the word. "Everything."
Kerrigan scoffed at her sentimentality. Cloth. Leave it to a woman to care so for something so minuscule.
But as he watched her wipe away a tear, he felt something inside him shatter. He wanted to comfort her.
What is the matter with you?
She's nothing.
Disgusted by his untoward thoughts, he slammed from her room. However he didn't make it any farther than the hallway as the thought of her broken heart crushed him.
Forget it, Kerrigan.
Aye, he fully intended to put it out of his mind.
Morgen smiled to herself as she returned to her chambers alone. She paused as she caught sight of a naked Brevalaer waiting unabashedly for her by her carved wooden bed. The tall, dark Adoni was beautiful as always, but then, being a trained courtesan, he knew exactly how much of his value depended on those looks.
His black hair fell just above his broad, muscled shoulders that tapered to a most succulent six-pack of abs…she so loved that term from the late twentieth, early twenty-first century. Dark eyebrows slashed above a set of feral eyes that were hazel green and always inviting.
He was her favorite lover above all others…at least for the moment. And he would most likely be the successor to Kerrigan when all of this was over. If Damé Fortune willed it that way.
"How did it go, my queen?" he asked in that deeply seductive voice of his.
She laughed as she moved to stand before him so that he could remove her heavy red velvet cloak. "The fool is playing right into my hands, just as I knew he would."
"Are you certain?"
"Of course." She didn't truly want the Round Table. At least not yet. The table at this point would be as worthless to her as the black one in the hall below. Without a Penmerlin here to charge the table, it would never work properly.
She'd tried right after her brother's death to access those powers herself. But she was the negative that needed a positive to charge it.
That required a new, untainted Penmerlin, but unfortunately, no Merlin would come to Camelot so long as it was in her hands. And neither she nor any of her people could force a Merlin here. The last time they had tried, it had been disastrous.
Nay, a Merlin must enter this hall of his or her own will…
And that was what had led her to the current plan. If she couldn't bring a Merlin here, then she would birth one. Gods and goddesses, how she loved a good loophole.
She'd planned on the father of the child being Brevalaer, but as she considered it further, Kerrigan would be a much better donor. He, like the little hag he'd captured, also had the blood of their magical line within him.
If two such creatures joined…
The birth of the child would render Kerrigan obsolete. At long last, she would be able to kill him. But more than that, she could bring back Mordred and restore him to perfect health. Happiness poured through her at the thought of her son returning to her side. It was all she'd ever wanted.
And she knew that if she'd tried to force Kerrigan to bed the mouse, he'd have refused just to spite her. So she'd sent Magda to Seren with the directive for the chit to seduce the beast.
She should have known that Seren wouldn't be able to accomplish such a feat, and so her latest ploy had been born—put the two of them together long enough, and Kerrigan was bound to take the chit at some point. It wasn't in his nature to deny himself carnal pleasures.
Now that it was only the two of them and he no longer had any of her fey to choose from…
Aye, it would only be a matter of time before he slept with the wench.
Only a matter of time before she could kill the Kerrigan and the mouse, and claim their ill-begotten child for her very own. She laughed lowly in anticipation. Soon the world would be hers and there would be no one to stop her…
Chapter 6
Kerrigan sat idly in the window, balanced precariously on the whitewashed stones as he gazed out to the fulminant sea below. The sounds of the waves echoed in his ears, but not even they were enough to drown out the sound of Seren's heartbroken voice.
The sight of the hurt that had been in those catlike eyes. It haunted him still.
How could worthless, uncut cloth mean so much to anyone?
And yet it did.
Worse,