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Chapter Text

They made a living. It wasn’t a sizeable living, and it wasn’t an honest living. But they made a living, and it was enough. Enough to maintain a cabin in the forest. Enough to buy food when they needed it. Enough to give charity to local lost Druids who shared their forest with them. Enough to barter with travellers—although they still relied on charisma to compensate when funds came up short. In any words, it was enough. It was a living.

Now, their income was modest, but they never were. They lived well beyond their means, and they knew as much. But who were they to turn down favours and gifts from the company they kept? Their cabin was lined floor to ceiling and wall to wall with ornate weaponry and handsewn tapestries and glittering jewels to fill in the gaps. Their closet was filled with elaborate gowns, several of which were as (if not more) lavish than those the princesses wore in their castles in the cities. They had jewellery. Silver, gold. They lived in more of a trove than a cabin—a trove holding what, if appraised, would likely be one of the most substantial fortunes in the Five Kingdoms. But they didn’t have it appraised. They didn’t want to. The material value was incidental; they kept their treasures for sentiment. And also to serve as an indisputable reminder that they were damn good at making their living. Honest, sizeable, or none of the above.

Morgause was out that evening, keeping faithfully to a rendezvous for which she’d promised herself over to a duke. Perhaps a prince. A lady-in-waiting? Morgana couldn’t always keep her own marks straight; remembering who Morgause was courting at a given time was a write-off. It didn’t particularly matter so long as it paid. Which it always did in the end. With the dukes. With the princes. With the ladies-in-waiting. Whoever the person and whatever the title, they all eventually put money towards that living. And once the well ran dry or the excitement simply wore off, they were dropped. Easily. Any strings in those relationships were held by the opposite party. Never Morgause, and never Morgana.

They’d thought about settling down with a mark and transitioning over to honourable work, but they’d always found themselves back in the cabin. Making their living the best way they knew how. And, in truth, the way that best piqued their interests. It seemed more worthwhile—and, somehow, more romantic—to build a legend than to build connections. They never gave their marks their real names, but the stories were always the same; they’d blow into town, whisk some lovesick dignitary off their feet, then cut and run before anything got serious. But the royalty would still think about them and talk about them and whisper their aliases. Morgause and Morgana were building a legend around themselves. Given enough time, their marks always knew what they’d gotten themselves into, but it never stopped them coming. Really, it only ever made business better. Perhaps some of them thought that they were different, that they were the ones who would finally tie down such mercurial phantoms. Perhaps some of them knew with full clarity it was destined to fail. They all handed themselves over anyway. Ultimately, what better company was there for a bored noble with too much time and money than a beautiful woman with one too many secrets?

Morgana stood in the entrance to her and her sister’s shared closet, idly looking through the dresses for something that sparked her interest. They were all gorgeous, but gorgeous wasn’t quite enough for the mark she was courting. It had to be gorgeous—of course it had to be gorgeous. But it also had to be right. And none of them were seeming to meet Morgana’s standards. She sighed, pulling a navy blue velvet gown from the closet and holding it up to an open window. It had always been one of her favourites in the collection, and she knew from prior outings that her present lover liked it just as much. But somehow it felt wrong, so she rolled her eyes and slipped it back into the closet, returning to her search.

She felt a pit forming in her stomach. It wasn’t about the dress; she knew it wasn’t about the dress. Her current relationship was an ongoing one; she’d been seeing the Lady Vivian for nearly seven months, and that was far longer than she typically liked to stick around. Royals, she found, were generally alike and rather dull. They fancied themselves conversationalists, but they’d never quite convinced Morgana of that. Vivian was better than most of them. Noblemen and women had a way of dancing around their complaints and prevaricating their desires. Morgana understood well that they did this because it was considered polite and respectable, but she never cared for it. Vivian was forthright with everything she said. If she was displeased, someone would hear about it. On occasion, her temper would cross a line, and she’d say something rude. Regrettable, even. But she never once apologised and she never once backtracked. The other royalty wasn’t fond of it; Morgana wasn’t like them. She always found it a refreshing quality in Vivian, and she had always been willing to endure some rather harsh words directed her way if it meant spending time with someone upfront as opposed to Vivian's more equivocal royal peers.

The charm, it seemed, was wearing off. The second Morgana realised she couldn’t excite herself enough for a date to even be able to pick out a dress, she knew it meant it was time to call things off. Still, she didn’t want to. As bored as she may have been growing with Lady Vivian, she knew damn well she wouldn’t find a replacement mark with even half the character.

Morgana laughed at herself lightly. Morgause would have laughed too if she were there and could read Morgana’s thoughts. Since when was their business actually about the relationship? Or the other person? That seven months Morgana had spent siphoning funds from Vivian was already well beyond her typical courtship and for good reason. It was time. She knew it was time. If Morgause weren’t off pretending to be infatuated by some undoubtedly uninteresting duke (or prince or lady-in-waiting), she’d tell Morgana it was time. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d be hard pressed to find a replacement. It’d take her one visit to a neighbouring kingdom, and she could land herself another.

Something in her was still determined to keep Vivian around. Maybe she was growing sentimental. Maybe she was simply too lazy to go meeting anyone new just then. In either case, she was going to have to find a suitable dress. Whether she called things off with Vivian or not, their date for that evening was already planned. She figured it best she went; she could determine afterwards whether it was truly time to call it quits.

A jade green dress caught her eye. Morgause had worn it before; Morgana had not. She remembered it being well-received, per Morgause’s account. Taking it out of the closet and holding it in front of her, Morgana could understand why. It was lovely. Glistening and adorned with gold. She spun it around and held it against herself, stepping in front of a full-length mirror that was positioned next to their closet.

It was perfect.

The pit in her stomach was immediately filled with butterflies. Perhaps she’d been wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t yet time to call off her courtship to Vivian. She could do reconnaissance and begin scouting new marks, but perhaps Vivian would still suffice.

Morgana knew in the back of her mind she’d eventually need to break things off with Vivian and find herself another woman. Such was the nature of their game, after all. But if Vivian was still doing it for her and she’d already invested seven months, she didn’t think another few days (or weeks or months) would hurt. Besides, she was still rather convinced she wouldn’t ever be able to find herself a noble who enthused her like Vivian could.

There were whispers in the forest; a neighbour kingdom of Camelot was opening its gates to Druids and sorcerers who were displaced in their continued war on magic. Morgause and Morgana had heard interesting things about their Princess—Guinevere was her name. For a split second, Morgana thought about ditching the meet with Vivian and setting her sights on the new girl. But she decided against it; she still had too much hope for Vivian to do something so rash just yet. Maybe Guinevere would be better left to Morgause.

Finally dressed in the green gown, Morgana watched herself in the mirror as she ran a brush through her hair. She was satisfied. Satisfied would do.

Chapter Text

Guinevere was a princess; nothing could take that title from her. She’d earned it at birth by virtue of her mother’s blood and her father’s marriage. Princess Guinevere, heiress-apparent to the throne of Caidale. And, really, who wouldn’t want that? Caidale was magnificent—sprawling, expansive hills that managed to always roll green even when the air was cold and the sun was obscured. A gentle brook running through the town centre and wrapping around the palace to form a delicate, glistening moat traversable by a cherrywood bridge. A cherrywood bridge that was always adorned with wildflowers in colours to reflect the seasons. Too far south for the bitter cold in Ismere, but too far north to have been racked with the sorts of animal attacks and bandit invasions that kingdoms bordering the Darkling Woods always seemed to suffer.

Caidale was magnificent. It was beautiful. And it had been astoundingly safe up until it had slighted Camelot in refusing to partake in its War on Magic. Even so, if ever there were a kingdom’s throne to covet, Caidale would top most lists.

Guinevere still sought more.

Caidale couldn’t offer her the excitement she could find in less idyllic kingdoms. Caidale couldn’t offer her the danger she could find in the outlying forests. Caidale couldn’t offer her the adventures she could find in the magical lands just a short ride away. Her parents never liked her leaving the kingdom’s borders, but she never liked staying put for too long. They’d managed to restrain her more thrill-seeking urges throughout most of her childhood, keeping her occupied by teaching her sword fighting and reading and sewing and blacksmithing and anything else they could imagine. But now she was a grown woman. A grown, educated woman who, amongst all the lessons she’d been given in her youth, had learned the art of persuasion. And it was through that persuasion that she and her parents managed to reach a compromise that allowed her to explore beyond the borders of Caidale so long as she returned home within a week and would be accompanied for the duration of her voyages.

Guinevere took every opportunity to travel that presented itself. She was close friends with her servant, a girl from Caidale named Sefa whose family had long served Guinevere’s in the palace. Sefa taught her to horseback ride, and, together, they’d head out on a new expedition every other week. They’d leave at the crack of dawn and return exactly seven days later just as the sun was setting. Then they’d remain in Caidale a week—just long enough to connect with their families and plan out the next week’s expedition. Seven days after their return home, they’d set out again. Cyclic. Sefa and Guinevere’s travels became a better way for the Caidale people to mark time than even their own calendars. And they became somewhat of an urban legend; commonfolk would gossip—what could the Princess and her maidservant possibly be getting up to every other week? Was it crass? Was it dangerous? And who would ever want to leave Caidale? Magnificent, beautiful, idyllic Caidale with its hills and its brook and its cherrywood bridge.

It didn’t take them long before they’d visited every kingdom in the entirety of Albion. And, naturally, Guinevere had her favourites, but she held each one in high regard. Even Caerleon and Camelot and Essetir—despite the grievances she held with their monarchs. Caidale was not the standard; royalty did not tend to reflect the nature of a kingdom.

An outing to Gawant introduced Guinevere and Sefa to the Princess Elena, and the two princesses in particular hit it off immediately. Horseback riding. Travelling. Defying royal expectations. Neither had been entirely sure up until they met that soulmates existed.

From that point on, every trip Guinevere took would invariably take a detour through the Druid forests to get to Gawant. Elena would join, and the three girls would race each other and dance in the trees and weave each other crowns out of flowers. Crowns that they’d treasure like they were made of precious metal. Sefa didn’t own any other crowns; Guinevere and Elena always felt that their more expensive jewelled crowns back home would never be worth nearly as much as the ones they made each other.

But there was a problem.

Guinevere was a grown woman. It was why she could leave Caidale, after all. Magnificent, beautiful Caidale. However, the fact that Guinevere loved spending her time anywhere except for Caidale did not stop Caidale from being in her future, and while most of the rumours about her still centred her travels, new ones were starting to surface that made her parents uneasy.

How long would it be before magnificent, beautiful Caidale could hold a magnificent, beautiful wedding for its magnificent, beautiful Princess Guinevere? Was she courting anyone? Was anyone courting her? Was all this travelling done to spend time with a suitor?

She found the concern for her love life inappropriate and, frankly, untoward. And distressingly outdated. She’d seen enough kingdoms outside Caidale to know that princes were almost never given this treatment. If a prince were to travel, it was brave and sensational in the eyes of his public. And when she was younger, it had been the same for her—now it was beginning to be seen as unseemly and unladylike. Decidedly not magnificent and beautiful. This, however, didn’t stop her from carrying on as she pleased. She’d marry when she found someone worth marrying. Until then, she didn’t see a reason for it to be her kingdom’s business.

Not that it didn’t cross her own mind occasionally.

She’d shared kisses with Elena before, but it never went anywhere. They were friendly—deeply and inseparably. But they could never get themselves anywhere farther than that.

Sefa was her servant. Guinevere had heard many a tale of a royal engaging in romance with a personal servant, but their relationship was not of the sort. And, as it stood, Sefa had a girlfriend—a girlfriend named Kara. Guinevere liked Kara, and she liked Kara with Sefa. Far be it for her to break that up over some whisperings in the kingdom.

Kara lived in the Druid forests with a friend of hers named Freya. Guinevere had met Freya. They’d hit it off. Of course they had—Guinevere hit it off with everyone. But she never felt anything for Freya beyond a general fondness.

Guinevere wanted magic out of romance. She wanted the same sort of thrill she sought in her travelling. She wanted someone who could make her feel alive with nothing more than the feeling of their hands on her skin. Categorically, this ruled out suitors in Caidale, and, generally, this ruled out suitors from most noble houses. No amount of pressure from her parents or her subjects was going to change any of that for her. So, as it seemed, they’d all have to wait.

And, really, how bad was it to wait from the comfort of a kingdom as magnificent and beautiful as Caidale?

Every time Guinevere returned from a voyage, she’d arrive at the cherrywood bridge to see her parents standing on a balcony overlooking magnificent, beautiful Caidale and waiting to see her approach. They’d wave when they saw her. She’d wave back. And then she’d stable her horse and head up to stand next to them on the balcony and recount the adventure. Their eyes would sparkle. They were proud. Reserved, but always proud.

The stars would break out through the clouds overhead as the sun fell out of the sky, and Guinevere would stand there watching it with her parents. Her parents who held each other in loving embrace while she stood just to their left. None of them would speak; they’d just take in the view of the sunset over Caidale.

Magnificent, beautiful Caidale.

This time, however, Sefa and Guinevere took a detour on the return trip home from dropping Elena back off in Gawant. The sun was already setting, and they were still out in the Druid forests. Guinevere thought the twinkling of the stars through the leaves on the trees was far more stunning than the clear view from the balcony. In fact, she thought it may have been the most stunning sight she’d ever see in her life.

That was, of course, until she and Sefa crossed paths with the raven-haired woman in the jade green dress.

Chapter Text

Sefa dismounted her horse, first cutting in front of Guinevere as if meaning to protect her from the woman. Morgana, chin on a steep angle and eyebrow arched, looked down to Sefa expectantly. She was attractive in a sweet and approachable way, friendly and rose-cheeked. And for as tall as she was holding herself, there simply wasn’t much to her. Her hair was kept back in a modest braid that rested over her shoulder, and her dress, a hazy pastel pink thing, was equally conservative. Morgana knew the sort. A serving girl, clearly, but not the average serving girl. The sort of serving girl who came from a benevolent palace and a wealthy kingdom. The sort of serving girl who would never speak ill of her charge—who could sing praises without telling so much as a white lie. And while Morgana had little need for serving girls, a kingdom like the one this serving girl must have hailed from was certainly an intriguing prospect, so she extended a hand to Sefa. Bracelets on her wrist jangled against each other. “Good evening,” she said smoothly. “We haven’t met.”

Sefa’s expression was as hardened as she could manage. Which wasn’t much. With marked hesitance, she took Morgana’s hand in hers and gave it a firm shake before pulling her hand back against her chest and giving Morgana a once-over. “Sefa,” she introduced, breathy.

“Morgana.”

“Pleasure.”

Morgana’s eyes wandered up to Guinevere, still positioned on her horse and keenly watching Morgana and Sefa’s interactions. “And you?”

“Pardon?” Guinevere asked, lightly shaken. She hadn’t expected to be addressed directly.

“Well, I assume you have a name,” Morgana replied easily.

“Oh—right, of course,” Guinevere breathed. “It’s, uh…” She dismounted her horse and crossed in front to stand beside Sefa, if just a hair behind. “Guinevere.”

“Lovely name,” Morgana complimented. She let her eyes scan over Guinevere now. Guinevere, who, like Sefa, was approachably attractive. However, unlike Sefa, she held herself with a familiarly regal posture that Morgana swiftly recognised after seeing it in the women she kept. And Guinevere’s dress was pink like Sefa’s, but it was a deeper shade and silken, shining delicately under the moonlight peeking through the trees. “Lovely dress as well,” Morgana added, drawing her gaze back up so that her eyes locked to Guinevere’s.

Guinevere felt herself flush. She watched over Morgana with slow inhales, feeling indescribable. Entranced. It then dawned on her that, while she herself knew how warm her face felt, Morgana would not. “Oh—” She shook her head rapidly as if shaking herself awake from a daydream. That she was able to get air through her vocal cords to speak at all amazed her, for she had been all but certain her breath had been stolen from her. “I—thank you. Thank you very much. And, uh, and your dress is lovely as well. I-it suits… you…” She trailed off, feeling like she’d spoken too much. The flush in her cheeks burned embarrassed now more than enchanted, and she silently thanked the Triple Goddess that Morgana wouldn’t have known about that flush either.

Morgana may not have, but Sefa did. Sefa knew Guinevere well enough to hear such a thing in Guinevere’s voice even if she couldn’t see any rose on her cheeks. Deciding she ought to take control of things (for her Princess’ sake), Sefa cleared her throat and addressed Morgana as levelly and plainly as she could. “Did you want something from us?”

Morgana fronted offended, bringing a hand to her chest and pressing the tips of her fingers against the centre of her clavicle and reeling backwards slightly. But Sefa and Guinevere could both tell it was an act; it was far too mannered and controlled for someone genuinely as stricken as Morgana put on. “Rude,” she scoffed before crossing her arms and shaking her head disapprovingly. “Why do I have to want something from you? Can’t I just say hello?”

Sefa arched a brow, but she didn’t answer.

“If you must know,” Morgana sighed. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here. I take this way to… see my girlfriend. Usually it’s peaceful.”

“And you think we’re making it… not peaceful?” Guinevere asked.

Sefa gestured backwards to nudge Guinevere lightly with her elbow. “I’ve got this,” she assured, her eyes kept to Morgana.

“Got what?” Morgana asked with a short laugh. “Have I done you harm?”

Sefa rolled her eyes. “No,” she conceded.

Morgana extended her arms. “I’m unarmed. You can check.”

“Do you normally wander the forest unarmed?”

Morgana shrugged. Realising Sefa wouldn’t be accepting her invitation for a pat-down, she coolly refolded her arms over her chest. “Why not? I told you: I come this way to meet with my girlfriend.” She angled her chin upwards. “Where are you from?”

“Does it matter?”

“Humour me.”

“Caidale,” Guinevere interjected. “We’re from Caidale.”

“Caidale?” Morgana asked, furrowing her brow. “Where’s that?”

“Just north of here. Hard to miss, really.”

“Clearly I’ve missed it anyway.”

“Are you local?”

Morgana nodded. “I live in these forests with my sister.”

“Then I really don’t understand how you wouldn’t know where my—our kingdom is. It’s the biggest civilisation this side of Gawant.”

“Oh, is it?”

Guinevere nodded proudly.

“And is it typical in your impressive civilisation to carry weapons to a date?”

“Pardon?”

“I was trying to work out why your friend thought I’d go to see my girlfriend armed. Thought perhaps it’s customary in Caidale.”

“It’s… not.”

“The forests aren’t as dangerous as their reputation might say. Not on this end, anyway. We get a bad name because the Darkling Woods farther east have their faults. But our neck of the woods is perfectly safe.” She looked pointedly at Sefa. “So, yes. I normally walk through the forest unarmed.”

Sefa still looked unconvinced, and the fact that she was standing close enough to Guinevere to feel her Princess radiating with what she presumed was a combination of lust and intrigue did nothing to ease her nerves. Guinevere had grown up more sheltered than Sefa; she hadn’t heard the stories Sefa had, and she didn’t always have Sefa’s innate sense for danger.

Morgana, it seemed, was dangerous. Perhaps not physically. Perhaps not even immediately. But existentially. Intimately. The sort of danger that could only hurt someone who sought it out.

Sefa looked back at Guinevere for a moment, getting the confirmation of her Princess’ attraction to Morgana by the sparkling look in her eyes. She decided it best to defuse the situation then and there. Turning back to Morgana, she said, “Well, it’s been… a lovely chat. But we really ought to go. Right, Guinevere?”

“Go?” Guinevere repeated. “Why?”

“Because we’re late, and people worry.”

