Just as the bandit's grip tightened around my wrists, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was Lancelot! I breathed in, relieved, knowing that at least he was alive and well after all. However, he wore an expression I had never seen on him before. His face was one of righteous fury as he surveyed the situation before him, his gaze settling upon me with such intensity that I felt my heart stutter.

Lancelot's commanding presence and unwavering gaze made the fae hesitate. Even in our dire situation, I couldn't help but admire his poise.

"That's... Sir Lancelot!" one of the fae cried out, fear evident in his voice.

"It's true, I recognise him from the Battle of Bronns" another one said.

It was obvious the bandits were aware of who he was, and they were absolutely terrified.

"Stop this at once," Lancelot demanded, his voice steady and authoritative. "Take the riches we carry and leave these two unharmed."

"Or what?" one of the bandits snarled, clearly unimpressed.

"He's one of King Arthur's knights, you fucking idiot!", the bandit by his side reprimanded him, punching him on the arm.

"Give us the pegasi too," another bandit interjected greedily, eyeing the magnificent creatures.

Lancelot shook his head firmly. "The pegasi are not part of the deal. And know this: the woman you hold is the Avalon Princess. You do not wish to face the consequences of harming her."

Lancelot's words rang out with a fierce intensity and his face grew dark. It was both terrifying and undeniably sexy. The raw power he exuded in that moment was captivating, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. There was something enticing about this side of him, an allure that I couldn't resist. Fear mingled with admiration, making my heart race in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Alright," the bandit leader growled reluctantly, releasing me. "We'll take the riches and be on our way. Come on!"

Without saying another word, they untied us and stepped away, scurrying off into the night with their loot.

As the bandits hastily retreated, carrying away the offerings I had prepared for Morgana, I felt a mix of frustration and relief wash over me. The tension between Lancelot and me had been palpable ever since our forbidden kiss, and the silence between us had grown suffocating. But now, as Lancelot approached me, concern etched across his face, I couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement deep within me.

"Are you hurt, my Queen?" Lancelot's voice was soft, laced with genuine worry as his eyes searched mine. I yearned for his touch, for the reassurance of his hands on my skin.

"I... I'm fine," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. His proximity, his warm breath against my cheek, sent shivers down my spine. Every inch of my being craved his touch, yet I held back, bound by the knowledge that my desires could bring nothing but destruction.

Lancelot studied me for a moment, his gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. The intensity of his scrutiny made my heart race, and I found it hard to breathe. Then he nodded curtly, maintaining his distance from me. His unreadable expression left me feeling both relieved and slightly hurt. Was I not worth more than a few polite words to him?

"Thank you for saving us," I finally managed to say, breaking the charged silence that hung in the air.

Lancelot offered a small smile, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and regret. "It was only my duty as your protector, my Queen" he replied, his voice tinged with sadness.

Just his duty as my protector? His words felt like a jab to my ribs. As I was about to speak again, a groan interrupted us. I turned to see Mordred stirring, his eyes fluttering open. Relief washed over me at the sight of him awake and seemingly unharmed.

"Sir Mordred!" I exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Are you all right?"

He blinked up at me, confusion clouding his expression for a moment before recognition dawned in his eyes. "Your Majesty... What happened?" he asked, his voice groggy.

"Sir Lancelot saved us," I explained, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me. "They became scared when they recognised who he was."

Mordred nodded, a glint of acknowledgement in his eyes as he looked at Lancelot. "I see," he drawled, the sound devoid of any emotion.

That night, I slept poorly, tossing and turning beneath the canopy of leaves that sheltered us. My thoughts were consumed by the conflicting emotions Lancelot stirred within me. I longed for him to talk to me, to be close to me, but a part of me knew it was better this way. I shouldn't want him like I did, and his stoic behaviour was perhaps the right course of action, despite how much it hurt.

The following morning, our journey continued in silence. We mounted our pegasi and took to the skies, soaring towards the treacherous Killaraus Mountains. The jagged peaks and misty valleys stretched out below us, a breathtaking vista that did little to ease the tension between Lancelot and me. For two more days, we flew in uneasy quiet, the distance between us growing with each passing moment.

Seeking solace, I found myself engaging in conversation with Mordred. Our shared experiences as half-fae beings fostered a sense of camaraderie, and I discovered that beneath his bitter exterior lay a kind and cultured man with a sarcastic sense of humour. He regaled me with tales of his travels and battles, offering brief respite from the silent ache that gnawed at my heart.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we arrived at our destination. Sir Lancelot commanded us to begin our descent, and we alighted upon a platform jutting out from one of the mountain's craggy protrusions. The massive gates of Killaraus loomed before us, flanked by two stern and unwelcoming soldiers. Their skin was rough and mottled, their eyes cold and unfeeling – a stark contrast to the vibrant beauty of the faes of Avalon. They were armed with wickedly sharp weapons, and the air around them crackled with barely restrained power.

"State your business," one of them growled, his gaze flickering over us with suspicion.

"We have come to see Queen Morgana," Mordred replied coolly, meeting the soldier's gaze without fear. Recognition flashed in the soldier's eyes, and he exchanged a begrudging nod with his companion before motioning for us to follow. Was this the reason why Mordred was accompanying us?

The soldiers howled a mesmerising, guttural incantation that caused the mountain doors to shudder open. As we cautiously stepped into the unknown gloom, the enormous portals groaned shut with a thunderous clang behind us.

As we traversed the dark and labyrinthine fortress, I couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. The rugged terrain of Killaraus Mountains was both awe-inspiring and oppressive, its dark caves and hidden pathways barely illuminated by fae lights on the stone walls. Our footsteps echoed through the narrow passageways, the sound a haunting reminder of the unknown dangers that lurked within.