I made my way over to Mordred after parting with Coulson, for the first time, getting a good look at just how she had been losing all that money.
She was at a poker table. Naturally. Leaning back in her chair like it was a throne, legs spread, sunglasses perched on her head like she'd forgotten they belonged on her face. A drink—something neon and probably too sweet—sat untouched beside her stack of chips.
"Raise," she said confidently, tossing in a handful of chips with absolutely no regard for their value.
One of the other players narrowed his eyes. "You sure about that, lady?"
Mordred grinned wide. "Not even slightly."
The dealer paused, visibly unsure how to proceed. I could almost hear the cogs turning in the poor man's head: Is this woman rich, crazy, or both?
I stepped up behind her just as the cards flipped.
She had nothing.
Not even a pair.
The other guy even had a full house.
Mordred didn't flinch. She just laughed, stretched her arms behind her head, and said, "Well, damn. That's what I get for bluffing with honor."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You do realize the goal is to keep the money, not spread it across the table like fertilizer?"
She looked back at me with a sheepish grin. "What can I say? I was on a roll. Until I wasn't."
I couldn't even deny her, since I was sure she won plenty of times. She just really didn't care at all, only wanting to have fun. "At least tell me you are at least having fun spending my money?"
Mordred tossed a pair of sunglasses onto the table like she'd just finished a particularly intense duel and leaned back with a grin that could power Vegas on smugness alone.
"I'm having the time of my life," she said, reaching for the neon drink and taking a daring sip. Her face scrunched immediately. "Okay, that tastes like regret and melted glowsticks. But still—worth it."
I didn't even want to ask how she knew what a glowstick was, or how it tasted.
One of the other players, an older man in a cowboy hat, gave her a slow, amused nod. "Gotta say, miss, you play like someone who's got nothing to lose."
She beamed. "Because I don't."
I folded my arms, standing behind her like the disappointed parental figure I was rapidly becoming. "She plays as she pleases, which is how she always acts."
The cowboy tipped his hat. "Well, she sure makes the game more interestin'. Ain't often you sit across from someone who bets like they're stormin' a castle."
Mordred gave him finger guns and a wink. "It's called tactical chaos. You should try it."
I placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. "And now that the chaos has run its course, perhaps we retire before you start donating chips to every cowboy, crook, and confused college student in this city."
She sighed dramatically, then stood up and stretched, arms overhead, cracking her back with a pop loud enough to make the table wince. "Fine, fine. But I want dessert."
"Order whatever you want, after we get to the room, now take what remains of your winnings and let's go." I urged her, not wanting to linger here now that SHIELD was on our trail.
Mordred grumbled but obeyed, sweeping the remaining chips into her tray with exaggerated care, as though parting with dear friends. She gave the cowboy a lazy salute on her way out. "Good luck, partner. May your cards be slightly worse than mine."
He chuckled. "Something tells me I'll be fine."
We left the table and made our way back through the shimmering chaos of the casino floor. Lights flashed, slot machines chimed, and the air buzzed with laughter, desperation, and cigarette smoke. Mordred walked ahead, humming some tune she'd picked up from one of the lounge acts.
But I could feel it.
Eyes. Not just the cameras—those were expected. But a new kind of gaze, sharper than security, subtler than greed.
They were watching.
I didn't look back. I didn't need to. Whoever they had stationed nearby would see what they wanted to see: a rich woman and her reckless daughter enjoying a brief, lavish vacation or something darker, more sinister, whatever they wanted.
And tomorrow?
We'd be gone.
Back in the penthouse, Mordred tossed the tray of chips onto the table and threw herself into a chair, as if she hadn't sat down in weeks.
"So, what sort of trouble are we in? Because I'm sure there's a reason you came to find me, I normally find you."
I could only sigh as I too took a seat. "Some secret police are after us; apparently, winning as much as I have isn't normal, so now they want to figure out my secret." I didn't hide the truth, just skipped the details she wouldn't care about.
Mordred perked up immediately. "Secret police? Like… the fun kind, or the stab-you-in-your-sleep kind?"
"Definitely the stare-too-long-and-ask-questions kind," I said, swirling a glass of wine I'd poured while she flopped about dramatically.
She whistled low. "Damn. And here I thought I was the one causing trouble."
"You are," I said flatly. "You're just not the one being investigated for breaking probability."
Mordred sat up and crossed her legs on the couch like a child about to hear a bedtime story involving murder. "So, why did you do it? Do any of this? I mean, surely you didn't do it just to make money, you are a king, you are filthy rich."
I knew I couldn't pull one over her eyes so easily; she might act like a fool, but she was sharp when she wanted to.
She had led a rebellion against me, and managed to bring down my kingdom, and while Morgan played a large part, Mordred herself wasn't without her own smarts.
"You are right." I admitted and pulled out a small bank card from my inner pocket. "This is something The Veiled Hand prepared for me. It connects to something called a Swish bank account and holds untraceable money."
I explained how the widows had gotten the money, how it could be used without worry, and that nothing could be used to reveal our connection with Albion.
"So, why all this? I mean, I had fun, but why go through with it? What did you want?" Mordred asked, pleased that she had been right, been able to see through me, but also curious.
I smiled faintly. "Couldn't it just have been for fun?"
Mordred blinked, clearly not believing me. "So, what's the real reason?"
I met her gaze without flinching, then leaned back and folded my hands in my lap.