It broke cleanly through Guinevere’s apparent entrancement. “Right,” she said, sobering up at the idea of her parents standing on their balcony fearing that her tardiness could only be the result of something going horrifically wrong. She stepped around Sefa towards Morgana and extended a hand. “If you’re ever in Caidale… come find me? If you’d like.”

Morgana accepted the gesture with a small, almost smug smile. “I’d like to.”

Guinevere felt her heart flutter.

“Come on,” Sefa said urgently, already mounted on her horse.

Guinevere gave Morgana one final lookover before smiling, turning back, and remounting her horse. Morgana stood and watched the other two ride off towards Caidale until they were too far away and too many trees obscured her vision.

Chapter Text

Guinevere was alone, accompanied only by the rhythmic tapping of her heels on the cold, hard floor of the palace as she paced pensively in her chambers.

Her parents had smothered her with attention when she and Sefa had finally come back home. They’d been worried sick; their daughter had been gone too long. According to her father, they’d been just a few minutes shy of sending out a search party when they’d seen Guinevere and Sefa crest a hill on the horizon once they’d crossed over into Caidale from the neighbouring land. She apologised profusely for scaring them the way she had and explained that they’d simply lost track of time. It wouldn’t happen again.

She appreciated her parents. Deeply. They were well meaning; they always had been. Even if she may have felt nearly suffocated once in a while, she knew they always had only the best intentions. That they wanted only the best for their precious daughter. And, for that, she was eternally grateful. Overbearing as they could be when she was home, they still gave her reign over her own life and her own decisions. They might try to talk her out of things or sway her to their way of thinking, but they’d never demanded anything of her that she didn’t want to give. It was a fine, fine tight rope, but they’d always walked it with perfect poise and not so much as a falter—as if they somehow how knew the exact way to approach her and talk to her. Guinevere suspected much of that had to do with the woman they’d hired in her teen years to serve as her counsel.

Nimueh was her name, and she was just as indispensable for Guinevere’s parents as she was for Guinevere herself. There was always something about her—she always knew what to say. Words may fail a layperson, and they’d certainly fail a sovereign. But Guinevere had never, in around a decade now, known them to fail Nimueh. If it weren’t for her, Guinevere was sure her parents would struggle a bit more walking that tight rope of theirs. Nimueh had a knack for creating balance, establishing equilibrium. She was gifted with an innate ability to divine what someone really needed as opposed to what they themselves knew they did or what they claimed they did. Perhaps it had something to do with her position as a High Priestess of the Old Religion. Or perhaps she was simply that in tune with people. She could read Guinevere and her parents like one of her spellbooks, and, like she was reciting an enchantment, whatever she said about what she gleaned from them would invariably provide the answers they sought. Particularly answers they didn’t realise they’d been seeking.

Case in point, Guinevere thought she wanted to be alone. And when she’d been pacing her chambers, she was so close to convincing herself she’d been right—that the solitude was peaceful and welcome. But the second she heard the knock on her door followed by Nimueh’s voice announcing her arrival, Guinevere dashed over to welcome her visitor, feeling like she’d been isolated for eternity and finally had the company she so desperately craved.

Sefa was great. Her parents were great. She wouldn’t change them or trade them for the world. But they weren’t Nimueh. No one was Nimueh.

“Gwen,” Nimueh said fondly, familiarly, and Guinevere smiled softly at the nickname. No one else ever used it; Sefa always felt uncomfortable using informality to refer to someone who was, on paper, her charge, and her parents found it unbecoming of them to not call Guinevere by her full given name. And that was fine. She loved her name. Her name meant fair. It evoked the elegance she strived to in her daily life. Her name was sacred to her, and she was honoured to wear it. But, all that said, the nickname always felt warmer. Simpler. Friendlier. If Nimueh called her Guinevere, somehow it would have felt wrong. And Guinevere didn’t want her name to feel wrong on her, so she’d always felt a sense of relief when Nimueh stuck to the nickname. The moment she heard it, she felt every muscle in her body untense.

Guinevere didn’t respond verbally at first. She just took her counsel in an embrace. When she stepped back and gestured to the chairs around the table in her chambers, she finally used her voice. “Would you care to sit?”

Nimueh arched an eyebrow, but she nodded and followed Guinevere over to the table. Sitting with her back straight and her chin on an incline, Nimueh took a deep breath before coolly asking, “What took you so long? You know how your parents get.”

Guinevere nodded, not finding herself able to meet Nimueh’s eyes. Instead, her gaze fixated on her hands as her fingers tapped the tabletop. “It’s like I said—we lost track of time. Honest.”

Nimueh folded her arms over her chest. Her body language couldn’t have been clearer: she was sceptical. But not in a way as to judge. All she wanted from Guinevere was the whole picture, and, plainly, it was unlike the Princess to idly occupy her hands and refuse to make eye contact with Nimueh unless something was weighing on her mind.

Nimueh didn’t need to use words, and, on principle, if she didn’t need to use them, then they wouldn’t be used. Guinevere stopped the tapping and sighed before finally, slowly blinking. When her eyes opened, they were locked to Nimueh’s. “Fine. There is more. You’re right.” She shook her head, smiling broader and loosening up. “Of course you're right. You’re always right. And you didn’t even say anything. How do you do that?”

Nimueh’s red-lined lips curled up into a smooth grin to match Guinevere’s. “It’s a gift,” she replied with a shrug. Gently, she reached out her hands, taking Guinevere’s in her own. The smile fell, but she wasn’t displeased or disappointed. Instead, the expression she wore was sincere and sympathetic. And searching. Always searching, Nimueh. “What is it?”

Guinevere looked around the room as she sought the proper words to encompass her thoughts, hoping perhaps if she landed her gaze on the right object she’d find the words physically written along the surface. Her eyes caught the fire dancing in the torch next to her door, and, if it wouldn’t have been mental, she would have sworn she found them. Finally, she recentred her focus on Nimueh, who hadn’t moved an inch in the time it took Guinevere to settle on an answer. “I… met someone.”

Nimueh raised her chin, but she didn’t reply. Another silent prompt.

Guinevere accepted it, continuing without so much as a hesitation. “We were already running late, so we took a bit of a roundabout way home. Through a different part of the forest. And that’s where we came across her.”

“Her?”

Guinevere nodded, still undaunted. “I don’t even really have the words to describe her. Just… something about her was like no one else I’ve ever met—certainly not in this kingdom.”

Nimueh’s brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed a little.

“I know Sefa wasn’t a fan, but… I don’t know. I don’t think I feel the way she did.” Guinevere chuckled lightly, almost cynically. “She thinks I’m too trusting.”

“You are.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not necessarily a flaw,” Nimueh assured. “But it is something to be mindful of. Sefa’s simply looking out for you so you don’t have to.”

“It’s what she’s here for, I suppose.”

“It’s what we’re all here for, Gwen.”

Guinevere’s laugh this time was more genuine and less self-deprecating.

“Alright, then. Indulge me,” Nimueh directed, shifting herself and readjusting her posture to be more conversational and less clinical. “Who is this woman? She’s clearly doing something right to have won the affection of one of the most sought-after bachelorettes in all of Albion within… what? An hour of meeting?”

The name fell from Guinevere’s lips like she was reciting poetry. “Morgana.”

Guinevere wasn’t the only one who’d felt a lasting impact from that encounter in the forest.

Morgana had been telling the truth; she was on her way to see Vivian, effectively her girlfriend, at the time she and Guinevere had crossed paths. But plans change like the weather, and Morgana’s climate was always particularly unpredictable.

The second she arrived at the alcove behind the waterfall where she and Lady Vivian had been holding their rendezvouses of late, she broke it off. Clean. Quick. And without staying long enough for Vivian to get a contrarian word in about any of it.

The green dress she was wearing, it didn’t suit Vivian. Vivian was complemented by pastel blues and delicate purples. Vivian was, in a sense, a dainty shade of silver that stood out best beside a gentle colour. But Morgana was draped in deep jade. Deep jade and gold—Vivian wasn’t gold. Silver was beautiful and valuable, and it served its purpose. It was respectable. But gold was something else. Gold was like the sun in the sky had melted down into fine metal. Gold was the princess who Morgana had met earlier in the forest. Silver could tarnish. Gold wasn’t quite so quick to lose its lustre. So perhaps it was high time for a rush.

That was the logic that got Morgana, on impulse, travelling in search of the kingdom. In search of Caidale. If the Princess’ words were anything to go by, she didn’t expect it to be a difficult place to find. She wasn’t worried about that. In truth, Morgana scantly worried about much of anything. Tides changed, winds changed, even the positions of the stars in the sky could change. If all that was impermanent, why shouldn’t she go chasing her whims? It’d be a whole different world the next morning anyway. This way, she could be sure she had a say in how it looked.

Chapter Text

After some time, Guinevere and Nimueh took their conversation outside to the balcony. The weather was fair; they figured they’d relish it.

When Guinevere’s eye caught Morgana standing on the cherrywood bridge, her raven-coloured hair and the jade green skirt of her dress dancing in the gentle breeze blowing through the kingdom, she thought it had been a hallucination. She tried to blink the mirage away, but it didn’t work. And she knew for a fact she wasn’t envisioning things when Nimueh, stood beside her on the balcony, tapped her on the shoulder and asked, “Do you recognise that woman?”

Guinevere was sure she replied. Of course she’d answered; she knew the answer. Who else but Morgana would be able to command her attention at that distance?

Evidently, she never actually gave Nimueh that verbal response, as Nimueh put a hand to Guinevere’s shoulder and creased her brow, looking worried. “Gwen?” she asked, tentative. “Did you hear me?”

“What?” Guinevere asked, her eyes still fixated to Morgana like she’d been entranced. She knew Nimueh was a sorceress, and, in that moment, she was almost certain Morgana must have been one too. She didn’t see how anyone could be so hypnotising and come by it naturally.

Nimueh gave Guinevere a knowing smile—not that Guinevere, with her gaze locked to Morgana, knew. She took her hand off Guinevere’s shoulder and placed it back to the balcony, drawing her eyes down to Morgana as well. “Your Lady Morgana, I presume,” she said blithely.

The corners of Guinevere’s mouth quirked up, and she felt her heart flutter as she affirmed. “Yes,” she breathed. “That’s her.”

“You were right,” Nimueh conceded, raising her chin. She shook her head and folded her arms over her chest, adding, “She is lovely.”

“‘Lovely’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Nimueh chuckled to herself. “Look at you. Lovestruck. This kingdom has been wondering how someone could get your attention for years, and all it takes is a nice gown and a pretty face?” She sighed. “Well, you sound like you’re about ready to faint at the sight of her. And if you’re going to fall, then I have to suggest you do it into her arms and not over the balcony,” she teased.

Guinevere scoffed, but she didn’t go on defence. She was aware of herself and her actions; she knew how besotted she was, and she knew Nimueh would have been able to see it on her whether she tried concealing it or not.

Nimueh raised her eyebrow at Guinevere for a second before returning her attention to Morgana, still standing on the bridge and looking about like she was in search of something. Or someone. She laughed lightly again and called, “Excuse me. Madam?”

Morgana shot her gaze upwards, settling it first to Guinevere and then to Nimueh when the latter began speaking again.

“Yes,” Nimueh said with a nod. “You, on the bridge. Morgana, is it?”

“Yes,” Morgana replied, confused but holding her ground and refusing to let it slip into her voice. She stiffened herself out and, matching Nimueh’s posture, crossed her arms. “Who’s asking?”

“My name isn’t important,” Nimueh answered. “What’s important is my beautiful friend here.” She placed her hands to Guinevere’s shoulders as if showing the Princess off. “I’ve heard you’re acquainted.”

“We are.”

“You came here to find her?”

Morgana’s eyes drifted to Guinevere. “I have,” she whispered, as if the sight of Guinevere had taken her breath away. Which, by all accounts, it had.

It was too quiet a response for either Guinevere or Nimueh to hear. “What was that?” Nimueh asked, even though she still knew full well what Morgana had said whether it had been audible to her or not.

“I have,” Morgana called up, finding her voice once again.

“Well, what are you doing down there, then?” Nimueh queried, her voice still in that teasing lilt she’d been using for most of the interaction.

“Can I… get up there?” Morgana asked, furrowing her brow.

“You can now. You’ve been invited. It’d be rude not to at this point, I’d think.”

“Cut it out,” Guinevere said playfully, nudging Nimueh in the side with her elbow.

“You weren’t getting anywhere on your own,” Nimueh replied without missing a beat. When they turned back to the bridge, they noticed Morgana had left her post there. “She must be on her way up,” Nimueh said, pleased with herself. “I’ll get out of your way.”

Nimueh, as promised, left Guinevere’s side at the balcony rather promptly. However, before letting Guinevere completely to her own devices, she found a hiding spot behind a grand statue where she waited for Morgana’s arrival, watching Guinevere once again pick up that nervous tapping like she’d been doing earlier on the table in her chambers.

The way up from the bridge to the balcony was straight-forward. There was a stairwell along the castle wall to allow direct passage between the two. Morgana had, clearly, found the stairs; after a few minutes, she emerged from what was from Nimueh’s vantage the far end of the balcony. Once Nimueh saw Morgana and Guinevere stood beside each other, looking out over the kingdom, she was satisfied and left her post behind the statue. Her steps were quick, quiet, and careful; she didn’t want to be a disturbance. To that end, she left the balcony a different way than Morgana had come up. Rather than take the stairwell down, which would mean crossing behind the Princess and her visitor and perhaps drawing attention to herself, she went into the castle itself. The balcony stretched the entire way along the southern wall, and, as such, had several doors leading inside. Nimueh chose the one farthest west—the direction that would take her away from Guinevere and Morgana and, thus, prevent them knowing she’d hung around.

The far west end connected to one of the castle’s guest chambers. And, sure, technically it was the only room bordering the balcony to not have a proper doorway there, but it had a window just large enough and low enough to the ground for someone to be able to slip in and out of it, which Nimueh did without trouble.

She’d expected to be alone there. Typically, it was unoccupied. Sometimes Guinevere would go there to read if she wanted a change of scenery from her own chambers. Sometimes the King or the Queen would go there to chat—it may have been just a guest accommodation, but, with its positioning, it had some of the best views in the palace. This time, however, it was occupied by Sefa, who was straightening out the covers on the bed.

Nimueh’s feet tapping to the ground as she jumped down into the room from the window upon her entrance caught Sefa by surprise, and she startled back a little, sighing and resuming her task when she registered what had happened. Quippy and short, Sefa said, “There are easier ways to get in here, you know.”

“Not when you’re already on the balcony,” Nimueh replied.

“There are other entryways into the palace from the balcony.”

“And yet I chose this one.”

Sefa sighed. When she finished adjusting the cover, she turned to face Nimueh with her arms crossed and her eyebrow arched. “Do I want to know what’s happening out there?”

Nimueh shrugged. “Nothing scandalous. The Princess has company, and I didn’t want to be in the way.”

“Company? Guinevere?”

“Is it so surprising? She’s attractive. She’s charismatic. She’s a princess. And she’s famously single; I’m sure plenty of people want to—”

“Who is it?”

Nimueh pursed her lips, noticing a change in Sefa’s demeanour that she could tell Sefa was trying to downplay. “Something tells me you know already.”

“It’s that woman, isn’t it? The one from the forest.”

“We had a small chat on her way in. She seems charming enough.” Sefa’s expression was still hardened, so Nimueh softened her own further to try and alleviate some tension from the air. “Look, Sefa, Morgana’s a beautiful woman. Gwen may be a rather exceptional royal, but she’s still a royal. And a young one. She’s not immune to infatuation. She’ll likely be over this once a little of the novelty and the mystery wears off. Until then, it’s a harmless crush.”

Sefa rolled her eyes, but she didn’t object.

“And who knows? Perhaps seeing her meet up with someone will get the townspeople off her back. It could stifle some of those nasty rumours whether the relationship lasts or not.”

“You’re probably right,” Sefa conceded. She shook her head, her posture still stiff. “I simply don’t trust this woman.”

“Why? Has she given you any reason?”

“Well, no, but—”

“You’re sure you’re not just… a bit overprotective?”

“Nimueh.”

“Sefa.”

Sefa sighed again, biting her bottom lip anxiously. The heat behind her eyes that flamed up once Morgana had come into discussion had cooled down, and she was left with a calm resignation. Displeased, but no longer indignant. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands sitting in her lap with her fingers clasped. With a deep inhale, Sefa looked up to Nimueh and said, “I just don’t want to see her get hurt.”

Nimueh’s expression was sympathetic, and she softly approached Sefa, taking a seat next to her and pulling one of Sefa’s hands into her lap. “You can’t protect her from everything, you know. Her parents could tell you that much.”

Sefa scoffed, looking up to the window Nimueh had climbed through.

Nimueh looked over Sefa, frowning. “Tell you what,” she said firmly. “If it’ll put your mind at ease, I can… do a little reconnaissance. I’m sure someone somewhere knows something about Morgana. And you’re right—if Gwen’s going to get involved with her, what harm could it do to know who this woman actually is?”

Sefa finally smiled lightly, bringing her gaze to Nimueh. “That’d be nice. Thank you,” she breathed.

“It’s no problem,” Nimueh assured, squeezing Sefa’s hand. “You know I’d do anything for the two of you.”

Sefa nodded.

Nimueh laughed to herself, switching which hand was holding Sefa’s so she could wrap the other arm around her. “Gwen’s lucky to have us.”

“She knows.”

“She was subtle,” Morgana said. Unbeknownst to Nimueh, Morgana had seen the skirt of her dress while she hid behind the statue. She watched Nimueh take off before, amusedly, turning her attention back to Guinevere and exhaling deeply, looking the Princess over from bottom to top and resting her gaze to her eyes.

Guinevere smiled back. “She means well.”

They settled into a friendly, if a little awkward, sort of silence, standing just a little too close for strangers but too far for lovers. Their postures and poses were matched—hands to the railing as they stared out over the expanse of the kingdom.

After a moment or two under the weight of the stillness, Guinevere cleared her throat, and asked, “How’d you find me?” Her gaze remained fixated on the horizon right up until Morgana started to reply, at which point Guinevere drew her focus to her company.

“You said your kingdom would be hard to miss,” she said, speaking easily like they were much better acquainted than they were. With a shrug, she added, “I didn’t miss it.”

Guinevere narrowed her eyes. “How did you know it was my kingdom?”

“I recognised your name. Word travels.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“And besides, you weren’t fooling anyone anyway,” Morgana scoffed. “I mean, really. Dress like that? No way you weren’t royalty.”

Guinevere looked down at the pink gown she wore before straightening out the skirt and returning attention to Morgana. “I could say the same about yours.”

“Mine was a gift,” Morgana replied. She smirked a little. Self-satisfied, but not smug. “It came from royalty. Even if I don’t.”

“Well, where do you come from?”

For the first time since they’d started properly conversing, Guinevere noticed Morgana seemed to be at a loss for words.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said hastily. “Not—not if you don’t want to. But I’d like to know a little more about you. I feel like I hardly have anything.”

“We only just met,” Morgana chuckled. “I don’t know much about you either.”

“Come on. I’m sure you’ve heard some rumours.”

“Here and there, perhaps. But I find that word like that is rather unreliable by the time it reaches my area. We’re not too well-connected out there.”

“You’re well-connected enough to have royalty giving you fancy gowns.”

“Fair enough,” Morgana conceded. She stood taller and tilted her head slightly to the side, her gaze never straying from Guinevere. “How about this? I’ll tell you a little about myself, and, in exchange, you have to tell me a little about yourself.”

“Deal.”

Morgana sighed, rolling her eyes up as she looked for a place to start. Finally deciding on something, she arched her eyebrows and brought her gaze back to Guinevere. “I live with my sister, Morgause. We’re… friends with some of your peers. They come through our section of the woods sometimes on the way to other kingdoms.”

