Guinevere pushed past the guards and the two ogres seemed unable to stop her. Her jaw set at a determined angle, she looked around, trying to spot someone. Midas braced himself. He knew what was about to happen. Maybe he’d known from the minute he first saw her enter the ballroom and felt the magnetic pull of their connection. Blue eyes, the exact color of Vivien’s enchanted lake, looked up at him…
And for the first time in his life, Midas belonged somewhere.
Oh God.
He’d found her.
Incredible amounts of lust and possession and fear and triumph roared through him, all mixing together so it was impossible to tell for sure what he was feeling. So many conflicting emotions hit him so fast that it left him disoriented. This woman could upend his whole life. He saw it so clearly. She could take everything from him. For one wild second, he even debated letting her go. Turning her away before she left him alone on a porch, with nothing at all.
No.
Midas shook off the idea as soon as it formed. No. He could do this. Of course he could. They key was not to panic. It was no different than any other deal. He wanted what she had and so he’d buy it. Anything could be bought. He just needed to stay in control and not let Guinevere see how much he was willing to pay.
Anything. Jesus, he would pay anything.
Guinevere marched straight for him, like she expected the crowd to move out of her way. …Which they did. Partly because they didn’t want water dripped all over their expensive clothes and partly because Guinevere Pendragon possessed an innate air of authority.
Still, it was good to see at least one of his men wasn’t intimidated by a tiny blonde girl. His most loyal guard, Trystan, stalked towards her with an inscrutable expression on his inscrutable face. Trystan never worried about his wardrobe being ruined by a little water.
…Or a little blood and entrails.
The man wore the simple garments of his vanquished people, refusing to don anything else. That choice was fine with Midas. No one employed a gryphon for their sartorial sense. It was mainly just for their “killing people” skills. Trystan could do whatever he wished, because Trystan was the best warrior in Camelot and the one person in the world Midas trusted. When you had the best on your payroll, you let them work without a lot of micromanaging. It just made sense.
Still, Midas could handle the woman without any help from his fanatically protective bodyguard. He waved Trystan back, ignoring the gryphon’s characteristic frown, and headed down the steps so he could meet Guinevere at the bottom. There was something to be said for making your opponents come to you, but he didn’t want her to climb the stairs with the child in her arms. She didn’t look strong enough to make the trip.
“Queen Guinevere. Welcome.” Midas said quietly, coming to a stop in front of her.
He always spoke quietly. Given his massive build and harsh features, bellowing at people would have been redundant. They were generally terrified enough. As an added bonus, it helped to mask his Celliwig accent. To his ear, the lower-class cadence never quite went away, no matter how much he tried to mask it. Still, it was a miracle that his voice sounded even semi-normal, given the pounding in his ears.
The woman smelled like gingerbread, damn it. That was just fighting dirty.
Guinevere’s expression lost some of its do-or-die intensity when she realized he wasn’t going to immediately kick her out. Whatever welcome she’d anticipated, his polite greeting obviously wasn’t it. God only knew what kind of stories Arthur had told her about Midas. Hell, most of them were probably true.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He murmured, when she just blinked up at him. “I feel as if it’s been a long time coming.”
Too fucking long. His eyes drank her in, desire nearly dropping him to his knees. She was beautiful in the understated, timeless way of pearls, and lace and white roses. Beautiful in a way that couldn’t be created with the right makeup or enhanced with designer clothes, because it was part of her very bones. Class was so obvious when you had it right in front of you.
Whatever she’d been facing recently had taken a toll, though. Up close, he could see the exhaustion in Guinevere’s lovely eyes. Luckily, Midas was a master at separating business from his personal feelings, so he barely felt his heart breaking, at all. He was sure of that.
When he was in prison, the psychiatrists had gravely diagnosed that Midas was incapable of distinguishing right from wrong. Therefore, he couldn’t possibly know that it was wrong to take advantage of this woman when she was at her weakest. If Guinevere was tired and out of options, he could strike a better deal with her. That was all that mattered. As long as he stayed in control, Midas could have everything and give nothing. That was the goal in every business transaction. Right and wrong were immaterial.