"Fine," I admitted. "I did have a plan, something I wanted to test. But I could have done that anywhere; it didn't have to be here. That part, the casino? The beach? That was purely for fun, because I wanted you to enjoy yourself."
Mordred blinked again, slower this time. The smile she wore wasn't smug or sharp—it was small. Honest.
"…You dragged me across the ocean for a vacation?"
"Yes," I said plainly. "You've earned it. And I… needed it."
She stared at me for a long moment, and then let out a snort that quickly bloomed into real laughter. She slumped back into the couch cushions like a balloon losing air.
"Gods," she muttered. "You're worse than I am."
"I wouldn't say worse," I replied, sipping my wine. "Just… subtler."
"So, the tests, the attention, the ridiculous blackjack streak—what, that was just bait?"
"Bait," I confirmed, "to see who would come sniffing. I wanted to know if the world still pays attention to anomalies. If they still chase shadows when something bends the rules."
Mordred gave a low whistle. "And they do."
"Indeed, which is why we have to move, it's time we get back to the mission, and meet with someone who has the technology we want." I said, pausing the conversation as food arrived.
"I'm going to miss this, all you can eat, brought to your table at all times of the day. Honestly, this is what a king should have. I don't get why you, the greatest king, do nothing but work all day." Mordred mumbled with her mouth full of food, making a mess of herself.
I reached for a napkin and leaned over, dabbing at the corner of her mouth like a mother with a sticky-fingered child. "Because if I don't work all day, someone else will have to. And none deserves that burden."
She made a noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a scoff, swiping my hand away. "When I become king, I will make others do all the work, so I can have fun all day, and I'm making sure you have fun too."
I couldn't help but smile at her words. Dreaming of being king, commanding me to relax and have fun. She was a good kid, that I had no doubts about.
The fact that she believed she would become king was telling. My challenge for her was to earn the forgiveness of every other Knight of my table, and that was unlikely to ever happen. I didn't want to give her an impossible mission, but it was the only way I could make everyone at least not stab one another.
I let the thought linger, unspoken, as I watched her tear into a pile of cream-drenched pastries like she'd been starved for centuries. Maybe she had—starved for joy, for purpose, for something that wasn't war and resentment and the long shadow of a king and father she once tried to kill.
-----
"I bet they will be really shocked when they realize we are just gone without a trace." Mordred mocked SHIELD as we prepared to leave.
"I personally think they will be very happy, since they will find a lot of treasure left behind here, because what are you planning to do with all this stuff?" I asked as I pointed to the piles and piles of stuff, clothes, electronics, and everything else.
We had arrived here with nothing more than a stolen car and about twelve hundred dollars in cash, and now we had more stuff than most families would bring with them when they went on a ten-day-long vacation, and all that from staying here for about four days.
Mordred followed my gesture, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over the absurd sprawl of souvenirs, gadgets, clothes—half of it she couldn't even remember buying.
She shrugged. "We take it with us?"
"Like hell we are! We aren't carrying all this around, fill a backpack with what you really want, and let's get going."
She mumbled some curses under her breath as she started to sort through the stuff, only to end up filling the bag with snacks as she found most of the rest to be trash, mostly because she had trashed it.
She had ordered about a dozen handheld game consoles and broken them all when she lost.
I was glad I forbade her from causing trouble down on the floor, or she would surely have killed everyone who beat her in gambling.
"What about your winnings?" She asked as she spotted the huge pile of golden chip cards on the table.
"I traded some for cash, so we can eat without worry, but I will be leaving the rest. This poor casino would likely go out of business if I took it."
Mordred blinked. "You're actually leaving millions just sitting there?"
"Yes."
"Like… on purpose?"
"Yes."
She stared at me like I'd just declared war on dessert. "You're terrifying."
"I'm considerate," I corrected. "Besides, it's more fun this way. Let SHIELD and everyone else watching try to make heads and tails of the reason behind.
Mordred snorted. "Careful, if you have too much fun tricking people, Merlin might show up."
"No, only if I make too many plans, then he will come around to mess with when, or Morgan will. Just to remind me that even the best-laid plans fail when encountering the enemy."
Mordred snickered. "Yeah, sounds about right. Though honestly, I'd pay to see their faces when they check the room and find the leftover loot. They'll think we were some eccentric heiress duo running from an arranged marriage."
"I doubt it." Since I was sure they would care more about any possible supernatural plot than something like that. "But let's get going, we have a man to meet, and I promise you will want to beat him up in minutes."
Mordred's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. "Oh? Do tell."
I activated the TemPad, the golden light humming softly as coordinates began to lock in. "A brilliant man. Genius inventor. Wealthy beyond reason. Wears sunglasses indoors. Constantly talks."
She squinted. "Wait. Are we going to meet him? The one with the shiny tin can suit and the god complex?"
I gave a single nod.
Mordred cackled. "Finally! I've been dying to punch that guy since I saw one of his interviews. Smug bastard practically begs for a beating."
I slipped the TemPad into my coat pocket and moved toward the door. "Control yourself until the mission is complete. We need his arc reactor design, not his bruised ego."
"No promises," she muttered with a wicked grin, hoisting her snack-laden backpack over her shoulder. "But if he throws the first punch…"
"I'll pretend I didn't see it," I said dryly.
And with that, we stepped into the golden shimmer of the TemPad's portal, leaving behind a luxury suite full of confusion, riches, and questions.
(End of chapter)
Alright, so done with the playing around at the casino, and time to meet with Stark, likely no big fighting for the first meeting, but fear not, action will come soon enough.