Wolf glared at the second man who spoke. “Do you find humor in this?” He lifted the blade of his dagger to the man’s throat.

  “No, my lord, not humorous, magical.”

  Wolf felt his belly drop to the ground. Had she been taken back to her future?

  He didn’t want to believe it, but the timing could not be better. Whoever snatched her back had saved her life. Wolf knew Camelee had nothing to do with it or she would have sent herself back before this. It didn’t soothe the beast inside that wanted to howl his sorrow until the sun rose.

  The two men didn’t change their stories even after Fin tortured them. Wolf didn’t let it go on for too long.

  Was it true? Had she been saved by going back to her future? He was thankful and happy she was saved but his world crashed into thousands of pieces at his feet. He’d lost her, just as if Leofric had killed her. She was gone. Everything stopped for him. He didn’t want to go back to the way his life was before her, without her. He didn’t want to give up. He wouldn’t. He never gave up on anything. He wouldn’t start now with the most important person in his life. Every idle moment was spent thinking of her. How could he ever find her?

  They camped in the woods that night. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t want to dream of her. But even awake she haunted him. Twice he thought he heard her weeping and rose to his feet to check around the trees. “Camelee?” he called out. He waited but only silence met his waiting ears. He prayed that if he could hear her to please let him go to her.

  Would he leave his brother, the king, Denmark? All of it for her? Yes. If there was even a chance of finding her, he would.

  “Brother?” he turned to Fin and held back his anxious thoughts.

  “I thought I heard her,” Wolf explained quietly.

  “I will wake the—”

  Wolf grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “She haunts me, Fin.”

  His younger brother stared at him, looking deeper than most, save for Camelee. “I know, Ulf. It is clear that you love her. But do you truly believe her story about coming from the future? Because, Brother, I must tell you, it is beyond good reason.”

  “I cannot explain why, but I do. Just as I cannot explain why when I returned to the keep, Genevra had seemed afraid to speak to me. Does she know something and why would she not tell me?”

  There had been no time to question her further before he’d left the keep. Maybe it was time to return and find out. Leofric would wait.

  “She is loyal to Camelee, Wolf. I can assure you.”

  Wolf nodded, staring at his brother defending Genevra. “I do not doubt that and as long as what she is keeping from me does not harm Camelee, I will hold nothing against her.”

  “Very well,” Fin said, believing Wolf’s word. “What about our two prisoners.”

  “Let them go in the morning,” Wolf answered. “Then gather the men. We are returning to the keep.”

  “Why are we going back? Leofric will be long gone if we go back now.”

  “I do not believe he has Camelee or Hild. I think they were brought back. I think they have gone into the future. I must figure out a way to get her back.” Wolf stopped and thought about it for a moment. “You go, Fin. Find him and bring me back his head.”

  Fin grinned from ear to ear. It meant much when the chief sent you out to kill his enemy. It spoke of trust and that the chief thought you good enough to take his place. And this was an especially important enemy. “Yes, my brother. You will have it.”

  “And…” Fin added reluctantly. “If he has her and the child?”

  Wolf narrowed his eyes on him. “Whatever condition they are in, bring them back to me, Fin. Forget his head. Just bring them back.”

  “Yes, Brother.”

  Wolf didn’t wait for the morning to come but rode out with ten men. They headed west, toward Wessex.

  Genevra was there, waiting for him at the gate when he returned. When she saw that he was alone, her expression faltered and did not recover.

  “You did not find her.”

  “Genevra.” He dismounted and went to her. “Two men saw her disappear into thin air. Her and Hild. I believe she went back to the twenty-first century.”

  “The future,” she whispered as her eyes took on a glassy haze.

  “Genevra!” He took her by the elbows. “Please tell me what you know of it. You must tell me. I intend to find her.”

  “A few days ago, I knew nothing,” she said, going off into the distance again. “But now—we came from the past.”

  “What? We?” Wolf balked. “What are you saying? Were you a part of this? What do you mean you came from the past?”

