Haden jerked in his bed as something snapped him out of a deep sleep. Had his alarm clock gone off? God, he hoped not. Mondays were never his favorite day of the week. How many Mondays had he lived through? Too many to count and too many to remember.
Life for him and his Knightly brothers was an endless cycle, always on the move, never staying too long in one place. How could they when the people around them grew old and died and he and his brothers remained the same? Never aging. Cursed.
How far he had fallen from being Sir Galahad, one of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table with skills no other man could claim? And now the foe who cursed them centuries ago was after them again.
With a groan he reached out to turn the alarm off, only to realize the blasted thing wasn’t going off. In a heartbeat, he moved from groggy to wide awake. Something had woken him, and his gut told him that something was significant. He reached for his lamp and clicked it on, the soft light permeating the room. But he barely noticed, shock holding him completely immobile as he stared at his arm.
Fuck. His arm.
Why did he look larger? His eyes had to be playing tricks, because right now, it looked as though his limb had returned to the size it had been before the curse.
He then noticed how his feet touched the edge of his mattress. While he may be little, he slept in a king-sized bed. Never before had he been able to get anywhere near the edge of the mattress.
What the hell was going on?
He threw back the covers and gazed down at his body. Holy shit.
It had to be dream. This wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed about waking up to how he used to be. Haden pinched his arm. Hard. Pain radiated down his limb. This was no dream.
He leapt out of bed, viewing the room from a different perspective than he had in ages, and rushed into the en suite bathroom. He slammed his hand against the switch and bright white light flooded the room.
“I don’t believe it,” he whispered. The image gazing back at him from the full-length mirror in the room was a six foot three man. No hint of the small person he’d been for the last fifteen-hundred years lingered. What faced him now was the man he’d been in King Arthur’s court.
The curse had been broken. How had that happened? For at least a century after they’d been cursed, they’d tried to find a way to reverse it. Their search had been unsuccessful. He recalled the day they’d sat in a tavern and accepted their fate over numerous tankards of ale.
Was this real or a magical illusion? Was Morgan Le Fay up to her tricks again?
If he was back to this original form, did that mean his brothers were too? Had his power returned? He snapped his fingers. A small flame glowed at the tip. Concentrating hard on it, the flame grew until he cupped it in both hands. With a quick shake of his hands, the small fire disappeared.
Haden glanced back at himself in the mirror, a wide grin breaking out over his face. “I’m back.”