“What do you do? For a living, I mean.”

“Little of this, little of that,” Morgana replied. “You know how it is.”

“I… don’t.”

“We don’t tie ourselves down to one job,” Morgana clarified. “We just… do whatever we need to do. To get by.”

Guinevere inclined her chin, prompting Morgana to continue.

“What? That’s not enough for you?”

“I don’t think anything’s going to be ‘enough’ for me.”

“Well, we can’t just talk about me all evening.”

“You’re planning to stay that long?”

Morgana sighed. “I blew off a date to be here. Might as well stay long enough to make that worth my while.”

Guinevere laughed lightly. “Fine, fine. A little about me.” She sighed, looking over to the palace then out over the balcony and then back to Morgana. “I… love horseback riding. My maidservant—Sefa, you met her earlier. She and I like to travel together. Get out and see new places.” She shook her head, scoffing at herself briefly before adding, “Or perhaps meet new people.”

“You grew up here, I presume.”

Guinevere nodded. “My mother inherited the throne. My father married to it. Then they… had me.”

“So… one day it’ll be yours.”

“That’s generally how that works, yes.”

“Do you want it?”

“What?”

“The throne.”

“I know what you mean,” Guinevere replied. “I don’t know why you’d ask.”

“It’s a simple enough question.”

“Of course I want it. It’s… my birthright.”

“I’ve met plenty a prince or princess who didn’t actually want that title.”

“And you think I’m like them?”

“Maybe. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“I couldn’t just… turn it down. It’d disappoint my parents. And not to mention that it’d leave the kingdom without a sovereign.”

“There’s a line of succession, I’m sure.”

“I guess so.”

“That’s it, then? You only want the throne because your parents will want you to have it?”

“Is that not reason enough?”

“Couldn’t say. Mine aren’t… in the picture.”

Guinevere’s expression fell. “I’m sorry.”

Morgana shrugged, still smiling. “It’s not a big deal. Morgause and I can handle ourselves just fine.”

“So if you were me… you wouldn’t want the throne?”

Morgana pursed her lips. “I’m not you. I’ll never have to make that decision.”

“Make it now. Humour me. Would you want that?”

Morgana narrowed her eyes. “No. I wouldn’t.”

“Well, I love my kingdom, and it’ll be an honour to be its Queen someday,” Guinevere said firmly. It was a little more defensive than she’d have liked, so she exhaled deeply to untense herself when she continued. “I just also love… other kingdoms.”

“Nothing wrong with wanting a little adventure.”

Chapter Text

When Guinevere and Sefa set out for their biweekly adventure once again, the Princess directed them a different direction. She insisted to her confused, and protestant, maidservant that they were still headed to Gawant to pick up Elena but that they’d be taking a more scenic route than usual. As she claimed, she simply wanted to broaden their horizons and see a little bit more of the forest than they were accustomed.

She’d finally gotten Sefa to agree to it without further complaint or question as long as they left earlier than usual as well so as not to keep Elena waiting up for them. Guinevere decided this was more than a fair compromise.

Sefa had had her reservations even after they set out on their modified journey. She never outright mentioned Morgana—who’d been something of an inescapable presence around the castle during the week spent at home in Caidale—as one of them, but the Princess’ newfound courtship was unquestionably the reason she’d been loath to blindly agree to Guinevere’s proposed adjustments without some form of argument. After all, Nimueh, as promised, was out gathering intel, but it wasn’t an efficient process. She’d been coming up empty-handed for a whole week, and, from where Sefa stood, that in itself was enough proof Morgana had something to hide.

And yet, despite all Sefa’s misgivings, she and Guinevere turned up at Morgana and Morgause’s woodland cabin, and Sefa hung back with the horses, watching sceptically from her post while Guinevere went up and knocked briskly on the door.

There wasn’t an answer, which struck the two girls as odd.

“You said she told you she was always home in the mornings,” Sefa said plainly, flattening her affect the best she could. Part of her was fairly relieved, and that was not a part of her she wanted Guinevere knowing existed.

“She did,” Guinevere replied, frowning. She looked over her shoulder to the door then turned back to Sefa. “Should I try it again?”

“Knocking twice is going to summon her here?”

“Maybe she just didn’t hear it the first time.”

“You can try. It’s a small cabin, though. Doubt it’s too hard to hear a knock on the door from inside.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes, turning around and knocking on the door with a little more force than she’d used the first time.

Inside the cabin, Morgana was putting the finishing touches to her hair. Morgause, as dressed down as she ever allowed herself to be, was standing behind her, leaning in a doorway and watching her sister with pursed lips and an arched brow. Morgana took a pause from the braid she was working on to look over her shoulder at Morgause, who waved at her when they met eyes, and rolled her eyes as she turned back to her mirror to continue her braiding. “What is it?” Morgana asked, impatient.

“Are you ever going to open the door?” Morgause queried dryly. Another knock came, louder than the previous one. “She knocks any harder, and it’ll come off its hinges.”

“Well, then at least I wouldn’t have to open it anymore.”

“Morgana. Be serious.”

“I am serious. I’m finishing my hair,” Morgana replied sharply. “I’ll answer it when I answer it. She can wait another minute.”

More knocking. “You’re sure about that?”

“If you’re so bothered by her, you answer the door, Morgause.”

“What? Looking like this?” Morgause gestured to herself and the decorous red dress clinging to every curve of her body tight enough Morgana could see her ribcage moving when she breathed. “No, thanks.”

“Yeah. I’d hate for someone to see you like that,” Morgana scoffed, finally finished with her hair. She gave herself one last lookover before feeling satisfied enough to give it a rest. When she turned around, Morgause was still in the doorway blocking Morgana’s path, so she waved to her sister to direct her out of the way. “Do you mind?”

“Yes.”

“Then we have a bit of a problem because I can’t open the door—” More knocking on the front door. “And get her to stop that,” Morgana added playfully. “Unless you move.”

“Fine,” Morgause conceded, stepping into the room and over to her left so she was behind a wall and out of view from the front door. “She better be cute. And rich.”

“She’s a princess.”

“That only guarantees one of those things.”

“She’s attractive.”

“Attractive. Quite a cold word, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s true. And ‘cute’ is juvenile.”

“You seemed to like it on Vivian.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t fancy Vivian enough to use anything else.”

“Oh, you fancy this girl, do you?”

“And what if I do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe let's not get too ahead of ourselves here. I mean, commitment’s not really your style, is it?”

Morgana frowned.

“Hey. I thought you were hooked on Vivian. And I told you a change would do you well. Far be it for me to stop you pursuing the new girl.”

“Thanks for your permission.”

“Any time.”

Morgana shook her head, lightly annoyed by her sister, before finally redirecting her focus to the door. She smoothed the skirt of her dress out before answering.

“Morgana!” Guinevere exclaimed.

“Princess,” Morgana greeted with a polite curtsey.

“Finally,” Sefa breathed, mounting her horse as the other women watched her. Once she was situated, she realised Morgana and Guinevere hadn’t moved from their posts at the door. “Are you coming or not?”

Morgana looked to the horses with wide eyes before drawing her gaze back to Guinevere. “I don’t… have a horse, you know.”

Guinevere smiled, taking Morgana’s hand in hers. “Not a problem. Ride with me.”

“Alright,” Morgana agreed. She nodded, letting Guinevere lead her over to the horse.

The Princess mounted first, adjusting her position and grabbing the reins. When she’d settled herself, she cleared her throat and extended a hand down to Morgana. “Do you know how to mount?”

“I said I don’t own a horse,” Morgana replied, approaching and taking Guinevere’s hand. “I didn’t say I couldn’t ride one.” With that, she was swinging herself up onto the horse, sitting behind Guinevere and wrapping her arms around the Princess. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere,” Guinevere responded.

“Gawant,” Sefa interjected. “We’re going to Gawant. We have another person to pick up.”

“Right,” Guinevere said. “Gawant first.”

“And then we go anywhere?” Morgana asked.

“And then we go anywhere.”

“Just… drink a little tea. With the herbal mixture I gave you. That should settle you down enough.”

“That’s what you recommend every time, Nimueh.”

“And do you listen?”

“Yes.”

“And does it work?”

A sigh. “Yes.”

“Every time?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there you are, then. Perhaps, Revna, I know what I’m talking about.”

“I am your Queen.”

“Your Highness.”

Another sigh. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t know what you put in this, but it does calm my nerves.” The Queen shook her head, frowning. “But this week is different.”

“Is it?” Nimueh tilted her head to the side, looking over her company. “How so?”

“Guinevere’s with a girl this week.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with her seeing Elena every time she went out.”

“Elena’s a princess. From a valued ally.”

“And?”

“And this woman is not.”

“Morgana?”

“The one who’s been floating around the palace.”

“Morgana.”

“If that’s her name.”

Nimueh took the Queen’s hands in hers from across the table, squeezing them tight like she was making herself into the only base holding Revna to the ground—as if Revna would simply hover into the heavens were Nimueh not there to hang onto.

“I don’t like this woman, Nimueh. I don’t trust her. She’s not royalty. She’s not like Guinevere. She’s not good for Guinevere.”

“You don’t trust Morgana.”

“No.”

“Do you trust your daughter?”

“Pardon me?”

“Rev—Your Highness, with all due respect, the Princess is a grown woman now. She’s intuitive enough to know if something’s wrong. And she’ll have Sefa and Elena there to defend her if Morgana does even the smallest thing to slight her.”

The Queen nodded. “I think I’ll just… drink some tea. Perhaps lie down.”

Nimueh smiled, letting her hands go. “Great idea.”

“It was your idea.”

“Can’t that be what makes it great?”

Revna shook her head, smiling, before leaving Nimueh alone in her chambers, where the Queen had come to visit her to relay her concerns.

Nimueh’s frequent usage of sorcery was hardly a kept secret, and anyone who so much as glanced her chambers could have discerned that much. They were adorned with magical paraphernalia, accoutrements. Shelves and drawers were stashed with spellbooks. Nimueh's very being was one of the reasons Caidale was so often at odds with Camelot.

She sighed, looking up to the ceiling as she exhaled. The Queen’s visit had interrupted her previous task, so she needed to recentre herself. She’d been, as she promised Sefa, trying to divine some sort of information about the Lady Morgana. Asking around—and she had many sources to ask—hadn’t gotten her anything conclusive, so she decided that perhaps a more supernatural approach would find her the answers everyone, apparently including the Queen, sought.

It wasn’t that she had nothing. She had too much. The name Morgana itself never got her anywhere with anyone. But once she described the Princess’ new lady friend, the stories came spilling out. They were always different—sometimes even contradictory. For all the people who claimed to know Morgana, not one of them seemed to really know Morgana. The only thing Nimueh could reason with any certainty was that this was the sort of reputation someone has to take time to carefully craft for themselves, and, while she wasn’t quite as quick to judge as the Queen or Sefa were, she couldn’t honestly say that didn’t rub her the wrong way.

Based on the small amount of interaction they’d had during all the time Morgana had spent at the castle over the week, Nimueh had grown fairly fond of her. And she liked that Guinevere found someone whose company she enjoyed so dearly. It made her want to trust Morgana—because the last thing she wanted was for Guinevere to be hurt. But, all that said, the more she wanted to trust Morgana, the less she found she actually did.

She laid out a book and placed a bowl in front of herself. It was filled with a numinously silver liquid that faintly shimmered in the sunlight breaking through the windows. Gingerly, she placed a lock of Morgana’s hair that she’d stolen two days back when Morgana stayed the night. With the right incantation—which Nimueh had open beside her in the book (though she used this particular spell enough times to know the words by heart)—she’d be able to reach contacts much more helpful to her cause. The spell would give her snippets of Morgana’s past. As long as she could figure out how to properly piece the puzzle together at the end, she’d finally have some answers.

Really, she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t just done this earlier. Perhaps she honoured the art of asking around, hearing from real people rather than magical forces. Or perhaps she was a little anxious that, if she used a more direct method like this, she’d find answers she didn’t like.

She decided not to think too hard on that as she straightened herself out and readied herself to perform her craft.

A few hours after Morgana had departed with Sefa and Guinevere, Morgause had company. She’d done herself up with jewellery and an almost absurdly elaborate hairstyle as she waited for her company to arrive, though it was still less of an effort than she’d have put in for a date—an appointment, as she preferred to call it—with a mark. But this was no appointment; this was afternoon chatting with a few friends of hers. As was evidenced by the mere fact that Morgause had invited them to her home instead of insisting on finding another meeting point.

It was simple, really. All of Morgause’s appointments happened as far away from the cabin as she could manage. In fact, she had been rather dumbfounded when Morgana initially told her Guinevere would be picking her up there instead of meeting her elsewhere. In her mind, something about living in a wooden cabin in the forest ruined a bit of the high-society illusion she and her sister liked to put on for their targets. Morgana usually operated the same way. Spending all of her hours for a whole week in a faraway castle was… peculiar for Morgana, but it was in character enough that Morgause didn’t question it. She’d assumed that her sister was just out courting someone who didn’t like to leave her own lands. But, clearly, that was not the case, so Morgause was now feeling mildly sceptical about Morgana and Guinevere’s arrangement. It wasn’t like her sister to properly fall for a mark. She may have come close with Vivian, but that was, rather obviously, easy enough for Morgana to break off. And Vivian had never seen the cabin in the woods.

Morgause answered the knocks on the door almost too quickly. She’d heard enough pounding earlier waiting on Morgana to respond to Guinevere. Greeting her out front were Freya and Kara—two local Druid girls who swung by the cabin a couple times a month. They were, undoubtedly, the closest thing Morgause and Morgana had to real friends. It had started innocuously with amicable salutations when they’d crossed paths with one another in the woods. After a good while, it had evolved into meet-ups every other month or so. Now it was bordering on once a week. It had unsettled Morgause at first, but she’d grown to look forward to it.

“Come in,” she said genteelly, gesturing inwards and stepping out of the door frame so Freya and Kara could enter. The three gathered together at a table, and Morgause furnished her guests with tea before pouring some for herself. “I hope you aren’t hungry,” she said with a small laugh. “We may have something in the kitchen if I look, but I’m a little less prepared than normal today. I apologise. I had some other things on my mind.”

Freya’s eyes lit up with intrigue, and Kara sipped on her tea with a knowing sort of expression on her face, peering over the glass at Morgause like she was trying to read her secrets. “What sort of other things?” Freya asked, lilted and playful like a child teasing a friend.

Morgause scoffed, amused by her friends’ reactions. “You’re both gossips, you know that?” she replied, shaking her head fondly.

“We know,” Kara said, placing her cup on the table before interlocking her fingers. She never once took her eyes off Morgause. “So, come on. Out with it. What sort of ‘other things’?”

Morgause sighed. “Morgana had a date this morning.”

“That’s unusual?”

“Not in itself, no,” Morgause conceded. “But it’s unusual for her to have her date come pick her up at the cabin.”

“What?”

“Here?” Freya asked, laughing incredulously. “I thought you two had, like… a rule about that or something.”

Morgause shrugged, taking a sip of her tea before answering. “Not exactly. It’s nothing hard and fast. More of an understanding than anything.”

“Speaking of Morgana,” Kara said, straightening her posture and looking around the room. “Where is she?”

“I told you. A date.”

“Still?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the middle of the evening. I thought you said she left this morning.”

“I think she might be gone all week.”

“All week?” Freya exclaimed.

Morgause nodded. “She was already practically gone all week last week,” she informed. “I think this might just… be the way things are with her. For now, at least.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t think this will last?” Kara inferred, narrowing her eyes.

“I don’t know what I think,” Morgause rebuffed. “But it seems like more of an infatuation than anything. Knowing her, it’ll probably burn out on its own. I give it a month maximum.”

“Well, alright. Who’s this girl, then? She’s clearly someone interesting.”

“Uh… I think her name’s Guinevere?”

“Guinevere? The Princess over in Caidale?”

Morgause shrugged again. “Sounds right.”

“Small world,” Freya remarked.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“I’ve been dating her handmaiden for years now,” Kara stated. She gestured vaguely to herself and Freya. “We’ve been friends with them for ages.”

“Well, if you know her so damn well, would you mind telling me what it is about her that’s gotten my sister so out of character?”

“Beyond me,” Freya replied. “Don’t get me wrong—she’s wonderful. But I don’t know that I’d have pegged her for Morgana’s type.”

“Meaning?”

“I thought your sister was into that… Lady Vivian. From Olaf’s kingdom. The bitchy one,” Kara interjected.

“She was.”

“Yeah, Guinevere’s not like that.”

“She’s not?”

“She’s not really like most princesses,” Freya said.

“Oh, well, in that case, she’s certainly Morgana’s type,” Morgause said with a chuckle. “Maybe this whole thing could lead somewhere after all.”

“You think so?”

“Don’t get me wrong—it won’t lead anywhere good,” Morgause said quickly. “I know my sister well enough to know that.”

“Maybe. But I know Guinevere well enough to know that she won’t give up easily if there's really something between them.”

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Chapter Text

A week later, Morgana returned to the cabin in the woods—casual, as if she hadn’t been gone without contact for seven straight days. She went back to her closet, moving about the cabin like she was wandering and lost. There was a whimsical fluidity to her motions, and she was humming lightly to herself.

That is to say, Morgause found Morgana’s behaviour to be abnormal when her sister finally came home after her outing with Guinevere.

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, Morgause sat poised in a chair, gently brushing her hair while pointedly watching Morgana. Her eyes, narrow and accompanied by furrowed brows, never once left her sister. And it was clear to her that Morgana was aware of this; they’d made eye contact. But it wasn’t until after Morgana disappeared into the back room and reemerged in a nightdress that she finally spoke to Morgause.

“What’s wrong now?”

Morgause didn’t quite know what to say. You, she thought—but she decided that was tactless. And offencive. And a bit to curt and abrasive for the moment. So instead she eventually landed on something more polite that still got her thoughts across plainly. “You’re acting different.”

Morgana shrugged. “That’s so bad?”

“Did I say anything was bad? I said different.”

“You look bothered.”

“More… perplexed.”

“Perplexed.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“I can tell when you’re sugar-coating things, Morgause. We’ve been around each other too long for you to pull anything over on me like that.”

Morgause rolled her eyes, sighing as she relented. “Fine. Maybe I’m a little bothered.”

“Why?”

“Because, Morgana, you’re acting strange. How am I supposed to feel about that?”

“I don’t know. What’s the big deal? I’m fine.”

“How am I supposed to know? There could be plenty of not fine reasons for you to be acting different. Maybe you were drugged or enchanted or—”

“I’m fine.”

“So what’s with the…” Morgause couldn’t come up with a good description of Morgana’s behaviour, so she opted to delicately flutter her arms through the air to parody the faerie-like way her sister had been gliding about the cabin.

“I’m just in a good mood is all.”

“I’ve seen you in a ‘good mood,’” Morgause replied, shaking her head. “This is… something different.”

“I’m in a very good mood.”

Morgause couldn’t help the way the corners of her lips quirked up into a tiny smile. “I take it that means your date went well.”

“I’ve been gone a week,” Morgana reminded. “Bit more than a date, don’t you think?”

“You know what I mean.”

Morgana, who’d been standing at the entrance between the front room where Morgause sat and the back room where the closet was, finally crossed the room, assuming an open seat in front of her sister. She nodded, clearly excited. “It did go well.”

“I’m glad,” Morgause replied. “Caidale is a wealthy kingdom. You could bring home quite a bit of money from a princess like that.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that.”

Morgause tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes further. “Pardon?”

“I don’t care. About the money. Or the scamming. Or anything like that.”