  “From ancient times. Fifty-two AD.” She paused when he fell into the nearest chair. “We went to Ah—Ah—I cannot remember what ’twas called, but it smelled like apples, and we did not age.”

  “Genevra,” he said, frustrated and impatient. “This is—do you know where Camelee is?”

  “Aye, Chief. She is with him. The man my soul aches for. Her father.”

  “You need sleep, Woman.” He began to rise from the chair, looking more defeated than ever.

  “Wolf Kristiansen!” she shouted, stopping him.

  He pivoted on his heel. No one shouted for him that way and lived.

  “Camelee is my daughter. I am…or was a queen. I was wed to the King of Camelot, but I do not know who that is.”

  “That is simple,” Wolf told her, sounding less convinced than before. “If you were married to the King of Camelot, that would make you Queen Guinevere and your husband would be King Arthur. Do you not remember Camelee told us about her namesake, Camelot? So, you are telling me Camelee is your daughter and the daughter of a king from a book?”

  “Oh, aye. King Arthur Pendragon,” she whispered, saying each word slowly. As if she were hearing it for the first time and tasting each one. “Arthur.”

  Pendrey. Wolf remembered Camelee’s surname. It was similar to Pendragon.

  “How do I find her?”

  “It feels good to tell this to someone. But,” she shook her head. “I do not know. I can tell you this though, if the king knows where I am, he will come for me. I will see to it that you have time with our daughter.”

  “Time? How much time?” Let them try to separate him from her a second time.

  “That is all I can promise now, Wolf. Please be patient.”

  He didn’t want to be patient, but he would do it. For a little while longer. Mostly, he wanted to believe this madness Genevra was telling him.

  “Very well. How do you know she is with him?”

  “Last night, I started dreaming of them together in a resplendent glass castle. She was quite miserable. Oh, but not because she is being mistreated. She appeared very sad.”

  “Yes. I heard her weeping in the forest where she disappeared,” Wolf agreed more enthusiastically. “I do not know much about magic, but if there is a kind of veil that separates us, I want to find a way through it.”

  “We need magic, my lord.”

  The fire in his eyes wasn’t quenched by the impossible. “Where do we find it?

  *

  “You look beautiful.”

  Camelee didn’t smile back at her father when she reached the grand banqueting table, made of frosted glass. Crystal chandeliers hung in a row of five across the length of the hall, illuminating the banqueting hall in a soft golden glow.

  Her father. How insane was this? She was still expecting to open her eyes and come out of her coma. King Arthur was her father. Really?

  But it made sense. Even down to her name. They’d named her after Camelot and kept her with people who were descendants. The Pendreys.

  According to the king, he, his wife, Guinevere, his knights, and his illegitimate son, Mordred, lived here in the first century! There was a war, during which time Viviane and Nimue’s sister Morgan, known as Le Fey, or the Faery, cast a spell on Mordred. Is that what the sisters were? Faeries?

  Mordred tried to kill his father and almost succeeded, if not for Viviane who brought him to Avalon and there he stayed for many centuries, never growing old.

  The sisters captured Morgan and made certain she would not escape her confines of her island prison.

  But twenty-six years ago, she did.

  Arthur escaped to this realm again because he was familiar with it. His family would remain here, growing old without each other. Everyone old enough to remember was enchanted to forget the king and who they were. The adults were sent away. The children given up for adoption.

  All to keep them safe.

  Camelee was tired of being safe. She wanted to face this Morgan and give her a good punch in mouth. She’d ruined all their lives. Arthur and his beloved queen Guinevere had grown older apart. Their children’s paths had changed. At least hers had. Camelee was certain Arthur would have been a devoted, loving father. She would have grown up here and stopped getting older at twenty-five to thirty. Morgan took it all from her.

  “Please sit next to me, Daughter,” the king invited, pulling out her chair. “I hope Avalon pleases you.”

  It was certainly majestic and beautiful. Everywhere she looked there were apple trees and waterfalls and children playing in the sunshine. It was perfect. But not for her. Wolf wasn’t here.