He was very, very sure of that.
Damn it, he wanted to feed her something. She looked too thin.
Gwen still didn’t say anything. Instead, her gaze traveled up and down his body, taking in his colossal size. She didn’t even reach his shoulder, so he wasn’t surprised when her grip tightened on the child and she nervously gulped.
“Can I get you anything?” Midas pressed, afraid she would turn around and flee for the door. She looked befuddled to be standing in front of the most notorious gangster in Camelot, even though she was the one who’d sought him out. What could he say to make her stay? “Maybe some food?” She was clearly half-starved. He really wanted to insist that she eat something, but he had a feeling it would just piss her off. Pride was wrapped around her like a mantle.
Guinevere gave her head a quick shake, regaining her composure. “No. Thank you.” Her voice sounded like liquid class, the fancy accent smooth as the finest silks. “I’m sorry to arrive unannounced. I didn’t know you were having a party. I’m not dressed… um…” her gaze drifted over Midas’ purple, pinstriped, sharkskin tuxedo as if it fascinated her, “…as vibrantly as the rest of you.”
“You look fine.” Midas assured her and it was the greatest understatement ever uttered in the history of the world. The woman was wearing rags and still outshone everyone else in the room. A flawless diamond set next to rhinestones.
“Thank you.” Guinevere said again and took a deep breath, getting back on track. For someone who appeared as delicate as a glass slipper, she was definitely a fighter. That was so… interesting. She squared her shoulders, ready for the next battle. “I’d like to speak with you.” She said in a firmer voice. “About business.”
“What kind of business…?”
A loud commotion at the door interrupted his question. Midas’ head snapped up as a half-dozen of Camelot’s most elite knights pushed their way into his home. Oh for God’s sake. If they thought he’d keep up his exorbitant bribes when they interrupted him during the most important meeting of his life…
His annoyance over an ill-timed shake-down was cut off as Guinevere let out an audible gasp. She took a tiny step backward, closer to Midas, her hand coming up to rest protectively on her daughter’s blonde hair. Gwen’s back was nearly touching his front, the damp hem of her tattered dress sloshing against his two-toned shoes.
Oh.
Midas was so used to being the most wanted person in the room that it hadn’t even occurred to him that the soldiers weren’t there for him. They were there for the queen.
Wearing glistening armor and angry expressions, they began shoving past the guests and heading towards Guinevere. Since most of the attendees had prices on their heads, the knights’ presence put a bit of a damper on the festive atmosphere. A stampede of Baddies bolted for the doors and windows, doing a not-so-small fortune worth of damage to the furnishings in their rush.
Midas barely noticed. “I take it this is the ‘business’ you’d like to speak to me about?” He asked Guinevere in a calm tone.
She shot him a quick look over her shoulder, as if startled to see him standing directly behind her. She must not have realized that she’d shifted so close, because her
eyes widened in surprise. Midas arched a brow, expecting her to jump back and stammer out excuses. No Good folk wanted to stand near the Kingpin of Camelot.
Instead of jerking away, though, Gwen leaned in even closer. That perfect lake-blue gaze met his, earnest and clear, and Midas forgot how to breathe.
“The King’s Men are here to arrest me.” She whispered fiercely. Both of her thin arms were wrapped around her child, as if someone might try to steal the little girl away. Given the current mood of Camelot, it wasn’t such a farfetched idea. “I’m a fugitive, now.”
“Well, you’re certainly at the right party, then.” He assured her, his gaze memorizing every shiny strand of her shiny hair. He had never wanted to touch anything so much. Inside his gloves, his fingers ached to feel the softness.
Gwen didn’t appear to notice his distraction. Luminous eyes darted back to gauge the knights’ approach. “It’s my fault they’re here. I’m sorry. I didn’t think they were so close behind me. I swear. But, don’t worry. I can handle this.” Determination lit her patrician face. “Just… don’t worry.”