“Right. Sure. And King Uther in Camelot doesn’t care about sorcery. And Queen Annis doesn’t care about avenging her husband. And Sir Pellinore didn’t care about—”

“I'm telling the truth. I don’t care, Morgause. About any of it.”

Morgause’s bottom lip curled up under her top teeth for a brief moment as she assessed her sister before saying, “See, this—this is what I mean about you acting different.”

“You’re right. I am different. This relationship is different. Guinevere is different.”

“She’s just another royal,” Morgause reminded. “You said similar things when you started with Vivian, remember? And somehow that still turned out just like every other affair you’ve ever had or ever will have.”

Morgana shook her head, fervent. “No. No, this one is different.”

“How so?”

“Because I actually love her.”

“You—what?”

“I love her, Morgause,” Morgana breathed, a weightless sincerity to her words. “I think… I think I’m done with this. The scams and the affairs and the lies. I think I want to… I don’t know. Move to Caidale. Settle down. Get married.”

“Married?” Morgause chuckled, incredulous. “You’ve known one another, what? Two weeks now?”

Morgana shrugged. “About that.”

“And you’re talking about uprooting your entire life and moving to the city for her. So you can settle down and… get married.”

“You could come with us,” Morgana offered. “To Caidale. You’re right—they are rich. And when I talked about this with Gwen while—”

“Gwen?”

“Guinevere. She and I talked about the idea of me moving to her kingdom while we were on our trip. And she agreed to provide you with shelter there too.” Morgana leaned in, taking Morgause’s hands in hers and squeezing them. She looked earnestly into her sister’s eyes as she continued. “We could start fresh there, you know. Maybe do something… respectable.”

“Since when have you cared about doing anything respectable?”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Morgana replied, pulling her hands back into her own lap and sitting up straighter. “But I’m serious about this, Morgause. I’m going to propose to her. And we’re going to move into her palace together.”

“Morgana…”

“And I want you to come with me,” Morgana added.

Morgause pursed her lips, unconvinced.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… a lot to think about,” Morgause said, once again watering down her thoughts to make them more palatable for her sister. “And I don’t actually even know Princess Guinevere. We haven’t met. You can’t honestly expect me to be prepared to upend my life to follow you to a kingdom because of some woman I’ve never met.”

“That’s… fair,” Morgana conceded. “I can bring her around. Or I can take you to Caidale. You can meet her. I promise you’ll like her. She’s… one of a kind.”

“Morgana, I just don’t know about this. Why don’t you take just a little more time to—”

“I’m sure about this,” Morgana rebuffed, firm. “I understand your reservations, but I’m absolutely certain about all of it. About her.”

“I’ll consider it,” Morgause ceded. It wasn’t quite true. She was honest in that she was open to meeting the Princess. She was not, however, confident that Guinevere and Morgana were going to last, and, therefore, was not really going to consider a move to Caidale without further convincing. Long-term relationships were simply not her sister’s game. And, despite Morgana’s insistence, Morgause had seen a similar trend in how she’d spoken about Lady Vivian early into the courtship. Every alarm bell in her head was ringing, telling her this was no different than that.

“All I can ask,” Morgana replied. She stretched before deeply exhaling, her muscles relaxing as she pulled herself back to her prior posture. “We can talk about it more in the morning after you’ve had some time to sleep on things,” she said. “For now, I’m exhausted.”

“That makes two of us,” Morgause replied, though her exhaustion was considerably more figurative than her sister’s.

While Guinevere was content to meet Morgana just about anywhere—the cabin, the palace, the middle of the forests—Sefa almost invariably met up with Kara outside castle grounds. It wasn’t that she had shame about the relationship. To the contrary, really. It was true she lived in the castle, and it was true that she had a solid friendship with Guinevere well above and beyond a simple princess/maidservant relation. But, that aside, the palace was still her place of work. And Kara wasn’t work.

Kara also never had any real interest in being in a castle. She found them gaudy and unsettling. And cold. Draught, she insisted, was colder than unfettered wind because it was wholly undesirable. The wind outside could get nasty, but, if nothing else, at least everyone could agree on the splendour of a delicate breeze. No one liked an inescapable draught.

When Kara, accompanied by Freya, saw Sefa approaching, she stood up, having previously been sat with Freya on a picnic blanket they’d spread out, and waved Sefa down, calling out to her until she finally got her attention. Sefa smiled, picking up her pace a little and running into Kara’s arms. Once they made physical contact, Kara lifted Sefa up and spun around in a circle, the skirt of her girlfriend’s dress flapping in the wind. Their lips were interlocked the moment Sefa’s feet returned to the ground, and they were sat with Freya on the picnic blanket right after.

“So, Sefa,” Kara started, angling her chin upwards. “You’ve been gone all week—as usual—so we haven’t gotten the chance to ask you yet. What’s all this talk we hear about Guinevere finding a new girlfriend?”

“Who told you that?” Sefa asked, narrowing her eyes.

Typically, Kara could read Sefa like a book with large letters. But there was a quality behind her eyes—defencive? Irritated? Secretive?—that she couldn’t quite identify. In turn, she decided to broach the conversation a little less brusquely, so she loosened herself up and lowered her chin again so she’d be looking upwards into Sefa’s eyes rather than downwards like before. “Morgause did. At the beginning of last week. Freya and I swung by the cabin, and she told us that Morgana left to join you three on your excursion.”

“Morgause?”

“Morgana’s sister.”

“Alright. And she explicitly called Morgana Guinevere’s ‘girlfriend’?”

Kara narrowed her eyes a bit, perplexed. She exchanged a look with Freya before returning her gaze to Sefa as she replied, “Maybe she didn’t use that word specifically.”

“But it was pretty clear what she meant. Or at least what she thought about the whole situation,” Freya clarified.

“That might be taking things a little far,” Sefa laughed airily. There was no humour in it—just a dull, flat sort of derision. “Morgana’s just the woman Guinevere’s seeing.”

“Regularly?” Freya asked, arching a brow. Kara shoved at her shoulder, so Freya added, “What? It’s a fair question.”

Sefa rolled her eyes. “Yes, regularly,” she admitted. She bit at her bottom lip for a second before sighing and conceding. “Fine. I suppose they’re girlfriends.”

“Don’t get too excited now,” Kara teased.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like Morgana?” Freya asked.

“It’s not that, really,” Sefa insisted. “I just don’t… know her. And I'm not normally like this about new people. Honest. But Guinevere doesn’t know her any better than I do—she’s very trusting, and I just want to make sure someone’s actually looking out for her in case… I don’t know.”

“In case Morgana’s pulling one over on her?”

“Yeah,” Sefa agreed with a small nod. “I don’t want her to get hurt; that’s all.”

“Well, if you’re worried that Morgana’s faking it or something—believe me, she sounds just as into it as Guinevere,” Kara assured. “From how Morgause talks about it, anyway. She says Morgana’s quite taken. And that she’s never seen her sister like this before with anyone. That has to be a good sign, right?”

Sefa shrugged. “I suppose,” she replied. Her eyes shifted between Freya and Kara for a moment before she continued. “Look—I don’t have anything against Morgana. I don’t want to not like her. I just wish Guinevere would have gotten to know her a little bit better before rushing headlong into a relationship.”

“If it’s any consolation, Sefa, we know Morgana,” Kara said. “She’s not a bad person.” She, once again, traded a glace with Freya. They both knew how Morgause and Morgana made their livings, and they both knew that perhaps now was not the time to bring that up. A little unsure how to proceed without directly lying to her girlfriend, Kara finally added, “She’s just… different than the people in your kingdom. And different than a princess. She and Morgause do what they have to do to survive out here, just like anyone else in the forests. But they’re not bad people.”

Even if Sefa couldn’t let herself trust someone just because Guinevere did—for her Princess’ safety more than anything else—she innately trusted Kara. And Freya. Their word was immensely reassuring to her. She was still holding out until Nimueh got back to her about what her digging turned up, but, at least in that moment, she was prepared to lighten up a bit. If for Guinevere’s sake more than anything, as, whether she fully trusted Morgana or not, she wasn’t blind to the fact that she was making Guinevere happy regardless. And she figured her Princess deserved that much.

Sefa approached Nimueh in the latter’s chambers, trying to appear natural in spite of the mounting anticipation running cold along her spine and coursing hot through her arteries. Nimueh had sent for her—for Sefa specifically. It didn’t happen often. They were close, but there was very rarely any pressing discussions that needed to be had between them. The second Sefa returned from her excursion to see Freya and Kara, she was greeted by Guinevere telling her Nimueh had been searching for her. And she brushed it off casually then, but, standing outside Nimueh’s door and having a pretty damn good guess what this was about, she was finding it harder to contain herself.

She had believed Kara and Freya about Morgana’s character. She had. Earnestly. But there was still an incessant voice in the back of her mind (one that sounded suspiciously like Queen Revna’s) telling her they’d gotten it wrong. And, as far as she saw things, her worry all stemmed from a desire to protect her Princess—her dear friend. She couldn’t rely on belief for that.

She had to be sure.

Nimueh opened the door almost immediately after hearing Sefa knock. She had her lips in a firm line as she breathed a deep sigh through her nose. “Come on in,” she said, stepping out of the doorway to allow Sefa to enter before shutting it carefully behind her guest. She then led Sefa to the table in the centre of her chambers, a large stone thing that was impractical and garish and adorned across every centimetre with mystical artifacts and magical paraphernalia. In front of the seat Nimueh herself took was a ceramic bowl that appeared to be glittering on the outside and emanating a glistening, metallically silver mist from the inside. Sefa sat to Nimueh’s left, entranced.

“What… is that?” she asked, her eyes following a patch of mist before dropping back down to find Nimueh once the particles dissipated into the air.

“This is the remnants of a spell,” Nimueh informed her coolly.

Sefa furrowed her brow. “Alright…” she said slowly. “What does that have to do with me?” She knew the answer, but she couldn’t help herself asking anyway.

“I made you a promise, didn’t I? That I would look into Morgana?”

Sefa nodded.

Nimueh sighed again, from her mouth this time. “I kept it.”

“Using sorcery?” Sefa chuckled, both nervously and surprisedly. “I thought you’d just… ask around. See what people know. I didn’t expect you to go to the trouble of—to do whatever all this is.” She gestured vaguely towards the bowl. The mist was beginning to slow and fade away, a similarly silvery liquid taking its place as it filled into the bowl autonomously.

“I did ask around,” Nimueh replied. “Trust me—I don’t just jump to this sort of spellwork immediately. Not if I can help it.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, I couldn’t bloody find anything that way. Clearly I couldn't, because I had to resort to using sorcery.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no one had anything they could tell me.”

“No one? At all? Not one person?”

“You think I’m lying?”

“No, it’s just—well, who did you ask? Maybe… maybe the people of Caidale haven’t met her. She told us that she wasn’t familiar with our kingdom when Guinevere and I came across her in the forest the first time.”

“I considered that. Sefa, I was thorough. And besides, that was a bit of a… simplification.”

“Meaning?”

“I mean that too many people—including plenty of people within Caidale—had things to say about her.”

“That doesn’t sound like a simplification, then, Nimueh. That sounds like… well, like the exact opposite of what you told me. Isn’t… isn’t this good?”

“No. It’s bad. Very bad. Firstly because none of them actually knew her name. I heard… Bronwyn. Mila. Luna. Helen. Enid. Lynette. Evaine. Stop me if I land on something that sounds even remotely like Morgana.”

“So she’s gone by pseudonyms in the past,” Sefa said with a shrug. “That’s so bad? She lives in the forest, doesn’t she? Maybe she’s… protecting herself?”

“Oh, so now you’re the Morgana defender.”

“No, but—but yes. Perhaps I am,” Sefa admitted. She shook her head. “When I said I didn’t think she was trustworthy, I didn’t want to be right, you know.”

“Well, it’s too late for that now, Sefa. I’ve already done all this searching, and I already know that nothing about her adds up. There were plenty of stories that are… supposedly… about her. I can’t say for certain because the name was always different. But each of those stories came out when I would describe her to someone instead of using her name. Like clockwork. ‘Do you know a woman named Morgana?’ ‘Never heard of her.’ ‘You’re sure? Raven black hair. Probably dressed like a princess.’ At that point, they’d give me a fake name, and then the stories would come spilling out.”

“What sort of stories?”

“Does it matter? They don’t amount to anything coherent. Half of them are not even possibly the same person. Unless she’s lying about more than just her identity. Which, by the way—how do we even know that Morgana is her real name?”

“I guess we don’t,” Sefa replied lowly. “But Freya and Kara—my friend and girlfriend—they know her personally. They live near each other; they’re friends with her and her sister. Apparently. And they both call her Morgana, and they both insist she’s a good person. And I know—I just know, Nimueh—that they wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Being good and being a liar are not necessarily mutually exclusive,” Nimueh reminded darkly. “But, fine. Morgana is a true name. We’ll go with that. But, Sefa, I’m telling you right now that even if we assume Guinevere is miraculously the only person she’s ever given an honest name to… it still doesn’t negate the fact that she’s intentionally made herself a ghost around Albion. A ghost who somehow still manages to have a reputation. You know who does that sort of thing, Sefa? Con women. Liars. Scammers. Spies.”

“‘Spies’?” Sefa scoffed. “Now you’re not taking things seriously.”

“The spell I performed,” Nimueh said, ignoring Sefa’s comment and redirecting focus. “I used it as a sort of last-ditch effort to find anything conclusive. I won’t bore you with specifics, but all it takes is a lock of hair, the proper ingredients, and an incantation. Then I can… get a bit of a glimpse into someone’s past. It’s not perfect. Hell, it’s not even comprehensible a lot of the time, so I need to make myself very clear. This is all… speculation. Just my best interpretation of some vague clues from the Triple Goddess. I could easily be wrong.”

“… Alright. Let’s hear it.”

“There was a lot of red. A distressing amount of red. And it wasn’t just any red. Sefa, this was Camelot red. Plain as day.”

“Camelot red? What does that mean?”

“I told you. It’s not an exact science. It’s largely guesswork. But Camelot red is unmistakable. They do it deliberately. Not any other kingdom in the land has that shade of red in their flags or their insignias. It’s Camelot.”

“Fine. Sure. So she’s got a Camelot connection. What does that prove?”

“Camelot is the sole nation Caidale has ever had tensions with. You have to know that.”

“Of course I know that.”

“So I find it suspicious—damning, even—that this woman with Camelot ties turns up practically on Guinevere’s doorstep with no clear history and nothing provable about her except that she can sell a lie. Not a few months after the King and Queen have started talking about threats of war coming from King Uther.”

Sefa didn’t have an immediate response. She stared blankly into her hands until one struck her, at which point she looked back up to Nimueh. There had previously been a hope in her eyes. Now it was gone. Now it was all desperation. “Perhaps she’s connected to a civilian—or someone who’s been harmed by Camelot’s policies. Someone looking to right some of their kingdom's wrongs. You know, maybe—maybe she—she—she’s trying to take them down, a-and she figures the best place to start is with the Princess of Caidale.”

“Maybe,” Nimueh said with a shrug. “But I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I saw… a woman. In the visions. A very specific woman—her name was Vivienne. She was wedded to one of the Camelot knights.”

“Knights can hate their kingdom as well as anyone else can.”

“Gorlois, though? Impossible. Uther never had a knight more dedicated than that man. And it’s also no secret that Uther was sneaking around with Vivienne behind Gorlois’ back. It came out. Gorlois knew about this before he passed. But he remained loyal anyway until the day he died. At which point, Uther was married to Ygraine—who was with child—and Vivienne was… gone. Without a trace.”

“Why don’t I know any of this?”

“You wouldn’t have been around for it. It was all well before you were born.”

“And it… has something to do with Morgana?”

“I didn’t think so at first. But the thing is… well, no one really knows what happened to Vivienne. It’s known that she and Gorlois had had a daughter before he passed. She was an infant when Vivienne disappeared, and she vanished alongside her mother. But there are also rumours that Vivienne was expecting another child at the time. And that she skipped town when Gorlois died to start fresh with the newborn and her infant daughter. Some people even suspect she helped Uther orchestrate the bad call in battle that got Gorlois killed—after all, she wouldn’t have been able to hide a pregnancy for long. The theory is that she believed her husband could get over an affair, but she didn’t believe he could get over a child.”

“And you believe this? It sounds like a bit of a stretch, Nimueh.”

“Again, I don’t know. But I do know that Morgana has a sister. And I do know that Morgana was likely born to a Camelot woman. And I do know that, judging by how old she is… the timeline all fits. Vivienne’s unborn child—if such a thing existed—could easily have been Morgana.”

“But then that would make her—”

“It’d mean her father was King Uther. And it’d give her a reason to be on his side. Vivienne wasn’t cast out of Camelot. There would be no reason for bad blood between her, her children, and Uther. Nothing that couldn’t potentially be swept under the rug with enough conversation.”

“So you’re suggesting… what? That Morgana’s a Pendragon? That she’s conspiring with Uther to find weak spots in Caidale and going through Guinevere to do it?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Nimueh rebuffed. “I’m telling you what I took from the spells and the gossip. None of it is conclusive. None of it.”

“Alright…”

“But, Sefa—none of it is good either.”

Chapter Text

“Sefa—Sefa, have you seen my daughter?”

Sefa, in the midst of carrying a basket of newly washed linens up to a guest room, stopped in her tracks, turning around to see a flush, wide-eyed Revna. The Queen was panting, and her shoes where held in her left hand. Sefa arched a brow and frowned, shaking her head. “No,” she answered. “I assumed she was in her chambers. She usually likes to pick out her own gowns and jewellery for these sorts of affairs. She says she doesn’t trust anyone else to find something that properly complements her favourite sapphires. And, I mean, you know how she gets—it takes her a while to sort these things out. She’s got to try on every blasted dress in the armoire, and—”

“If she’s in her chambers, she’s not answering when I knock,” Revna said, a dark quality lingering in the back of her words. As dark as Revna ever got, that was. Even at her most bitter, she was always rather sweet.

“Do you need her for something?”

“Not immediately,” Revna replied. “But we don’t know when they’ll be arriving. I’d like her to be outside with her father and me to greet them when they do.”

“I’ll… be sure to pass that along to her,” Sefa assured with a nod.

“Thank you, darling,” Revna said graciously. She gestured towards the basket. “Talk to my daughter first. Leave those on whatever bed you were going to make. I’ll send someone else to tend to them for you.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Sefa said, curtseying as best as she could with the basket in her arms before turning back and heading off down the hall, her eyes rolling up towards the ceiling as she breathed deeply in through her nose.

She didn’t bother checking in on Guinevere. She left the linens as she was instructed, but, when she headed back down the hall, she was walking with haste and with purpose. And she walked right by Guinevere’s chambers, instead stopping in front of Nimueh’s and pounding on it like mad, matching the way her heart felt like it was pounding against her chest wall.

Nimueh opened it promptly, folding her arms over her chest when she saw Sefa standing before her. She looked mildly impatient, but it was nothing out of the ordinary for her what with all the commotion going on in the palace that day. She never took too well to visitors—particularly since Camelot had gone about spreading its anti-sorcery agenda through the Five Kingdoms. She visibly eased up some when she registered Sefa’s presence, but she was still evidently annoyed. “Whatever excuse for Morgana you’ve come to give me this time, we’ve been over it.”

“What?” Sefa laughed anxiously, catching her breath and propping herself up with a hand against the doorframe.

“And I’ll tell you the same thing I told you four days ago: It doesn’t matter. Not until we actually get some more information out of her—and that might mean talking to Gwen about it, and you’ve made your stance on that quite clear. I respect you enough to not go behind your back with something like this, so, unless you’ve changed your mind, there’s not really much else to say. I’ve given you all I can without confronting Morgana or Gwen directly.”

