King of Avalon: a Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance (Rise of the Elder Gods Book 2)

by Vivienne Savage

  “I’ll always regret that I didn’t listen to you and set aside my pride to marry Nimue. I regret that I never told her I loved her. Choosing Guinevere was the greatest failing of my reign as king.”

  Disbelief and skepticism vanished in that instant. Awe took their place in the reincarnated knight’s features. “It’s really you. You’d never admit that to anyone else.”

  “I never trusted anyone but you with that.” The time to say those words to Nimue had long passed, and expressing them now wouldn’t undo past hurts. She was as fae were expected to be—petty.

  “Come inside and tell us everything.”

  Arthur was aware of Astrid staring at him the entire time they moved from the porch to their living room. The last beams of evening sun slanted through vertical blinds over spacious windows. The gilded light landed on an open coloring book beside a pile of strewn crayons.

  Signs of child Arthur littered the home, from the young boy’s shoes to the little jacket hanging on a hook near the door. Adult Arthur had no recollection of these things. Fear and terror overwrote his earliest memories of home.

  “Sit. Please,” Astrid urged him. “You look exhausted.”

  Did he? Exhaustion had been his natural state of existence for the past few years. Arthur didn’t know the meaning of a whole night’s sleep. Mechanical movements put him into a chair opposite his parents, their youthful faces forever young and frozen in time by dragon’s blood and magic.

  Nate spoke first with a rough catch in his voice. “I don’t know where to begin. Why? How is this even possible?”

  “Merlin,” Arthur replied. He drew in a long breath and leaned back in the seat. “It’s a long story.”

  “We got a lot of time, kid—er, Arthur.”

  Weird that Arthur would have preferred “kid” after all their years together as king and knight. The word jostled something in his memories of his father teaching him swordplay in their hidden safehouses.

  “All right.” He dragged in another breath. “There’s no easy way to say this, but the Titans are going to rise and lay waste to the world. They’ll kill Freyja and Zeus first. Thor is next. It’s gonna be methodical and calculated. It’s all going to fall apart before you can even mount a defense. Ares will try his best to stay ahead of them and lead the resistance in Zeus’s place, but he won’t be enough.”

  Arthur watched their stunned faces as he described the years of hell they endured, always on the move, gathering a small resistance to fight the Titans but only succeeding in the destruction of one. Their deaths, however, proved the most difficult to describe.

  Stunned, Astrid stared at him. “What about my father? My grandparents?”

  “Gone in the second wave.”

  “No, no, no. That can’t be possible.”

  “That’s not the worst of it.”

  When Merlin thrust Arthur into the past, it never occurred to him that he’d speak to his parents about how they’d each faced their demise one after the other. The whole time that Arthur relayed the warning, he waited for the reality that he knew to change or even minutely indicate he’d prevented their deaths.

  The same hollow ache lingered, the memory of witnessing their deaths heavy as ever.

  Without warning, Astrid jerked to her feet. “We have to warn my father.”

  Nate nodded. “Good idea. I’ll call Lancelot and Percivale.”

  “Merlin is already en route to collect the order. They should be assembling soon.”

  “Good.”

  “Dad can get all the dragons gathered. Surely that has to count for something.”

  Arthur hesitated to answer, unwilling to build up false hope. After speaking with Merlin and learning the tenuous state of the dragons, he began to doubt whether he could actually make a difference.

  “Gathering them all is the best first step, but somewhere safe. Somewhere secure.”

  “Uncle Teo’s maybe….”

  “Teotihuacan?”

  “Yes,” Astrid said, appearing excited. “His private island should be safe from--”

  “No!” His hands tightened on the arms of his chair. He hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, but he recalled Ares once speaking of the island owned by the Latin black dragon. In one mighty ripple of the land, Gaia sank it beneath the waves and drowned all present.

  Realizing that both his parents stared at him, he took a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax. The island hadn’t suffered in the first waves, but he still didn’t think it an acceptable risk.

