“If you’d rather fight for me,” Summer said, wryly. She shook herself, then pulled herself up straight. “Well. My sword?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he tells her, turning to take her sword, presenting the hilt to her. “Here you are.”
She closed both hands around the hilt, lifting it slowly from his hands. “I love to tempt you. But this is my task, I think.” The edges of the blade glittered in the slanting morning light. “Time to go chastise my brother.” Summer glanced at Mordred, eyes dark and set. “You don’t have to watch.”