  How could she miss him so much? She barely knew him and yet she was falling in love with him. She didn’t want to think about a life with him or without him, or that he wasn’t real.

  She thought she had never cried so much in her life as she had in these few days. She should he happy…like Hild. She had her father back. Soon, she might even get her mother back, that is, if the king could find her. She was out of the violent eleventh century. She was no longer a servant—a fact which caused the king to slam his fist down on the table and shout, “You are a princess!”

  He didn’t seem like a bad guy. He did what he said he would, like take care of Hild. And her. He treated her with respect, as though she were higher in station than he. She found him in the magnificent crystal chapel every few hours, praying to God.

  So, he was nice. But, number one, she didn’t want a father in her life anymore. She wasn’t a foolish child fantasizing what it would be like to have a daddy who loved her. Those days were over. Number two, she certainly didn’t want this legendary king—Arthur—of all people to be her father. Why Camelee? If he was real, and if he truly was the man those famous authors wrote about, then everything he told her was likely the truth. Giving her up nearly destroyed him and her mother, but they wouldn’t have her killed on their account. She could understand that kind of love. She would give her own life for Hild. If her father hadn’t found her when he did, she would have fought Leofric’s men to the death to keep them from Hild. She understood. She could forgive her parents.

  But what if none of it was real and she surrendered her anger and hatred to nothing?

  “Our family should be here soon,” the king told her. “Until then, tell me about your life.”

  “I would prefer not to think about it,” she answered honestly. “It seems it’s all I think about lately, so, I’d rather hear about your ordinary life, Mr. Lancaster.”

  He smiled and, for a moment, she fell, lost in the idea of having a loving father, who was handsome and easy to talk to. He wasn’t stuffy with archaic ideas.

  “I’m an archeologist. I spent this past fall in Egypt.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty cool.”

  His smiled widened into a grin. “Yes, unless you’re frying in the sun and covered in sand every day. Then it’s not so cool.”

  “That’s true,” she agreed, daring to smile with him. No. If he wasn’t real, she couldn’t take it. “I was an actress,” she told him, acting calm now. “Sometimes I used to think the people I was working with were bags of dry bones.”

  He laughed as if he had never heard anything so funny. Camelee had to admit liking him. It was hard not to.

  She sipped apple wine from a cup made of frosted sapphire. “Wow, this is delicious.”

  Her father agreed. “You’ll find that everything is just a little better here.”

  Nimue swept into the hall toting Hild by the hand. Hild looked like a little faery with all her flaxen curls piled on top of her head and silver dust coming off the gown Nim had made for her this morning.

  When Hild saw her, she broke free and came running. “Lee!” She climbed into Camelee’s lap and that was where she remained for the remainder of the afternoon, while Camelee told King Arthur which movies and shows she’d appeared in. He’d been living in NYC for the past twenty-six years. Maybe he’d seen her in something. She didn’t mind that he didn’t recognize any of them. He was more of a book person. And Viviane, who remained standing, didn’t watch television or anything on an electronic devise.

  The air shimmered around them for a moment and then Nim appeared with her arm looped with a man—was he a regular man? Camelee had never, in all her days, seen anyone like him. He was the kind of beautiful that drew one’s eyes and kept them locked on him. He wore a black sweater that hugged his muscular body, with jeans that fit perfect.

  “Father,” he said, obviously having met the king before and knowing who he was. “Why am I here?”

  The king smiled lovingly at him. “Mordred—”

  Mordred. Isn’t he the one who—

  “Sebastian, please, Father.”

  He was her half-brother. He wore modern twenty-first century clothes. A knee-length wool coat, jeans covering long legs, and boots. He spoke with a British accent. She wondered where he was living. He was Morgan Le Fey’s son, and one would have to be blind not to see the otherworldly beauty of him. He reminded her of a black stallion, wary and dangerous if not handled with care. He was 6’4” or 5” inches of pure male. His black hair reached his shoulders, and a few tendrils eclipsed his vivid green eyes. He had a strong jaw, darkened by a day or two of not shaving.