“I’ll try not to.”
She missed his sarcasm. He could see her brain working, running scenarios. The woman clearly had a “Damn the torpedoes!” streak, because she wasn’t going to back down from the heavily-armed force headed towards her. “It’ll be alright.” She took a deep breath and looked up at him, again. “I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you.”
That was either adorable or insane. Midas wasn’t sure which. Before he could make up his mind, she was handing him her sleeping daughter.
“Here. Watch Avalon for a second.” She ordered. “Do not let her go.”
“What? Wait…”
But she didn’t wait and Midas was too shocked to do anything but grasp the girl when Gwen passed her to him. He’d never held a child before. She was too light. Too delicate. Shit! He tried to keep his fingers away from her tiny body, afraid his curse would kill her. The leather gloves he wore should protect her, but what if they somehow didn’t?
“You need to take her back.” He said a little desperately.
Guinevere ignored him.
The child made an irritated sound at his awkward handling, blue eyes opening to peer at him in confusion. Midas cringed, afraid to even move, and waited for her to scream bloody murder. His face looked far more like the monster under the bed than any storybook hero.
The mud and blood and brutality of Celliwig were in his very DNA. He had the harsh profile of a thug who’d battled his way up from the worst part of the worst village in Camelot, because that’s exactly what he’d done. No one would ever mistake him for someone Good. He was too big and ugly and hard to be anything but a villain. Compared to Arthur’s aristocratic blondness, Midas’ hulking presence would terrify the child. Hell, he terrified most adults.
Apparently, the girl wasn’t awake enough to notice she was in the grasp of a notorious mobster, though. The Princess of Camelot stared up at his harsh features for a beat and then gave him a sleepy smile. One teeny hand moved so it was fisted around the lapel of his expensive jacket, holding on tight. Less than a second later, she was back to sleep, her head innocently nestled on his shoulder.
Midas blinked.
“Guinevere Pendragon!” Percival had been named Captain of the King’s Men after Galahad was banished and he used his new position like a club. He had brown hair, overly-bronzed armor, and a perpetual sneer that he aimed at everyone he found unworthy. …Which was everyone. “In the name of the Scarecrow, you are hereby under arrest. Surrender yourself to Camelot’s justice and you will be treated fairly by his royal highness.”
“If anyone’s guilty here, it’s you, Percival.” Guinevere snapped. “You swore to serve this kingdom. Instead, you’re helping a lunatic seize control and threaten all of us. Do you really think I’m going to let that happen?”
She stood directly in front of Midas and the child like she planned to… what? Protect them? Was he losing his mind or was this really happening? Midas looked over at Trystan, to see if he was the only one witnessing this crazy woman and her crazy daughter and all their craziness.
Trystan’s gaze stayed on Guinevere, scanning her for ulterior motives. Clearly, he already regarded her as a bigger threat than Percival. Conclusive proof that gryphons weren’t the mindless savages that people thought.
“The Scarecrow is going to purify Camelot!” Percival roared at Guinevere. “You may have fooled poor Galahad, ruining him with your licentious wiles, but I see right through you. Hand over the wand. If you don’t, you’ll die along with the evil creatures you love so much.”
“You take one more step towards my daughter and you’ll see which of us dies.”
The fierceness of Guinevere’s tone surprised Midas. She sounded like she really meant that. He looked down at the child in his arms, trying to make sense of it. This girl was Bad. He’d never known any Good folk to give a damn about a Bad folk, mother or not.
“You’re on the wrong side of history, Guinevere.” Percival’s eyes glowed with the crazed light of a true zealot. “The Bad folk are as dead as the gryphons, now.” He glowered pointedly at Trystan. “They’re all genetic mistakes, being wiped out by time and God and better men.”
Trystan watched him without expression.
Gwen wasn’t so reserved. “You’re an idiot, Percival. You always have been.”
