth. He began ransacking other lands for their treasures, hoping to find some powerful amulet or mystical potion to do the impossible.

  Then he heard of the graal. Heard of its magic and what it might be able to do.

  And he set his sights on finding it.

  How the Wingless War Happened

  Skylyn Welkyn- Gryphon Storyteller

  Lyonesse Desert- Cameliard Flats

  Trystan stared at the knight over the fire, trying to keep up with the way his mind worked.

  “Can I touch your wings?” Galahad repeated, because of course he would ask something like that.

  Trystan exhaled a shuddering breath, knowing this was stupid and suddenly wanting it too much to stop. “Fine.” He muttered. If he was going to become a complete moron, he might as well enjoy it.

  The knight beamed.

  Trystan was unused to making anyone smile. It affected him in some way, deep in his chest. Galahad’s smile was always perfect and knowing he was the one who’d caused it made it even better. There simply wasn’t a more attractive man of any species.

  Galahad immediately headed over to stand in front of him, like he was afraid Trystan would change his mind. Trystan really should change his mind. He knew that even as he rose to his feet and unfurled his wings.

  The knight’s interest in them seemed strange and exotic. To Trystan, wings were ordinary. He’d never viewed them as particularly sexual. But Galahad seemed enthralled by the span of them and it had Trystan’s blood pounding. The knight reached out, his wrists still bound together, and gently smoothed his hand over the white feathers.

  They both groaned.

  Shit.

  Trystan closed his eyes, his head automatically dipping down closer to Galahad’s. The knight was large for his species, but still smaller than Trystan. And his lack of wings made him seem almost vulnerable, despite his fighting skills. It stirred… something within Trystan. Something protective and predatory, at the same time.

  “So soft.” Galahad seemed mesmerized by Trystan’s wings. His palm brushed over the downy feathers beneath the larger ones and Trystan jolted. Galahad drew back. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” It was hard to get oxygen. “Do it again.”

  The knight smiled in understanding, his hands growing bolder. His fingers slid deeper into the thick feathers, grazing the delicate skin beneath and Trystan forgot how to breathe. He’d never known that someone caressing his wings could be so erotic. How had he not known that? It was a revelation.

  “How did you get these scars?” Galahad’s fingers traced along the crisscross of bare ridges marring Trystan’s wings.

  “Escaping the Wicked, Ugly and Bad Mental Health Treatment Center and Maximum Security Prison.”

  “Only Bad folk are supposed to be locked up in there.” Galahad frowned, his thumb touched one of the scars like he wanted to erase the pain that caused it. “It was against the law for Uther to put you in that place.”

  “Laws mean very little to your people. Especially, when they seek information from their enemies.” Trystan shifted closer to him, unable to help himself. Everything in him was pushing for more. He wanted this man pinned under him, his body naked and his purple eyes filled with desire that only Trystan could satisfy. And he wanted it now. The intensity and speed of the craving was shocking.

  Concerning.

  “Uther put you in there because you knew something?”

  “He suspected I had knowledge about the Looking Glass Pool, so I was sent to prison as an incentive to talk. I still did not wish to talk. And so I was there for three years.” Nearly twenty percent of his life had been behind some kind of bars or another. It gave him a deep appreciation for freedom.

  “I’m sorry.” Galahad said sincerely. “I’m so sorry, Trys. I swear to you, I had nothing to do with you being arrested.”

  “I know. You were not there that day.” The knight was not someone Trystan would forget seeing. Ever. His face and hair and body were all very… memorable. His palms ran down the wingless surface of Galahad’s back, intrigued by how smooth it was compared to a gryphon’s.

  “I was temporarily demoted, at the time.” Galahad went on. “Uther was pissed at me.”

  “You must have done something right, then.”

  “I thought so. No one else agreed.” Galahad sighed dejectedly, a frown tugging at his perfect mouth, and it was adorable. “I didn’t win a battle.”

  Trystan arched a brow. “You deemed it right to lose a battle? I thought you had never failed at anything, knight.”

  “I didn’t lose the battle. I just didn’t win it.”

  “A failure to win is called ‘losing.’ Are you sure this is your native tongue?”

  “You’re such a wiseass.” Galahad smiled and leaned up as if to kiss him.

  Trystan shifted back slightly, unsure. He’d never kissed anyone before. That wasn’t a gryphon custom. Since it was new, he wasn’t going to be great at it and Trystan didn’t often do things he wasn’t great at. Especially, when it directly related to having sex with the knight. He intended to be great at that. Kissing was not a smart idea, at all.

  Galahad’s bound hands fisted in the fabric of Trystan’s shirt, tugging him closer. “It’s okay.” He said quietly, sensing Trystan’s hesitation. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t do anything you’re not alright with.”

  Their lips were only millimeters apart now, but Galahad wasn’t trying to close the small distance. Instead his mouth shifted, gliding down Trystan’s jawline. His teeth nipped his neck and Trystan’s body jerked. The unexpected dominance of the move was oddly arousing. Being dragged towards the knight and then marked during passion ma
de is blood pound. No one had ever been that aggressive with him before. Maybe because he scared them. He always scared people.

  Except the knight.

  Galahad said he felt safe with him. Galahad was telling Trystan that he wouldn’t hurt him, for Lyrssa’s sake. Galahad was smiling at him like he was excited and happy and full of ideas. This whole experience was pleasing. Trystan wanted it to continue.

  Kissing the man probably wouldn’t be that bad, now that he considered it.

  Galahad looked smug, sensing that Trystan was no longer resisting his pull. “This is the part where I seduce you into saying ‘yes.’ I’ve been thinking about how to do it, for a while. Let me know if it’s working.”

  His hands returned to caressing Trystan’s wings in every way imaginable. It was torturous and beautiful and could only lead to disaster… and Trystan didn’t do a damn thing to stop it. Instead, he stood still and nuzzled the man’s temple, soaking up the attention. Needing it. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the avalanche of lust that cascaded through him. It blew common sense to bits and who the hell missed it?

  Galahad’s palms memorized the placement of every feather on his wings. “They’re just so big.” He whispered, measuring their wide span with his hands. “I love how big they are. How strong they are.”

  Trystan’s wings shifted without conscious thought, wrapping around the man and dragging him forward. He couldn’t help it. Instincts were beginning to take over.

  Galahad automatically moved closer, herded against Trystan’s body. Plastered tight against him, the knight suddenly felt the iron length of his arousal. Galahad’s surprised expression was so genuine and so unexpectedly innocent that Trystan made a sound of helpless lust. It dimly occurred to him that the knight had truly never been with another. It seemed like a small thing, but it kicked Trystan’s desire into an even higher gear.

  Galahad’s eyes went back up to Trystan’s face and he slowly smiled, smug over the reaction he’d caused. “Sooo big.” He teased. He leaned back into the cocoon of white down, content to be surrounded by the wings and also pressed against Trystan’s growing erection. His hand continued to touch the feathers, his fingers gentle and curious, and Trystan was fast losing the ability to think.