“No—no, this isn’t about Morgana. This is purely about Guinevere.” She thought for a second before correcting herself. “Well, I suppose it’s sort of about Morgana. But it’s mostly Guinevere.”

“What about her?”

Sefa quickly checked back the way she came for eavesdroppers. When she finally spoke, her eyes were wide and peering up to Nimueh, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Can I step in?”

Nimueh furrowed her brow, but she moved out of the door to allow Sefa into the chambers, closing the door behind her slowly and watching intently as Sefa wrung her hands around each other. “What’s with the theatrics?”

“I don’t want to get her in trouble,” Sefa replied. “I know the Queen is wandering the halls… She cannot hear any of this.”

“Sefa. You’re scaring me a little. What is it?”

“Right, right, well—the royals from Nemeth are going to be here at any moment, you know? There are already civilians turning up, so they can’t be too far behind.”

“I’m well aware.”

“And the Queen sent me to fetch Guinevere. She wants her outside with her and the King to greet Princess Mithian and her father when they arrive.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“So I told her that Guinevere was in her chambers dressing herself.”

“Sefa, I’m failing to see the problem here. Either I’m losing my touch, or none of this is as bad as you fear it is.”

“That’s just it, though—she’s not in her chambers.”

“So why lie to Revna about it?”

“Because it… well, it seemed better than telling the truth. And I told Guinevere I’d cover for her anyway, so I had to.”

“Where is she, then?”

“She’s just… out. Taking a ride.” Sefa rolled her eyes. “I assume it means she’s visiting with Morgana, but I didn’t pry for details. I figured the less I knew the better, right?”

“Gwen’s off palace grounds? Now?”

“… Yes.”

“And no one has any clue where she could have gone. Just… ‘out.’”

“That’s… yes. That’s correct.”

“Sefa…”

“I know, I know. I messed up. I should have told her to stay. We both knew the refugees from Nemeth were coming today. It’s just… she was very insistent that she wouldn’t be gone long, but it’s been since early this morning—as in before the Queen woke up to take her morning walk early—and she’s not come back yet. The King and the Queen are waiting for her thinking she’s in her chambers, and I don’t quite know how long I can stall them.”

“What exactly did you tell Revna?”

“I told her that Guinevere was rather particular about these sorts of affairs and that she was probably spending an inordinate amount of time trying to match her gown to her sapphires. Which is plausible—she does do that.”

“Alright,” Nimueh said firmly, putting a hand on Sefa’s shoulder to try to help her calm down some. “In that case, I want you to go to her chambers and put together an outfit you think she’d choose for herself. I suppose it goes without saying that it better damn well include some sapphires.”

“What about Guinevere?”

“Just let me take care of that,” Nimueh assured. “I can find her much faster than you can.” She nodded towards her table, still scattered with magical tools. “This is a solvable problem, Sefa. But, you know, in the future… maybe don’t promise Gwen you’ll lie to her parents about her whereabouts on the day of an important diplomatic visit, yeah?”

They started at the cabin.

Then they’d wandered in the forest.

Then they’d found their way to a brook.

Then they’d followed the stream up through the trees until they’d found a tunnel in the mountains.

And, finally, they’d broken through a waterfall, stepping out of the opposite end of their tunnel. It doused them to the bone with water. The cascade they’d come through hit the stone and created a little stream of flowing water at their feet. Water that was rushing so rapidly it frothed at the bottom of the gorge when it eventually made it the rest of the way down, which they could see if they walked a few paces forward to the end of the ledge on which they stood. The waters were clearer than diamonds and glistened with twice the lustre. Stood on opposite sides of the stream, they watched the waters before drawing their eyes down to meet one another.

Guinevere leapt over the waters separating her from Morgana. Her foot landed precariously on the edge of the small ridge that kept the stream contained, and Morgana reached out and took her hand, pulling her safely away from the rapid. Her arms outstretched and her hands on Guinevere’s shoulders, Morgana looked the Princess over briefly before bringing her in for a kiss. She reeled back rather quickly; she hadn’t quite known what had come over her—she’d surprised herself. But, before she could figure it out, Guinevere was drawing her back in, and they stayed interlocked for much longer the second time around.

Morgana wasn’t sure why she’d been so taken aback. It wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed before. They had. In several places. But something about that one—with the waterfall and the gorge and the privacy and Guinevere wearing a red lip colouring that Morgana had never seen her wearing before and couldn’t manage to take her eyes off of—it was different. More electric. More powerful.

And it wasn’t just the air or the scenery; Morgana knew that much too. As much as the rushing water and the colours of summer dancing around them as a breeze blew its way through the mountains was amplifying the spark of Guinevere’s touch against Morgana’s skin until it felt like they’d soon catch fire, the real reason Morgana felt everything so profoundly in that moment had less to do with the atmosphere and more to do with jewellery. In particular, a little opal ring she had tucked away in her bag.

She’d considered a diamond, but diamonds were clichéd. Guinevere rated something unique, something that would be a conversation piece. If Guinevere gave her the answer she desired, Morgana wanted the entirety of Caidale talking about the ring she put on the Princess’ finger. Diamond wouldn’t cut it. Next she’d thought emerald. Emerald in a gold setting. Deep green against gold—the very colour combination that had gotten Guinevere’s attention when Morgana had been wearing it on their first meeting. If something that stunning didn’t stir rumours, nothing would. But, in the interest of giving Guinevere a ring that would pair with anything, she eventually selected a ring that boasted a golden band, a few small pearls to accent, and a shimmering opal in the centre. Elegant. Versatile. But still wholly original.

When Guinevere and Morgana’s lips finally separated, Guinevere slid her hands down Morgana’s arms, stopping when their hands met so she could interlace their fingers. She gently swung both of their arms as she looked into Morgana’s eyes, down to her lips briefly, and then back up to the eyes once more, eventually settling there.

“Gwen,” Morgana breathed, maintaining their eye contact as she let go of Guinevere’s left hand. She squeezed Guinevere’s right hand just a little tighter in the process. “I’ve got something to ask you,” she said coolly.

“Alright…” Guinevere replied slowly, and she looked puzzled, even more so once Morgana began feeling around inside the bag over her shoulder, refusing to break the eye contact despite clearly being in search of something.

Eventually Guinevere saw Morgana’s eyes light up. Evidently she’d found what she was after, and, the moment she did, her hand ripped away from Guinevere’s right hand. Morgana backed up a bit, smoothing out the wrinkles in her gown and clearing her throat.

“Morgana?” Guinevere asked, looking her up and down. Her expression was growing more concerned now, and, though Morgana wasn’t presently looking at her, she could hear it mounting in her voice just as well.

“Just—I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” Morgana assured as she ran her fingers through her hair and adjusted her necklace and bracelets. “I just… want things to be better than fine for this. I need them to be perfect.”

“For what?”

Morgana didn’t answer, but, finally satisfied, she blew out one last sigh before reconnecting her eyes to Guinevere’s. The hand that had been rooting around in the bag was in a fist, clasping around the thing Morgana had searched for and holding it up against her heart. “Guinevere vch Revna, Crown Princess and heiress to the—”

“Vch Gareth.”

“What?”

“My name. It includes my grandfather as well. Guinevere vch Revna vch Gareth.”

“Since when?”

“Since always. He was the first ruler in my kingdom, Morgana. He’s important enough to keep in the surnames.”

“Alright, then,” Morgana sighed. She closed her eyes and shook her head briefly to reset herself, quickly adding, “You’re done interrupting me?”

“Yes. I promise. Carry on.”

“Wonderful.” She took yet another deep breath, just as she’d done earlier, and restarted. “Guinevere vch Revna vch Gareth, Crown Princess and heiress to the throne of Caidale,” she said, taking Guinevere’s hand and holding it palm up in front of her. She moved her other hand, still in a fist, from her chest to Guinevere’s now outstretched hand, placing it on top but not opening her fingers. “Would you do me the greatest honour in the world and marry me?” she asked, finally undoing the fist to reveal the ring sitting in Guinevere’s hand, dazzling in the sunshine.

She could still see it, smell it, hear it—taste it. She could feel the heat against her neck; she still coughed a little, convinced the smoke was still tickling her throat.

A fire had broken out in a field on the outskirts of Nemeth, a kingdom not far from Caidale. The land there was much flatter than that of the surrounding kingdoms. Once something caught fire there, it could spread like mad if the right gust of wind came along.

It consumed the field in record time, and, before anyone knew what was happening, it had started doing the same to the civilisation. Homes and market stores and stables—anything that was in the fire’s path had ignited and collapsed in piles of ash. Black clouds of smoke hung in the air, growing thicker and thicker as more and more of their beloved citadel fell to the blaze.

It was truly a miracle how many of the people had gotten out. She knew that. She was grateful. But Mithian was also terrified—more terrified than she’d ever been before in her life.

She was now her people’s sole surviving monarch. Her mother had passed a year ago when a nasty infection had swept through Albion and decimated populations all across the kingdoms. And now—her father and her two brothers had been out on the training grounds when the fire came through. They didn’t stand a chance.

It was funny in as humourless a way as she could imagine. She’d always begged with her father to let her go out training with her brothers. He’d always told her she was too young; the boys had six and nine years on her respectively. They played too rough for a young woman.

When you’re older.

When you’re older.

When you’re older.

The last time she’d asked—and gotten the same predictable answer—had been just a few months back. And now she was older. But they weren’t. They’d never get any older.

Word had been sent to neighbouring kingdoms, and eventually Mithian, aided by her council, set out to take refuge in Caidale with what remained of her people. She let them go ahead of her. She wanted to follow behind so she could see for herself that everyone who had gotten out also made it to safety.

She was told that when she arrived she’d been greeted in front of the palace by Caidale’s three royals—Revna, her husband Thomas, and their daughter Guinevere. The last Mithian had been in Caidale, she and Guinevere were both younger than ten. They were similar in age, and her mother was childhood friends with Revna. She always used to tell Mithian that one day the Princesses of Nemeth and Caidale would be just as close as the Queens. Her parents had always been so busy with her brothers… Mithian and Guinevere just hadn’t yet had the chance to get to know one another well.

It looked like they’d finally be getting the opportunity.

Chapter Text

Sefa rifled through Guinevere’s gowns with her right hand, holding the sapphires she needed to complement in her left. When she came across a dress she thought potentially fitting, she’d draw out a sleeve so she could see the colouring under proper light and hold it against the sapphires. Invariably, it would fall short of her expectations.

She was beginning to understand why it always took Guinevere so long to do this right.

Guinevere loved blue, so, naturally, she owned a lot of blue. Aquamarine, cobalt, azure, cornflower, sky, cerulean, cyan, indigo. But somehow, despite the sea of varying shades, nothing ever matched the way Sefa desired. Still, as tedious as she was finding this whole process to be, it came as something of a relief. The Princess vastly preferred to pick out her own outfits rather than allow any of her servants to do it, and she put a lot of thought into them. Sefa was never quite so choosy as Guinevere, so, she figured, if it was taking her this long to find something suitable, it’d certainly take Guinevere the same amount of time—if not even more—to do the same. The tedium lent her credibility with the Queen—it meant her excuse held some water, even if she knew damn well it was a complete farce.

She sighed, shoved the most recent attempt back into the wardrobe, and carried on looking, hoping Nimueh’s search for Guinevere was more fruitful than her own search for a gown.

Perhaps it was the way the sunlight breaking into the chambers through the window behind her caught the fabric when the clouds passed by, but Sefa’s attention was quickly drawn to a silvery gown with three-quarter-length sleeves tucked away towards the left end of the wardrobe. It shimmered delicately under the golden rays of the sunbeams, and Sefa couldn’t take her eyes off of it. Holding her breath, she pulled the sleeve out to get a better look and held the sapphires against it.

Perfection.

Excited, she grabbed the hanger to take the dress from the wardrobe and get a look at the full piece. It would be slim-fitting—probably custom tailored specifically to Guinevere’s body. The top of the dress was pristine white and silver, and the colours followed a gradient the rest of the way down to the bottom of the skirt, where it was a deep oceanic sort of blue. Its entirety was adorned with diamonds and sapphires and aquamarines, cascading down the dress to give it the illusion of wavelike motion. The sapphires Sefa held in her hand matched completely flawlessly to the bluest of the sapphires in sewn into the gown as if they’d been cut from the same mine.

Continuing to inspect the dress, she turned it around, shaking her head when she saw a note written in Guinevere’s handwriting and affixed to the back.

Sefa,
Choose this one.
Guinevere

It wasn’t hard spellwork—certainly less involved than the stuff she’d had to use to get a read on Morgana’s past. That one required a special bowl and a whole host of other ingredients. This just took running water, a lock of hair, and the proper incantation.

Nimueh didn’t speak to this, but she kept a couple locks for each of the royals (and a few other important people to day-to-day castle affairs such as Sefa). It was purely precautionary. In the event someone decided to abduct one of them, she’d readily have the tools she needed to track them down. And while this was not the intent behind her stores, they came in handy. Once Sefa had left for Guinevere’s chambers, Nimueh had grabbed one of the locks and ran out of the castle to a nearby stream she liked to use for spells that required flowing water.

After saying her spell, she exhaled deeply and dropped the lock of hair into the stream, where it was swiftly carried away. Where it had landed, the waters rippled out of sync with the waves around them; the brown of the soil beneath was quickly replaced with an image of Guinevere at the waterfall. There were a few waterfalls in the lands surrounding Caidale, but only one that was as sizeable and as magnificent as the one shown to Nimueh. As such, she knew immediately where to go. She still worried a little, however, as it was fairly remote. It’d take time to get there, find Guinevere, bring her back, change her into her gown, and have her out with her mother and father all before the Nemeth royalty arrived in the kingdom.

Shaking her head, Nimueh splashed her hand through the water until the image dissipated and the ripples settled back into their natural rhythm and direction. If she wanted to have any hope of getting all of those things done in time, she didn’t have any time to waste. The second she was certain the image was gone completely, she was on her feet and walking briskly through the trees, ignoring the winding foot trails and pushing her way through branches and bushes to allow herself a more direct path. She had nothing but pure determination coursing through her veins; a few plants in her way were not going to slow her down.

Along the way, she passed a cabin tucked back into the forest a good distance from most of the other forest dwellings. It struck her as odd, but she paid it no more mind than that, instead striking it from her mind as she recentred her focus to Guinevere and pressed onwards.

There was a knock at the cabin door—dainty and uncertain, stuttering a little. Morgause, who was just finishing up her hair as she dressed herself to go meet up with a foreign prince she’d been working, furrowed her brow, placing her hair brush down and turning to face the door. The knock had been short and followed by unwavering silence to the point that Morgause thought she’d been mistaken and that there had never been a knock at all. As she smoothed over the fabric of her dress with her hands, she called, “Hello?” There was no answer, but she wasn’t quite convinced either way. Slowly, she began approaching the door. Her hand around the knob, she once again called out to the person who may or may not have been on the other side. “Is someone out there?”

“Who is that?” the voice asked. It was soft and feminine, but it was unfamiliar. “I thought—isn’t this the cabin where Morgana lives?”

“It is.”

“So who are you? I know that’s not her voice.”

Morgause rolled her eyes, sighing, before opening the door. She leaned against the frame with her hand rested over her head at the corner. “Her sister,” she informed. “Morgause.” She looked the woman over. A blonde, thin, wearing an elaborate violet gown and more silver jewellery than Morgause had ever seen on one person at a single time. “You must be Vivian,” Morgause surmised, recalling Morgana’s descriptions.

Vivian nodded.

Morgause sighed. She’d never met Vivian in person, but, from what she’d gathered based on how her sister talked about her, she didn’t particularly want to meet her. It didn’t seem to Morgause that she and Vivian would be compatible—platonically or otherwise. She knew Morgana always fancied Vivian’s curtness, but to Morgause it always sounded more like impudence. Crassness. Hauteur. The average royal could be exceptionally dull and maybe even a touch arrogant (alright, more than a touch), but at least they’d generally be personable, if only as a result of countless lessons in etiquette so they would learn not to offend other dignitaries. And Morgause always liked that assurance; she was more combative than Morgana, and, while Morgana liked a challenge, Morgause didn’t take well to condescension. Resultantly, Vivian’s reputation preceded her in precisely the manner to draw in Morgana while fully repulsing Morgause. And, as such, she was less than thrilled to see her turn up at the cabin. Her voice flat and disinterested, she asked, “What brings you here?”

“Is she in?”

“Morgana? No.”

“Do you… know when she might be back?”

“Couldn’t say. But she’s been gone a while, so I imagine she’ll be around shortly,” Morgause replied, eyeing Vivian over sceptically. When their eyes reconnected, she arched her brows and added, “May I ask why?”

“I’d like a word with her.”

“About?”

“That’s between me and her, I think.”

Morgause smirked, biting her bottom lip. “Well, you’re welcome to wait here, if you wish. I’ll be leaving for Caerleon shortly, but I’m sure my sister will be back. Eventually.” She stepped out of the way, but Vivian didn’t move. “Or you could go find her yourself if you’d prefer.”

“Where’s that?”

“Haven’t the faintest.” Morgause shook her head. “No guarantees here, but I may be able to point you in the right direction. Although, I feel I should warn you. If you’d like to catch her alone… I’d suggest waiting here.”

Vivian’s breath visibly shook on the inhale.

“Otherwise, go ahead and look for her. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the extra company. She’s… got an adventurous spirit to her, wouldn’t you agree?”

Vivian tensed, but she didn’t answer.

“Oh, it’s alright. I swear. She’s told me all about her time with you. Although I don’t think she wanted me to let you know that…” Morgause leaned into Vivian’s ear to whisper. “Maybe we can keep that between you and me?”

When Morgause pulled back to her original spot, Vivian was scowling at her.

“So? What’ll it be, Princess?”

“Lady.”

“What’ll it be, My Lady? Would you like to wait here? Or would you rather… see what my sister’s up to for yourself?”

Vivian scoffed, pushing by and assuming a seat at the table. She stared daggers into Morgause, who simply laughed a little to herself.

“Help yourself to a drink or whatever. If you manage to find something to your standards,” she said.

When she shut the door behind her, she looked up to the sky, noticing it was now after midday. It was odd. Morgana hadn’t intended to be gone quite so long. Morgause looked back to the cabin, where Lady Vivian was sat in waiting, then up to the sky again then back down to the trees, shaking her head. She still had a fair amount of time before she needed to be in Caerleon, and she had her suspicions where her sister might be.

The waterfall was in the direction Morgause needed to go anyway, if on a slightly more roundabout path than she’d usually take. She figured it couldn’t hurt to swing by.

She knew Morgana was there alone with Guinevere. And she still didn’t exactly trust that relationship. The last thing she wanted was her sister making rash decisions with one princess while another sat waiting on her in their front room.

“What the hell—”

“Watch where you’re go—”

Crash.

The two women ran straight into each other, falling backwards simultaneously onto the forest floor. Once the first one, a blonde in jewels and a decorous gown, got to her feet, she extended a hand to the other, a brunette in a more humble ensemble. The brunette took her hand and thanked her, brusquely, for her help before shoving by and continuing to walk purposefully in the direction she’d been headed before their collision.

It didn’t take long for the blonde, watching the brunette for a few moments, to realise they had the same destination. Intrigued, she decided she wanted to know more about the other woman, so she picked up her pace to catch up, slowing down to walk with the brunette once they were side-by-side. Confused, the brunette looked over to her. “Did you need something?” she asked. It was clear she was trying not to be impolite, but she was so rushed that her tone was curt nonetheless.