“I’m right!” He insisted passionately. “You’re either with your own kind, a part of the Good and honorable future. …Or you’re standing with the Bad folk, in the dirty, shadowed past.” He jerked his chin at Midas and the dozing kindergartener like they were garbage that someone had forgotten to throw out. “Which is it going to be? Us or them?”
From the sodden folds of her dress, Gwen pulled out a handgun and pointed it at him. “Take one goddamn guess, asshole.”
And then the Queen of Camelot shot Sir Percival right there in the ballroom.
Midas’ eyebrows shot up. Well, that was interesting.
Even Trystan blinked and it took a lot to surprise someone born without emotions.
Sadly, while Guinevere was proving to be a lady of many and varied talents, she didn’t have much of an aim. Midas blamed Arthur. The King of the Idiots had outlawed guns, back when he was just a prince. Not because he cared about preventing violence, but because he felt swords looked more “majestic” for his soldiers. Therefore, all guns had to go. It made no sense for everyone to have better weapons than the King’s Men, after all. The result was that people in Camelot did not know how to shoot and Gwen was no exception.
The bullet missed Percival’s head, imbedding itself into his armored shoulder. He gave a bellow of pain and surprise, stumbling backwards. His hand came up to grasp as his wounded arm, blood trickling between his fingers. A witch-practitioner could have him healed in no time, but he was still acting like a pussy about it. Furious eyes flashed back to Gwen, glinting with hate. “You fucking bitch!”
“Next one goes through your traitorous heart.” She warned, not lowering her weapon.
That would be a much harder injury to heal, so Midas was all for it.
The other knights gaped at the scene, unsure of what to do when their commander was getting his ass kicked by a small woman in a tattered peach dress. Presumably, they’d been sent to collect Guinevere for the Scarecrow, not to engage her in combat. The whole dumbass lot of them were better at posing with sabers at state dinners than participating in gunfights.
They looked lost as to their next step.
Amusing as the spectacle was to watch, Midas had had enough. He moved forward, before Guinevere killed any of the tin-canned idiots. It seemed like the kind of thing that would bother a lady, even an interesting one. “Percival, get the hell out of my house.” Midas commanded in a tone no Bad folk ever used when speaking to the Good. “You’re bleeding on my carpet and it was handwoven by pixies. Do you have any idea how long it takes them to weave rugs with their tiny little hands? Costs a fo
rtune.”
Guinevere’s lips parted in astonishment, like she’d forgotten Midas was capable of speech. She glanced up at him, big blue eyes wide and hopeful.
Percival’s scowl got even deeper. “You’re usually smarter than this, Kingpin.” He snapped, unconsciously echoing Jill’s words. “The Scarecrow gave us orders to leave you alone… for now. Unless you want to be labeled an enemy of the crown, just hand over the woman and her devil-spawn.”
“No.”
Percival and Gwen both stared at Midas for a beat, not knowing what to make of the flat denial. At lot of times people looked at him that way when he responded to their questions. They always seemed to want elaboration, when the answer was simple and clear.
“No?” Percival sputtered. “What do you mean ‘no’? You can’t just say ‘no’ to soldiers of the realm, you uppity bastard!”
“Well, I just did.” Midas passed the child back to Gwen and stepped in front of them both. “They’re staying and you’re leaving. Now.”
“I’m not going fucking anywhere without her!” Percival jabbed a finger at Guinevere.
“Yes, you are.” Trystan and the ogres were already moving in to enforce his orders. No one could doubt the outcome of the fight. Not even Percival. “It’s time for you to go.”
Gwen held her daughter tightly, still gazing up at Midas in something like wonder. He was surprised, too. Who could have predicted that the Kingpin of Camelot would ever protect a damsel in distress from a knight in shining armor?
Not that Gwen needed much protection. The gun was still in her hand.
The woman was just endlessly interesting.
“Think long and hard about this, Midas.” Percival warned, because he was clever enough not to want a physical fight, but too much of an idiot to think of a better verbal response. “You might win today, but there will be a bigger battle coming tomorrow. The Scarecrow can make things very uncomfortable for you. He’s in control of the kingdom now.”
Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4) Page 56