  “Son, Morgan is free again—”

  Sebastian’s skin went pale, making him somehow even more striking. “Noelle!” He pulled away from Nim and lifted his hands. He began speaking. The air around him seemed to blur.

  Magic, Camelee thought, mesmerized. There was no pretty shimmer, but a warped haze. He spoke more quickly, waving his hands with purpose and determination. But nothing happened. The air cleared, like a fizzled-out ember. He turned a hard glare on Nim—as if she, or the sisters, controlled Avalon. The king had no authority here.

  His eyes changed from green to hot, molten gold. “Let me go back to her, Witch.”

  “Sebastian,” their father said with a thread of warning in his voice. “Your beloved is safe. Please trust me. Merlin is taking care of everything in that realm. As for your magic, you know you cannot use it here.”

  “Father,” his son pleaded but there was something so dangerous in his plea, Camelee wanted to leap in front of the king and keep Sebastian, aka Mordred, the king killer, away from him. “If you don’t let me return to her, I will never forgive you.”

  “Sebastian, I can do nothing,” Arthur vowed, “at least until Merlin returns. His magic is involved in keeping them safe.”

  “Why couldn’t it keep us safe with them where we were?” Camelee turned to the king and asked.

  “Who is this?” her half-brother demanded.

  “This,” she bit back, “is his daughter, Camelee.”

  “Oh,” he said looking her over. “Yes, I can see the resemblance to Guinevere.”

  He said something after that, but Camelee didn’t hear anything else. She resembled her mother. People often remarked that she resembled Genevra.

  She felt ill and buried her nose in Hild’s sweet, messy bun.

  Could it be? Could Genevra be Guinevere? Wasn’t the name Genevra Italian for…her mother…Guinevere?

  Should she tell Arthur? She wanted to. In fact, it almost dropped right out of her mouth. But did she want to face Genevra as her mother right now? She had just found her father—and it was King-freaking-Arthur! Wasn’t that enough for one day? For a lifetime? Would the king let her barter? Information about his beloved queen in exchange for Wolf to be brought here?

  “Visions?” Sebastian asked, watching her.

  “What? No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Something you said—”

  The air went silver again, and Camelee realized Viviane hadn’t been there for the last few seconds. She returned now with another dark-haired beauty. This one, a woman in her early twenties. She was dressed in a bunch of skirts and a tight little bodice type of top with a square cut neckline. Fifteenth century maybe? She was about six months pregnant.

  “Dad!” She ran down the hall and into the king’s arms, where she remained weeping and clinging to him.

  “Kestrel, my baby,” Camelee heard her father say softly into his other daughter’s neck. His baby. The way they reacted to each other made Camelee wonder how well they knew each other. Was Kestrel not sent away, as she had been?

  “Elia—I mean Viviane told me everything,” Kestrel told him. “It’s all so crazy! You’re King Arthur! Elia suspected it.” She turned to gleam at Viviane and then back at her father. “Why did you keep it from me?”

  “Everything will be made clear to you shorty, my love.”

  His love.

  Camelee swallowed back something that burned like hellfire. She blinked away and caught Sebastian, aka Mordred, staring at her. She almost broke out into a sweat and looked away.

  “Sebastian, Camelee, this is Kestrel, my daughter with my earthly wife, Cynthia.” He turned to Kestrel and motioned the other way around. “Sebastian, my eldest son with Morgan, and Camelee, daughter with my beloved Guinevere.”

  Kestrel stared at her like a baby bird with huge eyes just waiting to be eaten by her predator. She smiled at Camelee. How did she do it? Was she so confident in her father’s love that she wasn’t threatened by the daughter born of his beloved?

  “Okay, so, Dad,” Kestrel said. “What’s going on, because I have to tell you, I’m not feeling one hundred percent my best right now.”

  Instinctively, and for some reason, Camelee thought of Genevra. She put aside her jealousy and hurried to Kestrel’s side and helped her into a chair.