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Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.
The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.
“She’s not going to let me do that,” Summer replies, quietly. She turns back, to look at him. “And I won’t leave your side again. She has you, the collar about my throat, and she will use us each against the other.” Stepping back to face him, she reaches up to stroke his cheek.
Mordred shook his head. “No, I will not hear of it,” he tells her. “You being by my side in this situation is near next to impossible, Summer. It’s not that I don’t want you; it’s that here is far too dangerous for you, especially with Morgana.”
“How do you expect me to leave? She’s not going to let me go, Mordred. Not now.” Summer closes her eyes. “Even if she did, where would I go, caught between two armies? I can’t save you, and I can’t stop you, but I can stop her using me against you.”