  “I mean to say that it should be somewhere unexpected. Part of the problem was that the Titans knew where to find their initial targets. They know about the island. After that, the dragons went to regroup in Mexico and, well….” He spread his hands, having already painted a vivid picture for the pair.

  “We’ll come up with something then,” Astrid assured him. Mahasti can put up some wards wherever we choose.”

  “Choose fast. Every minute wasted is one minute more for the Titans to gain their strength.”

  His father studied him close, and Arthur straightened his shoulders without conscious thought. “Do you know where they’re coming from? Intel like that would make things on our end much easier.”

  “I don’t. I wish I did, but I don’t. Merlin may be of some help there, but I truly feel the dragons will have the best chance of discerning their location. Freyja has already had a brush with them. I was...” He swallowed, his throat suddenly thick and tight. “You kept as much from me as you could in the beginning.”

  “Oh, Arthur…”

  The sound of a toddler’s babbling interrupted whatever his mother meant to say. Arthur twisted toward the sound, his gaze settling on a nearby baby monitor.

  “I should go get him. You.” Astrid laughed a little and rose. After a step, she paused and turned back toward him. “Would you like to…? I mean, is that even allowed?”

  Coming face to face with himself should have been the first thing to cross his mind when he sought out his parents. Yet hearing young Arthur’s voice—his voice—took him completely off guard.

  “I don’t know. Maybe not.” Merlin hadn’t prepared him for this. What if meeting his past self fucked up everything and ruined Merlin’s desperate plan? “I should probably leave—”

  Nate leaped to his feet. “No, wait! I mean...wait.” He dragged in a deep breath, filling his chest. “Where are you going to go? The old man is gathering the order, and you don’t even know where to find them once they’ve assembled. Stay, all right?” The knight had already crossed the floor to head upstairs in Astrid’s place, leaving his wife with their adult son.

  “Yes. Please,” Astrid pleaded, taking his hand. “Listen to him. Would you like dinner? Have you eaten?”

  “Mom—”

  A shy smile accompanied the spreading warmth in her fair cheeks. “You haven’t eaten. C’mon. I mean, if I’m… gone in the future, you probably miss my cooking, right?”

  “Words don’t describe it.”

  “Then join us. Tell us more about the future.”

  “I’ve already told you everything.”

  “No.” Her blue gaze lingered on his face as if memorizing him. “Tell me about whatever light you encountered that kept you fighting against the darkness all these years. That’s what I want to hear now.”

  Four

  A twinge of guilt followed Nimue from the moment she left Arthur at Merlin’s penthouse home. She tried to push it aside by busing herself at the Violet Hour, taking advantage of the empty silence to go over her inventory for the next day. It didn’t matter that she’d done the exact same task only hours earlier before the stubborn man had shown up. All that mattered was steering her thoughts elsewhere.

  Every little thing suddenly spurred a memory, from a green bottle that matched the color of his eyes to a bundle of dried flowers that reminded her of the first bouquet Arthur had ever given her. Wood anemones, bluebells, and sweet violets. The young king-to-be had offered them in earnest, a ha
ndpicked gift without any frills or fanciness, only affection. Fond days of meeting in sunlit woods, picnicking in hidden meadows and exploring craggy cliffs dominated her memories. Things had been simple, joyful even until suddenly they weren’t.

  The dour turn of thoughts only deepened the guilt stirring in her gut. He had asked for her help, and she had turned him away. Why?

  Nimue set aside her iPad and took a seat at the bar to take a long look at her own motives. Was it spite? Jealousy? Centuries hadn’t truly eased the sting of rejection. When Arthur had chosen duty—chosen Guinevere—it had broken her heart.

  Oh, how her mother had mocked her for that weakness. “Love,” her mother had said, “is the bane of mortals. They do not know its truth, only a pale shadow.”

