Gwen sat downstairs, fiddling with the bottom of her cloak irritably. She was regretting her decision to let Merlin go without her, even though she knew it was the right one. She would only have slowed them down. Yet there was something about being in the same cabin with a jumpy girl and a sleeping Guardian that was decidedly creepy.

She reclined at the table, wishing she had something—anything—to do. Her side ached despite help from Merlin's magic, and the blood on her shirt stuck to her skin in an incredibly uncomfortable manner. She twirled her hair around her finger absently, lost in thought dreaming about when Merlin would come back.

Something slamming into the door stunned Guinevere, and she stood up, knocking the stool over. Upstairs, she heard Snow White scream shrilly. Cursing in an un-lady-like manner, Guinevere ran up the steps towards Snow...

And jumped back just in time to avoid a sword aimed at her heart. "Hello, Queen Guinevere," Sir Mordred said coolly.

"Mordred!" Gwen exclaimed. "I thought you were dead!"

"You sound very disappointed," he said, keeping his sword leveled at her. "It seems that Merlin hasn't left the girl defenseless...though you are not very good for defending anyone, are you?"

She glared at him, trying desperately to think of a way out of this situation. With Mordred just waiting for an excuse to kill her, it seemed like doing nothing would be her best option. But it would also be the coward's option. She remembered how Alan had run back to save Merlin, and how that move had cost him his life.

In one swift movement Gwen jumped back, grabbing her shoe off her foot and hurling it at Mordred. He ducked and Guinevere slammed her shoulder into his chest, knocking him off balance. She grabbed his sword and pointed it at his heart. "I don't know," she said. "I think I'm rather good at it."

To her immense surprise, Mordred started laughing. "You think so, do you?" he chortled. "Then look behind me."

What she saw caused the point of her stolen sword to drop towards the ground. A man was emerging from the room they had left Rachel in, carrying the Guardian in his arms. Behind him, a red-haired woman had her arm around Snow's throat, obviously restraining her.

Mordred took advantage of Guinevere's surprise and knocked the sword from her hand, grabbing her around the arms and holding her. His breath was hot on her cheek as he whispered, "I may not be able to take my revenge on Arthur, but I can take it out on you."

"There will be no such thing," the red-haired woman said, frowning. "If you attempt to harm either Lady Guinevere or anyone else I disapprove of, I shall have to find a new Sir Mordred."

Mordred's face paled, and Gwen felt her blood freeze. There was only one person who could toss threats around like that. The Editor. It had to be her. "What—what do you want with me?" Guinevere demanded, straining against Mordred's tight grip around her.

"That is simple, my lady," the Editor said with a thin smile. "I want you returned to your rightful Story and for it to proceed the way it should. And unfortunately, that is going to require some effort on my part, so bear with me, won't you?"

"Where are you taking Rachel?"

"You see, there are several reasons I cannot restart The Story and return it to its proper state," the Editor explained patiently. She was a thin woman, but she held the struggling Snow as though she was simply standing still. "All of them stem from that girl. But killing her simply won't suffice. No, the damage she and that idiot son of mine did to my Story is ingrained so deeply, killing either or both of them would do me no good. Instead, I have to write one of them out, and the simpler option is the girl."

"Write her out?" The breath caught in Guinevere's throat. If Rachel was written out, she would undergo Final Death. Gwen remembered Merlin's grief at Alan's Final Death. Rachel's would be a hundred times worse for him. "You can't!"

"You're right—I can't. Not yet," the Editor said. "Because she has to agree to being written out. This was both a kidnapping and a test. If she would willingly eat a poisoned apple to save the lives of three of her friends, what would she do if I had all of them prisoner? My question has been answered. Now all I require is the final stage of my plan. Please don't struggle, Queen Guinevere. This will all be over very soon, and then you can go back to your oblivious life."

"I don't want that. Nobody does," Gwen protested. "Rachel's Story has made everyone much happier than yours ever did."

The Editor's face reddened. "Chaos," she said. "Unbound chaos. That is all that Rachel Andric brought about by rewriting my Story. Unless this chaos is bridled, controlled, The Story will be imperfect. And we can't have that, can we?"

"If you think Rachel's version of The Story is imperfect," Gwen argued stubbornly, "then you have no idea what's best for The Story. You'll have to put down rebellion after rebellion. These people have tasted freedom. They won't let it go so easily."

The Editor scowled at Guinevere. "Why does everyone who comes in contact with that girl become so stubborn and idiotic? I have no more time to bandy words with you. Let whatever foolish fantasy you want into that head of yours. If it comforts you, fine. But know this; your dreams will never come to fruition. My Story will be returned to perfection—without Rachel Andric."