“You’re one of Princess Guinevere’s servants. Aren’t you?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Oh, come on. The Caidale Princess. Guinevere. You’re one of her people, right? You’ve got to be.”

“And what if I were?”

“Then I’d say it’s nice to make your acquaintance.” The blonde extended a cordial hand to the brunette, which was taken but hesitantly. Once they’d let go of their handshake, the blonde cleared her throat. “My name’s Morgause. I don’t suppose you’ve met my sister—”

“Lady Morgana.”

“Lady Morgana? That’s what she’s told you lot?”

“Excuse me?”

“So you know who I am, but I still don’t know anything about you.”

The brunette tensed, but she answered regardless. “My name is Nimueh. And, for your information, I’m not a servant. I’m… counsel.”

“A counsellor. How fancy. That’s why they sent you off on an errand, then?”

“What are you—”

“I presume you’re searching for Guinevere.”

“Princess Guinevere, thank you.”

“Right. My apologies, Miss. As I was saying, I’m sure you’re searching for Princess Guinevere. Yes?”

“And?”

“I’m searching for my sister.”

“Congratulations.”

“Bit odd, isn’t it? They’ve been gone all bloody morning. And most of the afternoon.”

“They’re young and… in love.”

“‘Love,’ is it? That’s what you think? Or is that just what Princess Guinevere’s told you it is?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“It does to me.”

Nimueh rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t say. Last I checked, it’s not my relationship.”

“You’re her counsel. Surely she’s confided something.”

“And if she had, it wouldn’t be my place to tell it to you.”

“Just take your best guess.”

“I won’t do that. It’s not appropriate.”

Morgause stopped walking, and she put a hand to Nimueh’s shoulder so her company stopped as well.

“What?”

Morgause exhaled deeply, looking over Nimueh’s face like she was searching for something. “Please. For my sister’s sake. I’m looking out for her is all. I’ve never seen Morgana this taken with a woman before. I just want to make sure there’s actually something there to be taken by.”

Nimueh pursed her lips, pausing to consider her reply.

“Nimueh?”

“Fine,” Nimueh sighed, turning away from Morgause and continuing their walk. “As far as I can tell, the Princess is just as besotted by your sister as your sister is by the Princess.”

“So you think it is real love between them? This fast?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But you said—”

“I said I think they each feel like it is.” Nimueh looked dead into Morgause’s eyes now, firm. “I never said my own opinion on the matter. I understand your concern, but, frankly, I don’t know that I even believe anyone but them actually gets an opinion on it. I have my opinions of your sister—just as I’m sure you must have your opinions of Gwen by now. But what could or could not exist between them… that’s not for me to say.” She looked straight ahead of her again. “Or for you.”

“Right. But clearly you must think it’s possible.”

“I think a lot of things are possible, Morgause.”

“And love at first sight is one of those things?” Her tone was more acerbic than she’d intended it to be.

Nimueh’s, on the contrary, was airier. Almost whimsical. “Stranger things have happened. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Chapter Text

Morgana’s arms wrapped themselves around Guinevere’s waist naturally, like they were settling back where they belonged—back to their neutral, resting position. She ran a soft finger along Guinevere's spine before bringing her hands together to meet just below her shoulder blades. Once her fingers interlocked with one another, clasping her hands together behind Guinevere’s back, she pulled Guinevere in closer so their chests were pressed together and spun in a grandiose circle, playfully lifting Guinevere off her feet and placing her down were she was once the full turn was finished. With Guinevere returned to the ground, Morgana brought her arms up so they were draping around Guinevere’s shoulders, allowing Guinevere to wrap hers around Morgana’s waist while Morgana tucked her face into the crook of Guinevere’s neck. The breeze through the gorge ruffled through their hair as they delicately swayed to the rhythmic churning of the rapids. After a few placid moments, Morgana exhaled, bringing her head up, taking a step back to hold Guinevere at arms’ length with her hands placed just below the Princess’ ribcage. Morgana looked Guinevere over before moving her hands to Guinevere’s cheeks and bringing her in to connect their lips.

When they parted, Guinevere smiled to Morgana, looking over her now-fiancée’s face before settling her gaze to Morgana’s eyes. Suddenly, her expression fell as she noticed the darkening sky around them. “Shit,” she breathed, gently moving Morgana to the left and quickly brushing by to head back the way they’d come to arrive at the waterfall earlier that day, leaving Morgana to watch her, perplexed.

Noticing Morgana hadn’t come with her, Guinevere stopped and turned around to see her standing where she’d been left, her brow furrowed and her eyes searching.

“Are you coming or not?” Guinevere asked, waving down the path.

“We could… stay a little longer. Don’t you think?”

“The sun’s going down.”

“So? You’re afraid of the dark now?”

“No.”

“Because, you know…” Morgana began approaching, slowly and sensually with her chin on a high angle. “I could protect you.”

Guinevere sighed. “It’s not like that. It’s just that I, uh… may not have gotten permission to come here in the first place. Or to leave the castle at all, really. I know I’m a grown woman, so that may sound odd to you. But I do have obligations there.”

“You’ve been out here all day,” Morgana chuckled. “Another few minutes won’t hurt.”

“I’d love to stay—I would. But I really, really ought to get back. There are foreign dignitaries coming, and they’ll probably be arriving at any moment now. And—”

“Alright, alright,” Morgana replied, catching up to Guinevere. “Let’s get you back to the palace, then.”

“I’m so sorry to cut out on you like this.”

“Duty calls, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Guinevere,” Morgana laughed, giving Guinevere a small peck on the cheek before continuing. “I knew what I signed up for getting involved with a princess. You royals are… busy people.”

“I’d ask you to join me to greet the visitors, but I’m afraid my parents would never allow such a thing.” Guinevere refused to bring her gaze to Morgana when she said the next part. “They’re not exactly sold on… this. Us.”

“I understand,” Morgana assured.

“You do?”

“Sure. I don’t have the proper background. I’m not a queen or a princess. I know how these things work. We break customs, you and I.”

“They’re not typically so uptight about those sorts of things,” Guinevere insisted. “I think they could come around on it if they actually sat down with you for an evening. They just… my mother’s gotten it into her head that we’re ‘moving too quickly.’”

“And do you agree with her? I mean, we did just get engaged.”

“I do not,” Guinevere replied, firm. “I don’t believe it works that way. I like to think that—platonic, romantic, familial, whatever—love… is something you know. And maybe I’m naïve, but I can’t quite understand why it’s reasonable that I could know we love each other platonically so fast but unreasonable that I could know the same romantically. I know what I know, right? However long it takes for me to get there. Days, weeks, months, years. How different are they, really? It’s all just hours in the grand scheme of things. A blip in the timeline when you really stop to think about it. I mean… the Earth and the Sun and the Oceans—those get all the time in the world, and they’ve already had well more than you or I could ever dream of getting. We—the people—none of us have that luxury. Our time is limited, and sometimes it’s not enough. So who’s to say a slower journey is a more worthwhile one? If we know now, why bother wasting the time we have left pretending we don’t?”

Morgana shook her head, fond. “I’m engaged to a poet. This whole time I thought you were just a princess.”

“I have my moments.”

“Although, I have to admit that I think the concept of ‘love’ is a touch more complex than you make it out to be. There are just so many—”

They were interrupted by the voices of two women shouting. It was far enough away that they couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but near enough that they were certain of what the noise was and that they could use it to guide them towards the source.

“Morgana!”

“Morgause?”

“Nimueh!?”

“Guinevere. Finally.”

The four caught up to one another after Guinevere and Morgana had come out the other end of the tunnel they’d had to traverse to find the waterfall initially. Morgause and Nimueh were stood there, calling into the caves and letting the echoes of their voices bounce along the walls so the sound would travel farther.

“What are you doing here?” Morgana asked. She gave a cordial nod to Nimueh. “The woman from the balcony?”

“The very one.”

“Lovely to see you again,” she said, short but polite. She turned to Morgause. “How’d you know where to find us?”

“You’re predictable,” Morgause replied flatly. She let her eyes fall to Guinevere’s hand, where she saw the ring on the Princess’ finger, before looking back up to her sister with pursed lips. “It wasn’t hard to work out where you might be. And I’m sure the person waiting for you at the cabin knows all about that waterfall.”

“Pardon?” Guinevere and Morgana asked in unison.

“You’ve got a drop in,” Morgause informed. “I’m sure it’s nothing too disruptive. Just an… old acquaintance swinging by looking to have a word.” Her eyebrow arched as she turned her attention to Guinevere, extending a hand to the Princess. “You must be this Princess Guinevere I’ve heard so much about.”

Guinevere nodded, taking Morgause’s hand. She tried to do so without obvious tension or reservation, given that Morgana and (to a lesser extent) Nimueh were comfortable around her, but she was still a bit wary.

“Morgause. You’ve been seeing my sister,” Morgause introduced. “Good to finally meet you for myself.”

“Her sister,” Guinevere exclaimed, her demeanour becoming instantly more familiar and her hand tightening around Morgause’s, shaking firmly before they let go. “The pleasure’s all mine. Morgana speaks highly of you.”

“She better.”

“I hate to have to break this up,” Nimueh interjected. She grabbed Guinevere’s wrist firmly. “But you need to come back with me to Caidale. Now.”

“Have they arrived yet?”

“Hard to say,” Nimueh replied. “They hadn’t when I left, but who knows what’s happened since then? Some of the peasant folk were coming in already. The royals can’t be far behind them.” She shook her head. “We have a fairly long journey and a lot of prep work to do when you get back before you can greet them. Somehow your parents are going to make it my fault if you don’t turn up on time, and I am not particularly in the mood for the lecture I’ll get from your mother.”

“Sorry I skipped out,” Guinevere said, earnest. “It’s just—”

“Nothing to apologise for, Gwen,” Nimueh interrupted. “But we really do need to be going back. Sefa’s—” When Nimueh finally let go of Guinevere’s hand, they started walking in the direction of Caidale while Morgana and Morgause stayed behind to talk a little more. Her words had cut off when she felt the centrepiece jewel of Guinevere’s ring brush against her palm. Surprised, she looked down to the Princess’ hand, then back up to Guinevere, waiting until Morgana and Morgause were safely out of earshot before asking, “What in the name of the Triple Goddess is on your finger?”

Guinevere beamed. “It’s a ring.”

“A ring. Of what sort, may I ask?”

“It’s from Morgana.”

“Gwen.”

“It’s an engagement ring. She proposed to me.”

“And you accepted?”

“Of course I did. I’m wearing her ring, am I not?” Guinevere was smiling broadly. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“I mean… yes, of course. Opal. And pearls—those suit you nicely. She clearly has a discerning eye.”

“Pardon me?”

“It’s a beautiful ring.”

Guinevere playfully nudged at Nimueh’s shoulder. “Not the ring, silly,” she teased. “The news. I’m getting married!”

“I’m familiar with what ‘engagement’ means.” Nimueh was tense, but she opted to bite her tong on her reservations until she and Guinevere were back in the palace. Sefa may not have wanted Nimueh expressing her concerns about Morgana to Guinevere, but, given recent developments, Nimueh decided then and there that she’d be roping Guinevere in. But it was a sensitive subject—more so now. At least if they held this discussion in the palace it’d be something of a controlled environment. As such, for the time being, Nimueh chose to play along. She gave Guinevere a supportive smile as she said, “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“We’re thinking about a winter wedding. With the snow in the background and everyone in velvet and—”

“One major event at a time, Gwen. Let’s just get through this reception first, yeah? We can talk about other things later.”

“Took you long enough,” Sefa hissed, throwing open the door and pulling Guinevere and Nimueh into the Princess’ chambers. When first they’d knocked, she’d hesitantly asked who it was. After Guinevere answered, Sefa felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She pointed to Guinevere’s bed, where the dress and the sapphires were neatly laid out. “Go on, then,” Sefa directed. “I saw through the window—they’re still a ways up the trail, but they’re close. I think if you hurry we can get you down to the yards before they make it the rest of the way.”

“You’re sure?” Guinevere asked as she left Nimueh’s side to quickly swipe the dress and the jewels from the bed and duck behind a privacy shutter that Sefa had kindly set up for her in advance. Nimueh, meanwhile, posted herself stiffly at the door with her arms folded over her chest, wordlessly watching the Princess.

“It’ll be tight, but it’s possible,” Sefa replied. “I did my best approximation given how quickly it looked like they were travelling and how far away they were when I saw them. Obviously, it’s not an exact science, but, if I’m right, then it should still mean we have just enough time.” She breathed, relaxing herself. “You just need to get into those things—” Guinevere interrupted her by stepping out from behind the shutter, changed into her new gown. Sefa scoffed, “Fast.” She inhaled deeply, approaching Guinevere to help the princess tie up the back of the dress and to fix her hair. “We won’t be able to do anything outrageous, but…” She trailed off as she put her focus into the motions of her hands through the tresses of Guinevere’s hair. Once satisfied with how they fell, Sefa stepped back, putting her hands to Guinevere’s shoulders so she could gently turn the Princess to face her directly and allow her a final look over. Finished with her inspection, she nodded, proud. “You look incredible. Especially on such a time crunch.”

“Thank you, Sefa,” Guinevere said, taking her maidservant in a warm embrace. “You’ve really had my back today. I owe you one.”

“It’s my job,” Sefa reminded. “And my honour.”

“The ring,” Nimueh said dryly.

“What?” Sefa asked, furrowing her brow.

Nimueh gestured vaguely towards Guinevere’s hand. “The ring.”

“What about it?” Guinevere’s question came out more defencive than she’d intended, and she pulled the hand with the ring up to her chest to place the ring against her heart.

Nimueh approached Guinevere and Sefa like she was a spectre floating over the ground. Stopping in front of the Princess, she extended a hand towards Guinevere with the palm up. “Give it to me,” she instructed.

“Why would I do that?”

“Just do it,” Nimueh replied, unwavering. “Revna will notice it. And she’ll have questions. Let her ask them later.”

Guinevere sighed, sad but clearly understanding. “I don’t know…”

“You’re meeting these people for the first time. They’re your refugees and rulers to an allied kingdom. Let’s try to get through this introduction without familial drama.” Before she could stop herself, Nimueh added, “Besides, you and I are not through with this conversation yet. There’s a lot you don’t know about your fiancée.”

“Fiancée?” Sefa exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” Guinevere asked, affronted.

Nimueh closed her eyes tight, biting her bottom lip for a second. She didn’t know where it had come from. Typically she was quite capable of keeping her speech under control. This time she’d just… slipped up, like she’d been thrown by the stress and the urgency of their situations. Recentring herself as best she could, she sighed, opening her eyes and settling her softened gaze to Guinevere. “That was tactless,” she admitted. “I’m sorry. I should have phrased it better.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You just need to trust me and wait a little while before you go around announcing to people outside of this room that you got engaged. It’s a big decision, there’s some things I need to talk over with you, and I just want to make sure you know fully what you’re getting into. Alright?”

“Engaged?” Sefa asked, her eyes darting between Guinevere and Nimueh.

Guinevere’s expression was solemn, but she nodded, sliding the opal ring off her finger and placing it in Nimueh’s hand. “I do trust you,” she affirmed. She cleared her throat and smoothed over her dress with her hands.

“Can someone please explain to me what’s—”

“The excursion with Morgana I just took,” Guinevere replied. She nodded towards Nimueh, who was holding the ring up for Sefa to see. “Morgana proposed. I accept—”

“You accepted?”

Guinevere hazarded a look over at Nimueh quickly before returning her gaze to Sefa and shrugging. “I thought I had,” she said.

Sefa, too, first looked over to Nimueh then back over to Guinevere. “You’re kidding.” She now brought her focus to Nimueh and held it there. “She’s kidding, right?”

“No,” Nimueh replied, matter-of-fact. She put her hand on Guinevere’s shoulder. “Come on,” she said coolly. “Let’s get you to the yards.”

“And pray to the Triple Goddess you get there before Princess Mithian,” Sefa quipped under her breath, following Guinevere and Nimueh out of the chambers and down to the yards.

“She should be… down here any moment now…” Revna said, looking around for her daughter. “She’s just finding a gown. My daughter is rather particular about these things.” Mithian and her party had just arrived, and the Princess had shaken the Queen’s and the King’s hands. Guinevere was still absent. Noticing two guards chatting to one another off by a near castle entrance, Revna flagged one down and beckoned him over with a wave of her hand.

“Sire. My Lady,” he asked, aristocratic. He bowed before his rulers before turning to address the visitors from Nemeth. “Princess Mithian,” he greeted with another bow. Once his original poised stature had been resumed, he redirected his focus to Revna. “Is there something I can help you with, My Lady?” he asked.

She pulled him in so she could whisper in his ear. “Go inside and find out what’s taking my daughter so bloody long.”

He straightened himself out again and nodded, turning to head in. He stopped himself, however, as he saw Guinevere running out of the entrance. “Your Highness,” he said, gently tapping Revna on the shoulder.

Revna, too, turned towards the castle, rolling her eyes and sighing when she saw her daughter. She turned to face the guard and dismiss him. Once he’d left, his spot to Revna’s side was swiftly replaced with Guinevere, to whom Revna was giving a disapproving but still patient look.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, trying her best to mask her panting.

“The dress you’ve chosen is marvellous,” Mithian complimented, giving Guinevere a warm smile. “I think it was worth the wait.”

“You’re too kind,” Guinevere laughed airily. She and Mithian exchanged deep curtseys. “It’s an honour to finally make your acquaintance and to be able to host you and your people in Caidale. I only wish we could be doing so under better circumstances.”

“Yes…” Mithian sighed. “The fire was… quite horrific. But luckily many of our citizens and their families did manage to escape before it overtook much of the town.” She shook her head. “The castle grounds and the palace and much of the farmlands surrounding the citadel were unfortunately lost. As were most of the farmers and noblemen there at the time. It’s my understanding you were originally expecting myself and my father? I apologise for any miscommunication; Nemeth’s King was among the deceased.”

“Just awful. I hope you and your people find peace here.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as necessary,” Revna interjected. “I presume there are talks about what to do with your kingdom’s land going forward?”

“There are. We’ve not yet come to anything decisive, though,” Mithian informed. “But my council and I are dedicating as much time as we can to finding a way to get our people back to their own homes as efficiently as possible.” She frowned. “The palace is still too newly damaged. We haven’t been able to get it appraised yet. But I’ve sent word to some people in neighbouring kingdoms, and hopefully soon we will have an idea how long it could take to repair it—or rebuild it, if necessary. Once we know that, we can establish a timeline for our return home. And, of course, we will keep you informed about all of our progress and decisions on the matter.”

“There’s no rush,” Guinevere assured. She’d been fixatedly watching Mithian, following her fellow Princess’ every breath and move. There was something about her. Guinevere felt her cheeks flush when she looked at her, which seemed odd and unsettled her a little. Mithian was beautiful; that was obvious to anyone. But Guinevere was engaged—most likely engaged, anyway. She couldn’t allow her heart to flutter in her chest and skip beats over another woman. Feelings like that when she was a woman spoken for were unbecoming. And, as such, she tried her best to stifle anything of the sort, breaking eye contact with Mithian and instead looking down to her hands, playing with a phantom engagement ring on her finger.

Mithian smiled at the three royals before her. “I appreciate you all coming out to greet me,” she said. “But I’m afraid I really must retire for the evening. We’ve been travelling all day, and we’ve… had quite a week. My people and I are quite exhausted.”

“Of course,” Revna said. “One of our servants will guide you to your chambers.” Revna waved a hand in the air, knowing at least one of the servants behind her would see it and come to her side. In a matter of seconds, she was proven correct when Sefa arrived, now standing before Mithian and between Revna and Guinevere. “This is Sefa,” Revna introduced.

