The room still smelled faintly of blood.
I had gotten rid of most of it with a bit of magic, but I didn't know any real cleaning magic, and Kilgrave's blood had really seeped into the carpet.
His body, too, had been unceremoniously disposed of, thrown out the window. It would cause some chaos for sure, but I didn't plan to stick around for long.
Mordred and I sat on my bed, with Jessica sitting on Mordred's as she told her story.
Her voice was low. Hoarse. Like someone who hadn't spoken much for a while.
She told us about the night she met him—how she'd been trying to do good, trying to be a hero. How she'd been inspired by Stark's coming-out party, back when he told the world I am Iron Man. She wanted to help people.
And then he found her.
"It wasn't sudden," Jessica said, fingers clenched around the mug Mordred had handed her. "It was slow. Like drowning in syrup. Sticky. Sweet. He didn't say obey me—he said don't you want to? And I did. Because that's what he made me want."
Mordred didn't interrupt. She hadn't said a word since the story began. She just listened, sharp-eyed but patient.
I sat on the bed, arms folded, letting it all pass through me. Her pain. Her shame. Her guilt.
None of it was hers to carry.
"When he made me do it," Jessica said, voice cracking. "When he made me kill someone… I was aware. I felt it. I screamed the whole time inside my head. But my body just smiled and did what he wanted."
Her shoulders shook.
"Hey, girl." Mordred spoke, getting her attention. "You want to go out and beat his body into a paste?"
Mordred wasn't good at this and didn't know how to comfort someone properly, but she still tried her best, and if nothing else, it did bring the tiniest smile to Jessica's lips.
It wasn't much. Barely a twitch of her mouth.
But it was something.
Jessica let out a breath, half a laugh, half a sob. "It's fine, I would be happier if I never had to see his face again. She murmured.
Mordred grinned. "No worries there, I smashed it pretty well, no face left on that guy."
I stood up and stretched. My body didn't ache, but I found myself mimicking the gesture regardless—it helped. Grounded me.
"Then what do you want, Jessica? You are free now, no vengeance to seek, no nightmare to flee, you could do anything you want now." I asked as I looked at the poor girl.
Jessica didn't answer right away.
Her gaze dropped to the coffee mug, as if the answer might be hiding somewhere at the bottom.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't think I ever let myself imagine it. Freedom. Not really. Every time I thought I was getting away, he'd find me. Pull me back in. So I stopped dreaming."
She once more went quiet, just sitting there, looking at nothing, thinking.
Neither Mordred nor I interrupted her.
Finally, after a few minutes that seemed to stretch on forever, she spoke. "So… Mordred… are you really him?"
Mordred blinked.
Of all the things Jessica could've asked, that one caught her off guard. She tilted her head, cocked an eyebrow, and looked at Jessica like she was trying to figure out whether the woman was joking or genuinely curious.
"Him?" Mordred echoed. "Who are we talking about now?"
Jessica just stared. Searching.
"You said you would only kneel to your father. That there was only one king worthy of your loyalty. You said you were the Knight of Treachery."
She was quoting now. Word for word.
"That wasn't a metaphor. Was it?"
"Yeah? What of it?" she asked, confused, but only momentarily, then Mordred's grin faded. Her posture stiffened ever so slightly, the way someone does when they realize a secret might've slipped loose.
I watched quietly, curious myself. I hadn't expected Jessica to pick up on that.
Jessica leaned forward a little, elbows on her knees, the mug clutched between her hands like a lifeline.
"It wasn't just the words," she said softly. "It was how you said them. That moment… when you snapped out of it. That wasn't someone resisting control. That was someone built to resist. Like it was part of your soul."
Mordred didn't respond immediately. She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing, as though weighing the options—deny it, laugh it off, or tell the truth.
"Damn," she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. "You're a lot sharper than you look."
Jessica gave her a look. Not offended. Just flat. "While under his control, I couldn't do much; I only watched through my own eyes and observed things. I guess I became pretty good at it."
Mordred looked to me, clearly asking for what to do now that our secret was out in the open. I admit, it was unexpected, I had thought her too preoccupied with the whole getting free from a sicko's mind control would distract her.
But clearly I was wrong.
"Pretty good indeed. She is indeed Mordred, knight of the Round Table." I admitted, seeing no reason to keep it secret anymore, now that it was pretty much confirmed.
Jessica didn't react with disbelief. No laughter. No scoffing. Just a long, quiet breath as she looked at Mordred again—really looked this time.
Then, she looked at me, since Mordred was Mordred, then she had to realize who I was, and she naturally struggled to believe it.
After all, both Mordred and I were said to be men, in the legends and in the media today. Yet before her, sat two very clearly women.
"If she's Mordred…" she began, her voice slower now, careful, "and she kneels to you…"
She trailed off, but I saw the moment the dots connected.
Jessica's breath caught in her throat. She stared at me for several seconds longer than was comfortable. Then finally, she said it—not loud, not dramatically, but with enough weight to fill the room.
"You're Arthur."
Not a question. A conclusion.
I didn't deny it.
"But… you are a man?"
"People couldn't accept a woman being king back then, so I hid the truth," I explained lightly.
"But… but… how could anyone not see it?" She asked, vaguely gesturing to my very feminine figure.
I smiled, faintly. "Because I didn't look like this back then."
Jessica blinked.
