Free Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) by Danielle Martin Williams Page B

anything ?”
    He sighed and gripped a chunk of his hair. “I know we are near Tintigal, assuming all is as before.” He dropped his hand frustrated. “Mordegrant was placed on the throne by his kin who is married to Morgaina’s aunt. Morgaina’s father had long ago been lord over Tintigal, and she still thinks herself to be the rightful heir, often remaining in this area, which is certainly why she was here.” He pouted his full lips. “But I remember nothing of the curse nor do I know why I would come to this loathsome place.”
    “Loathsome?” I placed my foot on the lower branch and began climbing to get a better view of the endless rolling green hills that peeked out from a copious forest, blooming with vibrant colors announcing the life of spring. “What do you mean loathsome? It’s beautiful here.” I leaned my cheek against the branch and watched two blue birds with white bellies swoop down low, one chasing the other before looking back down at him.
    He stared up at me, one eyebrow lowered and one raised as though baffled and seemingly certain I had lost my mind. I felt my cheeks burn, realizing I had been caught in my own world for a moment and , once again, probably looked absolutely ridiculous to him. I blinked and turned my face away, cringing inside. “So would that be Arthur’s aunt too?” I mumbled, trying to ignore my embarrassment, as I carefully worked my way back to the ground
    “Uh, aye .” He seemed to be at a loss for words, as he watched me descend, and I hated myself for being so odd, as Stacey put it, especially in front of someone as perfect as him. “But he hardly knows her,” he continued hurriedly, glancing away awkwardly for a moment. “Arthur was taken as a baby and hidden; they only knew him to be Uther’s son after he pulled the sword.”
    “That’s terrible to be taken from your family so young.” I wiped my dirty hands onto the sides of my jeans, ignoring the slight ache from the rough branches that dug into my skin.
    He scrunched the left side of his face, looking at me like I was unintelligent. “Had he stayed, he certainly would have been killed. Ector was more of a father to him than Uther would ever have been, had he lived.”
    I knew I should stop before his mood changed again , but I was still hungry for more. “How do you know?”
    He scoffed slightly. “All kings are terrible fathers.” H is eyebrow burrowed in irritation. “Besides, he was only a baby. He knew no different.”
    I hooked my thumbs onto the lower straps of my backpack adjusting it, mentally taking note that as he was in fact a prince, which meant his own father was a king, and according to his reasoning, must have been a terrible one. “So did you only know him after he pulled the sword too?”
    He glanced away, shifting his weight . “That is when I first knew him to be my cousin, but we had been raised together.”
    “ You lived with Ector too?” I hedged.
    He kept his eyes averted , but I saw the muscles in his jaw flex out. “No,” he said gruffly, as he began walking again.
    “Where did you—”
    “You know,” he interrupted, his eyes darting around as though he were searching for scattered items to gather. “Arthur pulled the sword when we were only of fifteen summers.” The words came out fast, as he continued rummaging the landscape. “But these old dogs would not hear of having a boy rule over them,” he continued. I had a feeling he had meant to distract me, and it worked. “So after days of deliberation they finally decided to call him the Battle Duke of Britain until he could prove he was fit to rule. It was Uther’s old title when Aurelious ruled—” 
    “Who is Aurelious?” 
    “Our uncle,” he replied indifferently, “and Arthur wears the title proudly. They only meant to make a fool of him,” he said pointing at me, “but he quickly proved them all wrong.” His green eyes gleamed with mischief.
    “What do you mean?” I asked, boiling over with