  That much had been proven true with the scandal in Camelot between Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot. So much fuss over a woman who would only live a single lifetime. Back then, Nimue had convinced herself that he deserved such treachery. Wounded pride kept her from seeking him in the aftermath.

  Centuries hadn’t dulled the pain, and pain was exactly what she didn’t need.

  So she set all thoughts of Arthur aside, abandoned her double-check on the inventory, and devoted the rest of the day to herself. Things were always better after a long bubble bath and copious glasses of wine. Her apartment took up the floor over the lounge, a spacious open floorplan that suited her needs. She may not have had Merlin’s skyline view, but she had music every night, urban gardens, and a lively stream of people on the sidewalks below. Life. Whether under the bright light of day or the neon-lit night, she always had something to see.

  When a snowflake drifted through an open window minutes before Nimue was due to open the doors to the Violet Hour, she turned off the lights and left the doors locked despite the line queuing up outside. To her surprise, the little ice sprite did not deliver a summons for Nimue to return to Elfhame. Such orders were not to be ignored without dire consequences.

  “If it is not a request for my attendance to court, what is it?”

  “An order to act on behalf of the queen,” the sprite said sweetly, though her little voice would have sounded no different than the tinkle of ice cubes to human ears.

  “And what task does her most divine majesty wish me to perform?”

  The sprite either didn’t grasp the sarcasm in her voice, or it simply ignored her scathing tone. “She has a target for you.”

  Nimue stiffened. Fae rarely involved themselves with mortal affairs beyond the occasional trick to land a favor owed, trysts with human lovers, or dropping a blessing on those who still honored the old ways. The word target set her on edge, bringing to mind the rare instances when the fae set out to bring doom upon a mortal.

  “Who does she want me to curse? We could bring boils back into style. That one’s always fun.”

  “No curses. No favors claimed.” The sprite twirled in the air, pleased with itself and whatever news it carried.

  “Out with it then.”

  “By order of Queen Mab and King Oberon, you are to kill King Arthur,” the creature gleefully declared. “He must be neutralized at all costs!”

  Having delivered its news, the sprite cackled and popped away in a shower of snowflakes, leaving Nimue standing in stunned silence. The delicate ice crystals touched against her cheeks, icy little kisses, but it was her orders that chilled her blood.

  “She can’t possibly be serious.” An innocent stool suffered her frustration, kicked across the floor. It clattered against a nearby table, the sound echoing across the empty room. Then, silence.

  Nimue stared at the splintered wood.

  “Damn it all to hell.” She waved her hand, magic knitting the carved rosewood back into one solid piece. Rather than open for the night, she kept the lights off and poured herself a drink. Somewhere behind the bar, her phone chimed, likely Saoirse wondering why she couldn’t get in and freaking out about missing a night of pay. Nimue would make sure they all received their hours, even if they didn’t actually work them tonight. For now, she wanted to be alone.

  How could Queen Mab possibly think she’d be willing to kill Arthur? Sure, she may have ranted and raved about the man in the past, and perhaps she’d spoken harsh words, a few threats, but nothing with any actual weight. She may have been a lot of things, but she was not an assassin.

  An order from the queen, however…

  As she mulled over her precarious position, she stared into her glass of fae wine. The liquid shimmered in swirling hues of plum and silver, the rising stream of bubbles releasing the scent of sun-warmed berries.

  “If you’re not going to drink that, pass the glass over,” a voice spoke from her left. To her credit, Nimue managed to rein in her surprise and didn’t drop her glass. Only a few people had the power to bypass her wards, and the fae who had appeared beside her was the least offensive of them. In fact, she was almost grateful for his presence. Aengus was her oldest friend and sometimes bartender-slash-entertainment of the evening in the lounge. Whenever she found herself short of capable, magical hands to run the establishment, she could count on him without question.

  “Pour your own,” she countered, nudging the bottle his way, though the words were said with nothing but love.