"I looked like a boy," I clarified. "Small. Thin. Androgynous enough to pass. People saw what they wanted to see. And I let them."
"Let them?" she echoed, more softly now.
"They needed a king," I said. "A king who could lead, who could save them. So I became that. I wore the armor, carried the sword, fought their wars. And when the songs were sung, they never questioned the 'he' in the verses."
Jessica's eyes lingered on me, thoughtful. Then she looked at Mordred.
"But… you had a child, how didn't anyone notice you being pregnant and giving birth?"
Mordred snorted so hard it almost counted as a laugh. "Whoa, back up. Let's make one thing clear—he didn't give birth to me."
Jessica blinked, startled. "Wait, but if you're both women—"
"I said he on purpose," Mordred cut in, leaning forward, her grin a little sharper now. "My father. The one I swore to. The one I rebelled against. That was my father, not my mother. King Arthuria."
Jessica looked back at me, uncertain. I nodded, calm and composed.
"Mordred is the child of my sister Morgan and me. She wanted someone who could replace me, and well, she found a way to make it happen. Some magic was involved, and let's leave it at that." I vaguely explained.
Jessica stared down at her mug again, like it might offer a second opinion. "That's... a lot."
"It usually is," I said quietly.
There was a long silence. Not awkward, just heavy with everything that had been said and everything still hanging in the air.
Then Mordred rolled her shoulders with a little grunt. "So now you know. What're you gonna do with it?"
Jessica didn't answer right away. When she finally spoke, it was with a steadiness that surprised me. "Honestly? I don't know. I'm not even sure what I am anymore. But..."
She looked up at me again. This time, there was no doubt in her eyes. Just something harder. Something like resolve.
"Why are you here? Helping me? Shouldn't you be in England? Being king and all?"
I met her gaze, steady and calm. "Being a king… Mordred, why don't you explain how the day of a king is?"
Mordred leaned back, let out a breath, and gave Jessica a look that could only be described as long-suffering sibling energy.
"Oh, you mean besides the part where every noble with a stick up their ass wants a private audience to complain about taxes, trade routes, or the length of ceremonial cloaks?" Mordred scoffed. "Let's see… paperwork, policy meetings, more paperwork, blessing ceremonies, more meetings, speeches, court politics, more paperwork, and occasionally—if the stars align—five whole minutes to eat."
Jessica blinked. "Wait, really?"
"She makes it sound worse than it is," I said calmly.
"It is worse than it is," Mordred shot back. "You don't do anything but work all day long, king? More like… paperking!" she tried really hard on that one, I could tell.
"What Mordred is trying to say is, being a king is a lot of work, so I am here for work, I bought something from Tony Stark. And I'm waiting for him to deliver, and while waiting, Mordred and I thought to spend the time hunting down some immortal ninjas, and well, we found plenty of reason to do that." I explained.
Jessica blinked again, processing the absurdity of it all. "You're… buying tech from Tony Stark and hunting immortal ninjas in your downtime?"
Mordred grinned. "Better than sitting around back home being bored, even if I never got to punch Stark's face in."
Jessica gave a small laugh. Tired, but real. "God, I think I've completely lost track of what's normal anymore."
"You'll get used to it," I said, then added gently, "If you want to."
Jessica didn't answer right away. She stared at the far wall, quiet again, but not in the same haunted way as before. This time, she was thinking.
"What do I even do now?" she murmured. "I don't have money. No place to go. I don't even know how to exist outside of his voice."
"What do you want?" I asked her. It was a simple question, but after going through what she had, it was meaningful.
Jessica didn't respond immediately. Her lips parted, then closed again, her fingers tightening slightly around the mug like it might anchor her to the moment.
"I… I don't know," she whispered. "I used to think I did. I wanted to help people. Be a hero. Someone good. But now…" Her voice broke a little.
"You could still be that, if you abandoned that dream, that's fine. But ask yourself, why do you do it? Is it because of him? If it is, aren't you still letting him decide things for you?"
Jessica's eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a heartbeat, I saw something raw there—something torn open and vulnerable.
Then she looked away again, gaze falling back to the mug in her hands.
"I don't know," she repeated, softer this time. "I just… I don't want him to be the reason for anything anymore. Not why I move. Not why I breathe. Not why I stop."
Mordred leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Then don't let him be."
Jessica let out a shaky breath. "Easy to say."
"And why is it hard to do?" I asked her. "Why not just jump into it, do like Mordred, just punch your problems until they are gone, it's not elegant, but it seems to work."
She didn't say anything for a while, just sat there, deep in thought.
"Since you have nothing, I will take you to see Stark. You are his fan, no? While I doubt that will last once you meet him, at least you can get a bit of a crash from him to help you get back on your feet."
Jessica snorted faintly. "His fan? I'm not sure, but I admired that someone like him, who has everything, would still be willing to fight for others, and not just hide at home when people suffered."
"I didn't hear a no, so stay here the night, tomorrow we go see Stark, and you can think about what you want." I decided for her. It might be wrong to do so, especially after what she has gone through, but clearly she needed help moving on.
(End of chapter)
So, Jessica joins up. She is no Knight of Camelot, but I have some plans for her. She won't be around long term.
But yeah, not much happened this chapter, but that's fine, poor girl needs some time to recover. But at least, I promise that we aren't done with the Hand just yet.
So look forward to that!