“My Lady,” Sefa greeted with a curtsey.

“She’s my daughter’s maidservant.”

“At your service,” Sefa said.

“Why don’t you show Mithian her accommodations?” Revna suggested.

“Yes, My Lady.”

“Mother,” Guinevere said. “I think I’m going to retire for the evening as well.”

Revna pursed her lips, but she did not object. Guinevere and Sefa headed towards the castle entrance with Mithian behind them, and Sefa gave Guinevere a light, knowing sort of nudge on the shoulder.

“What was that for?” Guinevere half-laughed, half-whispered.

“Mithian,” Sefa replied, playfully but still quietly enough for Mithian to not hear her. “I saw how you were looking at her.”

“Sefa. She’s our guest. I’m engaged. It’s not appropriate.”

“I mean, I understand why you’d be taken. She is beautiful.”

“Sefa.”

“Alright, alright,” Sefa chuckled to herself.

Nimueh was waiting for Guinevere in the Princess’ chambers, pacing around so much that an irrational voice in her head kept telling her she’d burn a hole in the floor and crash right through to the kitchens below.

She was nervous; she’d found herself in a rather unfamiliar sort of spot. She was well-known for her way with language—for always knowing what to say, for always being able to find just the right words. Because of this, and because of her formal position as counsel to the royal family, she’d frequently been in the position to deliver bad news. And she’d been working with Thomas and Revna and Guinevere for so long by then that she knew every last one of their respective peculiarities, their idiosyncrasies. She knew precisely how to get through to each of them. Thomas was simple; all she needed to do was take him out to town or on a walk through the trees. As long as he was upright and moving, he was processing. Revna was slightly more complicated, but it was nothing Nimueh couldn’t accommodate. The Queen needed to be in the right headspace, and Nimueh had eventually found that rose water and a warm nighttime bath did the trick every time.

Then there was Guinevere. It was always harder with Guinevere. Not because she was particularly difficult, but rather because she had a way of insisting nothing was bothering her. It was a kindness on the Princess’ part intended to make Nimueh’s task seem easier, but in actuality it made it harder for Nimueh to get an understanding of where at her mind truly was. Then there was the simple fact that Nimueh and Guinevere were much closer than Nimueh and either of Guinevere’s parents. She dreaded letting Guinevere down in ways she never did Thomas or Revna. Still, she typically figured it out. It was, after all, part of her responsibilities, and, while she appreciated the occasional rule bending, Nimueh did value duty.

This was different. This was personal. She knew Guinevere needed to know about Morgana’s deception, but she just couldn’t figure out the way to tell it to her. She found herself wishing she and Sefa would have said something earlier as her fingers twirled anxiously around the engagement ring Guinevere had received.

Nimueh stopped immediately in her tracks when she heard the door open, looking to it with wide eyes. Her heart felt like it was racing.

“Nimueh?” Guinevere asked gently. It struck Nimueh as odd—not because it was out of character for the Princess, because it was not, but instead because it felt strangely like Guinevere was coming to counsel Nimueh rather than the other way around.

Nimueh sighed, easing herself up to the best of her ability. She gestured to the table. “You know what we need to discuss,” she said, and Guinevere nodded, solemn. “I think it’d be better if we took a seat for this.”

“I’d prefer to stand.”

Nimueh pursed her lips. She went over to the table anyway but only to set the opal ring on the corner. Afterwards, she took a step back from it, clasping her hands together and holding them down in front of her. Her stance was professional—clinical, even. She felt like it was the safest way to initiate the conversation. That way it could potentially come off more like she was giving Guinevere objective problems rather than subjective concerns. Because Morgana’s entire identity being up in the air was an objective problem, particularly for the potential partner of someone in a position as powerful as Guinevere’s. As ready as she was ever going to be, Nimueh exhaled deeply before beginning. “What—exactly—do you know about Morgana?”

Guinevere furrowed her brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Precisely what it sounds like. What has she told you about herself?”

“I know that…” Guinevere paused to think. “Well, she—” This time she shook her head before straightening herself out. “What does it matter?”

“I’m going to assume that’s not an actual question.”

“So she’s private. Is that a crime now?”

“No,” Nimueh replied. “But I need you to genuinely ask yourself if you know the person to whom you intend to be engaged. It’s not a small decision, Gwen. You’re old enough and responsible enough to take it seriously.”

Guinevere sighed. “It’s hard to get things like that out of her,” she admitted. “I’ve asked. And usually she does have an answer, but it’s always something… a bit incomplete. It’s enough that it feels invasive to keep pushing, but I suppose you’re right. It’s not enough to actually get a clear picture.” Her eyes fell to the ring on the table. “The thing is, though, I never needed a clear picture. I just… fell in love with her anyway.” She brought her eyes up to Nimueh, and there was something almost desperate in them. “Does that make me… I don’t know. Crazy?”

Nimueh let herself laugh a little. “Of course it doesn’t. Are you kidding? You’re young. She’s beautiful. I can guarantee every royal in the entirety of Albion has been where you are.” She flattened her affect to one more serious. “But, Gwen, this isn’t that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sefa had me do a little… reconnaissance.”

“You investigated my girlfriend?”

“Should I not have?”

Guinevere just shrugged.

“Before I tell you what came of it, I’ll give you the same warning I gave to Sefa. The magic I used for this isn’t altogether exact. It gives me vague hints, and then it’s my job to make something meaningful out of them.”

“Alright…”

“So none of it is definitive. For all we know, Morgana is perfectly well-intentioned. But, in the interest of caution, I’d advise you to at least bring some of this up with her. Get her side of the story. If after that you still trust her, I’ll be more than happy to give you the ring back.” She smiled. “I’ll even help you plan that winter wedding.”

“I actually think I might prefer spring…”

“Regardless,” Nimueh chuckled. “I just want you to be absolutely certain that this is the right choice, yeah? And I’m not talking about for the kingdom—though that is part of it. I want you to know what you’re getting yourself into. You need to make sure this is the right choice for you. Alright?”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Nimueh bit at her lip for a second. “I suppose that depends on you, doesn’t it?”

Chapter Text

Guinevere felt numb knocking on the door to Morgause and Morgana’s cabin. Usually the second she walked up the entrance path she would feel her body flush with adrenaline. Her heart would begin to race a little, and her lungs would start to feel like they couldn’t possibly get enough air in them. She’d feel her cheeks run hot and her stomach flutter with butterflies.

This time there was nothing. No butterflies, no flushing. Her heart was still pounding like mad against her chest, but it was nerves rather than excitement. It was the beating of a war drum keeping soldiers in time—not the whimsical, pattering beat of a love song as its tempo steadily accelerated into crescendo.

Morgana opened the door. She was wearing green—jade green and gold, a fitting ensemble. “Guinevere? I didn’t expect you.”

For a moment when they met eyes, Guinevere thought she finally felt that familiar high, but it dissipated in a matter of seconds. Her affect fell flat. Her heart stopped palpitating, instead coming back to a restrained and, ostensibly, normal beat. Morgana’s eyes squinted; Guinevere could tell she realised something was off, but she didn’t think Morgana had an actual idea of just what the problem was. She extended her hand to Guinevere, stepping to the side to allow the Princess space to enter the doorway, and Guinevere politely declined. “I think…” she started. With a small shake of her head, she continued. “I think I’d rather us talk out here.”

Morgana furrowed her brow a little, but she nodded. “Alright…” she agreed, slowly coming out to stand in front of Guinevere and gingerly shutting the door behind her. Once it clicked into place, Morgana took her hand from the knob and folded her arms over her chest. “What’s this all about?” she asked. “You aren’t seeming quite yourself. Are you sick? Did something happen?”

Morgana reached out to put a hand to Guinevere’s forehead, as if to check her temperature. Coolly, Guinevere pushed Morgana’s hand away, and Morgana brought it to her side with a mildly exasperated sigh, her other hand moving to her hip. “No,” Guinevere replied firmly. “No, I’m not sick. Promise.”

“You look rather pale. Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Morgana gave her a sceptical look, but she didn’t push the matter further. Instead, she asked, “Alright… So if you’re not sick, what did you need to talk about?” She looked around their surroundings for a moment before refocusing on Guinevere and adding, “And why did it have to be out here? Surely inside the cabin would be more—”

“This is better.”

“Comfortable,” Morgana finished, her voice low. She sighed and arched an eyebrow. “Seriously, Princess. You’re freaking me out a little.”

“It’s not my intent,” Guinevere insisted. She took a long breath, exhaling deeply until she felt herself recentre. She wasn’t fully sure how to broach the topic gracefully, so she opted not to try. “Where are you from? Genuinely. I need to know, Morgana.”

“I’ve lived in lots of—”

“No. Where were you born? Who are your parents? Morgause is about your age—there’s no way she’s been caring for you forever. So who was?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Where did you come from?”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Did someone say something? About me? Because I can assure you it’s all talk. Rumours spread easier than the truth, Guinevere. I’d have thought a princess would know that much.”

“Morgana. I’m not playing. I just want to know something about the woman I’m marrying. About your past. Your family. Are there any cultural customs we should incorporate into the festivities? Are there any… I don’t know, any flowers or gemstones or idols that are sacred? Who would you be inviting? How many people? These are reasonable questions to ask, I’d say, and you never seem to want to answer me. Even on things that are innocuous.”

“That’s not exactly—”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“I’m fond of many colours.”

“Pick one. Pick a colour. Any colour will suffice. Green, how about green? Is green your favourite?”

“I wouldn’t say so, no.”

“So then what is, Morgana?”

She shrugged, and Guinevere could see defencive tension building in her muscles.

“This is what I’m talking about. I can’t get any straight answers from you.”

“You haven’t needed them up until now,” Morgana scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “I figured you liked the mystery.”

“Maybe, yeah. When we were courting. This is beyond that, don’t you think? I’m wearing your—” Guinevere held up her hand to display the phantom engagement ring before she could remember it was currently in Nimueh’s possession. She froze for a moment when she saw the empty finger. Slowly and wordlessly, she brought her hand back down in front of her and clasped it in the other to hide it from Morgana’s view.

“You were saying?” Morgana asked, raising her chin.

“Well, I have your engagement ring, don’t I? I accepted your proposal. And I didn’t come here with the intent to return it.”

“But you’re not wearing it.”

Guinevere sighed. “No,” she admitted. “I suppose I’m not.”

“May I ask why?”

“Suffice it to say our prospective wedding wasn’t quite as exciting to the people back home as it was to us.”

“‘Was’? Past tense?”

“Is.”

“Not what you said, Guinevere.”

“I know that,” Guinevere replied pointedly. She rolled her eyes, trying to soften herself a little before continuing. “There were questions and—and allegations. And I couldn’t answer for any of them.” She shook her head. “That’s why I came here. I was hoping maybe you’d be so kind, seeing as I am your fiancée.”

“Fiancée, present tense. Excitement, past tense.”

“Were you born in Camelot?”

“Excuse me?”

“If I sent word to Camelot, would I hear back that King Uther is your father? That you and your sister are his illegitimate daughters? That he had affairs with a married woman and you two were the result?”

Morgana stiffened more, and her expression darkened. “Who told you that?”

“So yes, then. I would.”

Morgana did not reply.

“What? You thought I’d never find out?”

“I thought it wouldn’t be important.”

“It’s important, Morgana. Of course it’s important!” Guinevere exclaimed. “Caidale and Camelot are on the verge of war—they’re our biggest adversary. You had to know that. In fact, I know you knew that because I’ve told you this. This is the type of information that could be dangerous in Caidale. And in Camelot. How could I have ever protected you if word got out?”

“I never asked for your protection. And, to the rest of it, I just assumed that—”

“Assumptions. Wonderful.”

“I just assumed,” Morgana restarted, mildly less patient. “That you wouldn’t hold me to the views of my father. We’re different people.”

“And I’m supposed to know that? How? You never tell me anything about yourself! I have nothing upon which to base a conclusion like that.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, but, again, she didn’t respond verbally.

“My maidservant tells me her girlfriend hangs around here sometimes,” Guinevere said, flat and regal and diplomatic. “I’ll make sure Kara gets you that ring back next time she comes around.”

The knock on Guinevere’s chamber door came to her as a surprise. No one had seen her return; she’d made sure to avoid Sefa and Nimueh as best as she could. She didn’t want to talk to either of them—not after her fight with Morgana. Smugly self-righteous was never an obvious trait of either Sefa or Nimueh, but Guinevere feared that, in her current headspace, she’d read anything they said or did as being in such a manner anyway. It wouldn’t be fair to them, and it wouldn’t be fair to herself. So she opted to sit alone with her thoughts instead. That was safer.

Perhaps, she thought. One of them saw me and I didn’t realise. No matter. She’ll go away eventually if I just—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a subsequent knock. Guinevere sighed, irritable. “Not in the mood,” she called out, hoping that would suffice and her visitor would finally leave her be.

“Princess Guinevere?” came a voice from the hall.

Guinevere, who had been laying awake on her bed but with her eyes closed, sat up abruptly, squinting unconvincedly at the door. While the voice had definitely belonged to a woman, it wasn’t either of the ones she’d expected—it hadn’t even been her mother’s, which would have been her third guess. As such, she wanted to be sure she was hearing properly. “Who is it? Nimueh?”

There was a second’s pause, but the voice answered. “N-no. It’s not Nimueh. It’s Princess Mithian—your guest? I saw you come in, and you looked like you could use…” She trailed off before starting again on a different thought. “Would you like it if I fetched Nimueh for you? It wouldn’t be too much trouble; I know where she is.”

“No,” Guinevere replied hastily. She then thought that, from Mithian’s vantage, her response may have been to sharp, so when she continued speaking it was deliberately low and pleasant. “No, thank you. That isn’t necessary.”

“Alright,” Mithian replied. “I just thought that someone should check up on you.”

Guinevere felt herself smile—why was she smiling? And while she decidedly did not want to speak with Sefa or Nimueh, she held nothing against Mithian. The company couldn’t hurt. So she got herself off the bed, crossed the room, and opened the door to see Mithian standing before her still wearing a nightdress. Guinevere arched her brow; she’d only ever seen the other Princess in regalia. This was as much as shock to her as Mithian’s presence had been in the first place.

Mithian noticed Guinevere’s staring, and her cheeks reddened slightly. “Sorry,” she breathed. “But it’s so early in the morning. I didn’t yet have time to change…”

“It’s no problem,” Guinevere assured, stepping to the side and allowing Mithian entrance.

Mithian’s eyes wandered Guinevere’s chambers for a few moments before settling on the Princess. “Is everything alright? You left so early, and you returned… quickly. Like you’d been hurt. Or, well, maybe not hurt—upset. Did someone say something to you?”

“It’s a long story,” Guinevere said. She gestured to the table, and both she and Mithian took seats. “I couldn’t possibly trouble you. Especially given... recent events.”

“No, no. Please do,” Mithian pushed. “It’s no problem for me. I’d hate to see you upset, and—” She chuckled a little, but it was sardonic. Guinevere hadn’t expected cynicism to be in Mithian’s cabinet of attitudes, but there it was in full display. “Forgive me if this sounds a bit… indecent. But with everything that’s happened to Nemeth recently… I suppose it’d be nice to hear about other people’s problems for a change? When it’s the hardships my people face, I feel guilty about it. When it’s someone else’s… I can listen. And advise. And I don’t feel culpable. Does that make sense?”

“Perfectly,” Guinevere affirmed with a nod. She shifted herself in her chair. “Fine, then. I’ll indulge you.

“I met a woman in the outlying forests a few weeks ago. She was beautiful and personable and… mysterious. I liked that about her. We hit it off right away. Perhaps the whole thing did move a bit quicker than it should have, but who cares about that? We certainly didn’t.

“She was… different than the Caidale women. Different than other royals—at least any that I’d met. She was charming and approachable and almost… magnetic. Like she could draw someone in and they’d be powerless to stop her.”

Mithian laughed once more. “She sounds a bit too good to be true, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Guinevere laughed as well. “In hindsight, sure. But in the moment… the thought never really crossed my mind, you know?”

“Understandable.”

“Flashforward a few weeks, and she proposes to me. I was ecstatic. We were—I thought we were, anyway—so very in love. Naturally, I accepted.

“The thing is no one else here was ever really sold on the whole relationship. My parents thought it was indecorous of me to be engaging someone who wasn’t of noble blood. Sefa and Nimueh thought she was hiding too much. I didn’t care. I was in love; their reasoning didn’t matter in light of that.

“So I’ve come to find out that Nimueh did research on this woman—more research than I’d ever even thought to do. And she tells me that, allegedly, she’s a conwoman. Not just that, but the conwoman daughter of King Uther, the ruler of a kingdom with which we’ll almost definitely be at war sometime in the near future.”

“… I see. And judging by your tone, I assume you didn’t take this well?”

“But it’s not that that upsets me, really,” Guinevere rebuffed. “I mean, yes, it’s upsetting. But she didn’t choose her father. She didn’t even live with him, and they may not have any relationship at all. I don’t know. What bothers me is that Nimueh asked me to tell her about this woman—anything about this woman—and I couldn’t do it. I took an engagement ring from this person, and I don’t even know the slightest thing about her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So once Nimueh approached me with the information about Uther, which was last night, I sort of… snapped? It’s why I took off this morning; I went to see her. I confronted her. I asked her to tell me about herself, and she wouldn’t do it. And when I told her what I knew, she was so defencive. But it didn’t seem shameful—as if she didn’t want anyone to know about this. It felt like…” Guinevere bit her bottom lip. “It felt like she just didn’t want me to know about this.”

“Princess…” Mithian said coolly, putting a soothing hand to Guinevere’s shoulder. “Again, I’m sorry. But you have to know you deserve better than secrets. And lies. And coverups.”

Guinevere shrugged. “Sure, yeah. But I thought she was… the one.”

“There’s someone out there for you, I can guarantee it. Beautiful, powerful, intelligent women like yourself always have a match if they seek one. You’ll find her someday.”

Guinevere smiled up and Mithian.

She felt her heart flutter a little.

Chapter Text

“Vivian again?” Morgause asked wryly. She was stood expectantly inside the front room of the cabin, her hands on her hips and her eyebrow raised. Morgana hadn’t even fully been inside the room before Morgause engaged her. Reading the coming question from her sister’s face before it could even be verbalised, she added, “I heard the knocking. Everyone in the whole of Albion heard the knocking. You keep loud company.”

Morgana flippantly rolled her eyes, turning to shut the door behind her and then matching Morgause’s posture when she refaced her sister. “Guinevere, actually.”

“Guinevere,” Morgause repeated, repeating the name like it was foreign to her. “You put an engagement ring on that woman’s finger yesterday. Thought you’d progressed to the ‘Gwen’ stage of the relationship.”

“Things change.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

“Morgana,” Morgause scoffed. “You’re engaged to her. Surely—”

“Like I said,” Morgana interrupted, curt. “Things. Change.”

Morgause pursed her lips. “What happened?”

“Have you gone running your mouth about our mother?”

“What?” There was a laughter to Morgause’s question that was offended. “Why in the world would I do that? It’s my secret just as well as it is yours.”

“Guinevere found out from someone.”

Morgause raised her chin. “So that’s what it was. She uncovered the family secret.”

“Not quite,” Morgana replied. “She thinks we’re full sisters—both bastards. Whoever it was, they didn’t tell her the story properly.”

“So then let her know that. Explain that I’m not the King’s daughter. Discredit her source. Problem solved, no?”

“She’ll still ask about me, you know. And he is my father. She was wrong about you, but she was dead on about me.”