  “Well, if you insist.” He grinned while helping himself, pronounced canine teeth sharper than most on account of his fae nature. A human guise was one of the faerie hounds many costumes when wandering the mortal realm. He filled his glass to the brim, sipped a mouthful, then topped it off. “Drinking alone is so droll. What has your lips twisted down tonight, darling?”

  “Arthur.”

  His dark brows shot straight up. “A baby pissed you off?”

  “A grown man from the future pissed me off.”

  “Ah. So the rumors are true. No wonder our queen was in such a mood.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Mother wants me to kill him.” She tossed back the contents of her drink then extended her glass toward her friend for a refill. He gladly obliged.

  “I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve wanted to kill him.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve never actually been serious. If I’d truly wished Arthur dead, I’d have struck him down after he ran off with that blonde harlot.”

  Aengus’s bark of laughter echoed across the empty room. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “You know how I feel,” she hissed.

  “You’re still pissed about that?” The fae spun a chair around backward and dropped into it. Like the rest of their kind, the man thrived on gossip. He gathered secrets and hoarded them like treasure, waiting for the perfect opportunities to use them to advance his own ambitions. Thankfully, he’d never used his uncanny knack for gathering info against her.

  “Why shouldn’t I be? He was a bloody coward who chose a pretty face and a rich dowry over—” She cut herself off and muttered into her glass, taking another long drink. Her friend was wise enough not to attempt to supply the word she’d left off. Instead, he leaned forward and propped his chin in his hand.

  “Didn’t you spend the next centuries fucking him anyway?”

  “Yes, but that’s different. Being pissed has nothing to do with declining good cock,” Nimue muttered.

  “Good cock is everywhere, darling. You can walk out that door right now and find a dozen that likely measure up. Or, you know, you could come home.” Aengus’s smarmy grin lent him a close resemblance to a happy labrador retriever in the shape of a man. “Actually seek a mate among your people who adore you.” He sipped his drink. “Be at peace with the gifts you have.”

  “Fuck that. Fae men are far more dramatic than human kings. And that includes you.”

  Aengus shrugged. “Sad but true.”

  Arthur’s choice had been for the good of his citizens to secure an alliance between two kingdoms. She’d always been willing to set that aside, her bitterness of a slow-simmering variety. What good would it have done to deny herself the simple pleasures of the fle
sh? Each time Arthur had been reborn, their paths inevitably crossed.

  Deep down, she knew he’d made the right choice for the time—the only choice his advisors had been willing to accept—but she’d also hoped his legendary courage would shine through.

  That he’d choose her first.

  That he’d tell the treacherous bitch’s father that he had already chosen his bride.

  Aengus laughed out loud. “You’re a gas, Nimue. So, what are you going to do about our fabulous queen’s direction? Will you slaughter the man?”

  If she killed Arthur, it would be the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. His knights would no doubt be furious with her. Worse, she suspected they would take action and hunt her, resulting in her withdrawing to the fae realm indefinitely.

  Sweet winter stars. Mab and Oberon would love that. She could hear the shrieking laughter and mockery from afar.

  “He claims the Titans have awakened and will be spreading destruction from one corner of the earth to the next.”

  “Oh, that isn’t a claim.” Aengus refilled her glass a second time. “That’s a guarantee. Whispers on the wind say that Gaia is on the move.” The fae dragged one finger down his phone’s screen. “See? Look. Peep our Discord chat.”

  “Peep?”

  “You know I try to be hip for the mortal kids.”

  Nimue rolled her eyes and leaned closer to peer at the screen. Less than two days ago, a fae with a butterfly for a profile photo brought up the rumbling of the land near South Dakota. It could have been anything, of course, but the conversation revolved around a sudden surge of growth in the fields and forests of the surrounding area.

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you didn’t actually answer my question, Nim,” Aengus said while she skimmed through the online conversations.

  “I know.”

  “And?”

  Nimue sighed and passed over his phone. There really was only one answer she could give, both to her friend and to their queen.