“But she doesn’t have to know that part. All you need to do is get her to believe that—”

“I don’t think that’ll quite cut it anymore. It’s full truth or nothing. And we both know I’m not exactly a glowing example of honesty. Plus, I mean, if I start outing my secrets to her, it’ll affect your livelihood as well. Word will get around about me and, by extension, about you. Once one of us starts telling a royal the truth completely, the game’s over for both of us.”

Morgause let a few seconds’ silence hang in the air before continuing. “Alright, then. So what have you decided?”

Morgana shrugged, calm.

“That’s it? You don’t know?”

“It’s been all of two minutes since she dropped this bomb, Morgause. No, I don’t know.”

“Well, what did Vivian want?”

“Are you daft? I told you—Vivian wasn’t here. Obviously she wasn’t, because we’re talking about Guinevere.”

“Not just now, smartass,” Morgause nearly hissed. “Earlier. The day you proposed. Lady Vivian did swing by then, and she’s not the sort to do something like that frivolously.”

“She is the sort, but you’re right. There was a purpose to that.”

“Alright. Out with it, then? What did she want with you?”

Morgana sighed, put upon. “She wanted to rekindle what we had. Said she thought she was over me after… how things transpired. But she isn’t.”

“Interesting. She doesn’t strike me as the type to get hung up on—"

“She says she’s officially married off—a political move orchestrated to fortify an alliance—but that neither she nor her husband… swing that way.”

“Your old lesbian fling is married to some other kingdom’s gay prince, and you never thought to tell me that? That is not the sort of gossip you keep to yourself.”

“It wasn’t exactly at the forefront of my mind.”

“So, then, what? She wants you to be… a sidepiece? A little affair? Something to satisfy her in ways her spouse isn’t equipped?”

“Essentially. It’s perfect, really. She claims he’s finding himself some man to serve his needs as well. They’re both rather open with each other about it. Not sure their parents know about all this going on between them, but… I suppose whatever keeps the union intact.”

“What’s in it for you, then? Other than sleeping with a taken woman completely blame-free?” Morgause asked, playful.

Morgana shrugged again. “Same as our old arrangement, she says. We sneak off together. I give her romance and sex and company she’s actually into, and she… funds my lifestyle. Above board with the husband but unbeknownst to the rest of her people.”

“It sounds perfectly up your alley to me, Morgana,” Morgause stated matter-of-factly. “Any other day, you’d have been more than accepting. You did love her, didn’t you? As much as you could ever love a mark, that is.”

“Clearly not,” Morgana replied heatedly. “If I’d loved her as much as I could ever love, she’d have gotten an engagement ring—not Guinevere.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I just need… a little time. When she asked me about it initially, I thought I was spoken for, and I told her that. She’s not sitting around expecting a response or anything. I can take a day or two for myself to sort things out, can’t I?”

“Of course,” Morgause said, her tone more gentle now. “But, Morgana… It sounds like Guinevere’s made up her mind. Either you do as she asks, or you split up. The decision is yours, but it’s not going to change. You can’t wait her out. So the question isn’t whether you love Guinevere more than Vivian or vice versa. It’s whether you’re more comfortable being honest and completely overhauling your life than you are maintaining status quo.”

“I know,” Morgana insisted. “And I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“I told you,” Guinevere said with a light laugh. “All night.”

“You. And Princess Mithian,” Sefa said back, disbelieving but intrigued nevertheless, pawing excitedly at Guinevere’s shoulder.

Guinevere shrugged. “She said she thought I looked like I needed to have a chat with someone,” she informed. “I indulged her, and it went from a simple chat to… a full night’s conversation.”

Sefa shoved at Guinevere playfully. “What happened to it being inappropriate for a taken woman to flirt with someone else?”

Guinevere didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tried, but she held onto her smile, trying to keep up appearances.

Nimueh, who was strolling with Sefa and Guinevere through the castle gardens, coolly interjected. “That’s not a problem for someone who’s no longer a taken woman,” she said matter-of-factly.

Guinevere furrowed her brow, quickly bringing her gaze to Nimueh. “What?” she scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

Nimueh arched a brow. “You think you can hide something like that? From me?”

Guinevere narrowed her eyes.

With a small, fond roll of her eyes, Nimueh pulled the engagement ring from a pocket in her dress. “You never came back for this,” she said. Guinevere reached for it, but Nimueh clasped it into her hand, shaking her head. “Do you think I didn’t see you leave in the morning?” she asked pointedly. “I know you went to see Morgana.” With a soft expression and a gentle sigh, she opened her hand and extended the ring to Guinevere, who snatched it quickly and buried it within her own dress pocket, not maintaining eye contact with Nimueh. “I take it she didn’t respond the way you’d hoped she would,” Nimueh continued lowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Guinevere breathed. “Sefa’s right, I—”

“As per usual,” Sefa interjected.

“I am… interested in Mithian. I think, at least. And this way I don’t have to feel guilty or conflicted about any of it. Morgana’s made the decision for me.”

Nimueh wrapped a comforting arm around Guinevere, who nestled up against her before they both pulled away.

“Here,” Guinevere said to Sefa, pulling the ring back out of her pocket, taking Sefa’s hand, and placing the ring in it all without looking at what her hands were doing. “Give this to Kara. I told Morgana I’d get the ring back to her.”

Sefa nodded solemnly, the ring now being placed in her dress pocket.

“I do fear, however,” Guinevere started again. “That if I try to court Mithian—now—I’d just be making the same mistakes all over again.” She sighed. “Perhaps there is such a thing as rushing into something.”

Nimueh scoffed, but it was reverent more than condescending. “It wouldn’t be the same mistake,” she countered. “Mithian’s an open book. You know exactly where she came from, what she wants from you, what she stands for. And unless you feel I’m losing my touch, which I’m not and I never will, it should comfort you to know that I don’t take her as the sort to lie. She’s fair. Soft-hearted. Genuine. It may take the mystery out of things, but you know precisely what you’re getting into with a woman like that.”

“I don’t even know if she likes women,” Guinevere laughed uneasily.

“She likes women,” Sefa and Nimueh replied in unison.

Guinevere knocked on the door to Mithian’s guest chamber. Her hand shook a little, and she wasn’t fully sure whether that was nerves or anticipation. Probably both. When Mithian opened the door, she was wearing a pastel pink dress with silver-white lace accents. Guinevere felt as if her bones were vibrating at the sight, and it stunned her into silence as her eyes lingered.

Mithian arched a brow. “Princess?” she asked airily. “Did you need something?”

Guinevere rapidly shook her head, directing her gaze to Mithian’s eyes. “I—yes,” she stammered. “I was wondering… what sort of leisure time you had this evening.”

“I was hoping to turn in early, to be honest,” Mithian replied. She gave Guinevere a soft smile. “We were up quite late. And as much fun as it was, it’s not a great habit for us to be getting into, I don’t think.”

“Right, of course,” Guinevere agreed with a single, short nod. “But the skies have been exceptionally clear all day today, and the temperatures have been fair of late. And I thought it might be… nice… if we took a walk through the gardens.”

Mithian’s expression promptly became knowing, and she didn’t immediately give Guinevere an answer.

“You’re not obligated, but I would really—”

In a flash, Mithian reached out her hands and took Guinevere’s in them, swinging them delicately as she spoke. “Princess Guinevere of Caidale,” she said, regally but still mischievously. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“… Yes.”

“If that’s what you’re after, you could just come out and say so,” Mithian said. She nodded before adding a quick, “I’ll go with you. Obviously I’ll go with you.” She, like Guinevere had done with her earlier, let her eyes look over Guinevere’s dress—a delicate shade of orange that made a beautiful complement to her own colours. Her tone shifted to a more serious, yet still light-hearted, one when she said, “One would have to be the biggest fool in all of Albion to turn down an opportunity like that.”

Chapter Text

Morgana and Vivian had a code. It was hardly seemly—especially under new circumstances—for Vivian’s mistress to show up in her kingdom asking for her by name, and it was hardly practical for Morgana to wait around the cabin day-in, day-out in case Vivian turned up. The code was rudimentary and, perhaps, a little lacking, but it served its purpose.

There was a small clearing a few paces deeper into the forest from Morgana’s cabin of which she and Vivian were unusually fond. Morgause had never understood, but Morgana and Vivian both felt it had a certain air about it that was mesmerising. Enough trees to confer privacy, but too few to obstruct sunlight. The surrounding forest could be cold, wintry, and shadowed, but that clearing would always have sun. And as it was a location dear to both of them, they used it for their code. They’d tie ribbons around one of the trees on the perimeter—one band signaling what day of the week the ribbons were set, one band denoting what day of the week they’d be back, one band representing a time of day to meet in the clearing. Sometimes the ribbons went unseen; it was inconvenient, but nothing insurmountable. If Morgana missed a rendezvous set by Vivian, she’d try the cabin. If she got no answer, she’d head home with no hard feelings. Expectations weren’t exactly high. It wasn’t a proper relationship between them anyway.

They’d been separated so long that Morgana was unsure if Vivian even checked the clearing anymore. She went through tying up her ribbons regardless—better safe than sorry. Red, telling Vivian she’d come on a Wednesday. Yellow, telling Vivian to meet her on Friday. Black, telling her to come at night. Her hands trembled like flowers in the wind as she did the knots, and she was breathing deeply and intentionally in an unsuccessful attempt to soothe her nerves. She hated being anxious in a much more visceral way than the average person; she was always in very tight and nearly effortless control of herself and the people around her, so when her heart started pounding uncontrollably in her chest, it was as unfamiliar as it was unpleasant. Generally, she was good at pushing any emotion of the sort to the side. But she couldn’t manage to get her mind to stop imagining—hoping—that Guinevere would turn up behind her in the clearing wearing the pastel pink dress and the opal engagement ring.

Taking her hands from the final ribbon, she turned around slowly. As long as she wasn’t looking at the empty clearing around her, she could still hold onto that little glimmer of possibility. Her eyes were closed when she finally faced away from the tree to which she’d affixed her ribbons. They opened as if they were weighted—heavily and haltingly.

She wasn’t there.

It was not a surprise, but it still drew a gasp anyway. A gasp that shuddered on its way in and caught in the back of Morgana’s throat for just a second too long before finally releasing.

With a shake of her head, Morgana gave a wistful glance back over her shoulder at the tree. Red, yellow, black. Meet here Friday at nighttime. The message was put out Wednesday at high noon. She’d given herself about a day and a half to make her peace with the definitive end to her relationship with Guinevere that would be signified by her reunion with Lady Vivian.

She didn’t quite feel she’d been generous enough to herself with that.

Nemeth wasn’t as delicately wooded as Caidale. It was, instead, surrounded by thick brush—part of the reason the fire had been so devastating. Once it lit, it had more than enough dry material to ignite along the forest floor. It was nearly impenetrable even on a sunny day. Too many trees, not enough sunlight breaking in. As a result, Mithian had taken very fondly to the more tame forests that encircled Caidale. Those woodlands had clearings, creeks, waterfalls. They were smoothly traversable. She desperately wanted to return to her own kingdom, but, if there was one thing she was going to miss about her relocation to Caidale, it was those forests.

Guinevere knew this, so the two of them, especially as their bond grew more and more intense, spent the majority of their alone time together on strolls through the woods talking about nothing and everything at the same time. She had kept an inventory of all the best spots, and each time she’d take Mithian to a new one. A flowery meadow to the east. A cliffside to the south. A white rapid to the west. A clearing to the north that sometimes had mysterious ribbons tied around its trees.

The ribbons were fascinating to Guinevere. She, Sefa, and Elena had spent many an hour musing over what they could mean. Signals for travelling soldiers? Warnings to fend off hostile invaders? Memorials to fallen loved ones? If a potential explanation existed, they’d come up with it, and they’d given meanings to each ribbon in accordance. Sometimes red meant fire, sometimes brother, sometimes Do Not Enter. Yellow was sister—or perhaps sunshine or Welcome. Black could be death or knight or mourning. They’d always secretly hoped they’d catch someone hanging one of them up so they could ask what they meant. It never happened. The ribbons seemed to come and go of their own volition.

“We’re here!” Guinevere exclaimed when she saw the trees parting wide. In her excitement, she’d reached over and wrapped a hand around Mithian’s forearm, the other hand placed to Mithian’s shoulder. Mithian, resultantly, had first looked down to Guinevere’s hands before drawing her eyes up to meet Guinevere’s. Realising what had happened, Guinevere quickly pulled her hands away and to her chest as if she’d touched fire. “Sorry,” she breathed, unable to stop a small nervous laugh from escaping her.

Mithian smiled, shaking her head. “For what?” she asked playfully. “Touching your girlfriend?” she added with a nudge against Guinevere’s shoulder.

Guinevere’s laugh was more confident that time, if still airy. “Right,” she said. “I don’t know how I keep forgetting.”

Mithian shrugged. “It’s new,” she reminded. “And you did just come out of a pretty—”

“I’m over Morgana,” Guinevere interrupted, defiant.

Mithian nodded, her eyes searching around Guinevere’s face. “Of course you are,” she said gently, trying to sound more sincere than she felt. “But no one would fault you for still needing… a little time to adjust. It’s not even been two full weeks.”

“I don’t want to talk about her anyway,” Guinevere said firmly. “These excursions are about us—about showing you around my kingdom. She doesn’t get to take up any more of our time.”

“I think I can get behind that,” Mithian replied. She took Guinevere’s hands, replacing them to her shoulder and her forearm like they’d naturally clung to previously. “Come on,” she directed evenly. “Show me around the clearing. I want to hear about those ribbons you mentioned.”

“I told you I haven’t seen any around in a while,” Guinevere said. “So don’t get your hopes up too much.” She shrugged. “Maybe whoever it is… moved on.”

Mithian removed her gaze from Guinevere to look around the clearing. Red danced in her peripheral vision, and, once she drew her eyes to the source, she realised it had been from the tail of the red ribbon blowing in the breeze. She tapped Guinevere with the hand on the opposite side from the arm Guinevere was holding before pointing to the tree once she’d gotten her attention. “Are those your ribbons?” she asked.

Guinevere furrowed her brow, amazed. They’d disappeared for so long—but there they were. Red, yellow, black. Still as esoteric as ever. “Yeah,” she eventually said, realising she’d been staring wordlessly at the ribbons. “Yeah, they—” Her words cut off when she saw a figure leaving the clearing. She didn’t get a good look, but all she needed to see to know who it had been was that unmistakable raven black hair.

There was a note of concern in her voice when Mithian asked, “Guinevere? Are you alright? Did you see something?”

“What?” Guinevere asked. She blinked a few times, recentring herself, before stutteringly and hastily saying. “Fine—fine. It’s nothing. I thought I saw something, but…” She hazarded a look back to where she’d seen the silhouette. The person was gone. Morgana was gone. Her voice steadier, she finished her thought. “It’s nothing. Probably just a deer.”

Chapter Text

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Morgana said upon seeing Vivian enter the clearing. It was Friday at nighttime; Morgana had expected to be stood up, but there Vivian was before her, unamused though she appeared.

“I didn’t think I’d come either,” Vivian replied tersely. She stopped her approach just close enough to Morgana that they could talk without raising their voices. Arching a brow and folding her arms over her chest, she looked Morgana over, adding, “Old habits die hard, I’m afraid.”

“Well,” Morgana sighed. “I’m glad you did. I’ve… thought about your proposition.”

“That was really intended to be more promptly answered,” Vivian said, her tone still harsh and impatient. “When I didn’t hear from you, I assumed you were turning me down. I’ve already moved on with another woman.”

“Is that so?”

“Quite.”

“So then why are you here, Vivian?”

Vivian shook her head. “You know the answer to that.” She rolled her eyes, but she took a few steps closer regardless. “No one in her right mind could ever actually move on from you.”

The corners of Morgana’s mouth quirked up into a small smirk.

“Don’t be so proud of yourself. I’m not the only one backsliding here.” She furrowed her brow. “What made you reconsider anyway? I thought you’d gotten yourself engaged.”

“And I thought you were married. Guess commitment doesn’t really mean much to anyone around here.”

“Oh, that’s it, huh? You’re an adulteress.”

“Would it surprise you?”

“No.”

“Put you off?”

“That’d be hypocritical.”

Morgana shrugged. “Doesn’t matter either way. The only unfaithful one between us is yourself. I’m… no longer spoken for.”

“Ah, so that’s why you accepted my proposition so late. It’s your backup plan.”

“Despite what you may believe, Guinevere’s moved on from me. I thought I might as well move on myself. Even if it means… moving backwards.”

“Guinevere.”

“My ex-fiancée. I’ve heard she’s found herself a princess to get involved with.”

“Oh, you have, have you?”

Morgana scoffed. “What is it?”

“Keeping tabs on her?”

“Not… of late.”

“Is she going to be a problem?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You did blow off answering me for several weeks because of her, didn’t you?”

“We were engaged. I know you may find this hard to believe, but that took priority over being the other woman in your marriage.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“Oh, you’re not.”

“No. I just want to be sure that you’re truly committed. Wouldn’t want to drop my current lover if you might run out on me again.”

Morgana sighed deeply, but she eventually shook her head. “That’s over,” she said firmly. “I am all yours.”

Vivian nodded, though she was still visibly sceptical. “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”

Weeks went by since the first date. Several weeks. Several magnificently uncomplicated weeks. It was getting difficult to pretend there was reason to put off the inevitable. After all, both princesses were devoted, and both kingdoms’ courts were eager to push through a wedding such as that. It’d secure alliance between Nemeth and Caidale that was desperately needed with Camelot continuing to threaten war and Nemeth still in a state of active repair.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Nimueh asked, smoothing out the fabric over Guinevere’s shoulders for her before turning the Princess around to face the mirror they were stood before. “What do you think? Bit much?” She pursed her lips. “It should really be Sefa tending to this, you know. I’m a counsel, not a stylist.”

Guinevere’s smile broadened, and she shook her head. She looked over her shoulder at Nimueh to say, “No—no, not too much at all. It’s perfect. I asked you to help me for a reason. You… settle me down more than she does. Usually, anyway. And it’s a big day, so forgive me wanting someone to ease my nerves a little.” With a delicate sigh and one last glance over the white gown she was wearing, she turned herself back around to fully face Nimueh. “And yes I’m up to it. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her voice quivered lightly, but she decided not to acknowledge it enough to determine whether it was from anxiousness or frustration.

Nimueh shrugged. “It’s a sentimental location. I thought that perhaps you wouldn’t want to go back considering… everything that happened there.”

“You can say her name, you know. It’s not a bad word.”

“Fine,” Nimueh said firmly. “It’s where Morgana proposed to you. Are you certain it’s the best spot?”

“That’s why it’s the best spot,” Guinevere countered. “Replace the old memory with the new one. Besides,” she started, turning again so she was back to facing the mirror as she ran gentle hands over her gown and looked her reflection dead in the eye. “I told Mithian weeks ago. I am over Morgana. It was fun, it was thoughtless, and it’s done. All I care about now is Mithian.” She scoffed. “And I’m sure if anyone checked in with Morgana, we’d find out she’s moved on too. She’s… probably back with Lady Vivian again.”

Nimueh arched a brow. “Oddly specific prediction there, Gwen.”

Guinevere rolled her yes. “Alright. So I’ve had Sefa give me updates.” She turned back to Nimueh again, this time with two dramatically petulant stomps to plant her feet. “Kara’s still friends with Morgause and Morgana, and I figured… what was the harm? Thought it might actually help me move forward if I knew she had too.”

“And did it?”

“When I know, you’ll be the first one I tell.”

There was a knock on the door followed by Mithian’s voice calling for Guinevere.

“That’s my cue,” Guinevere breathed, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. “Wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it,” Nimueh replied. Guinevere was quickly headed towards the door and only stopped when Nimueh added, “But you will need this.”

Guinevere turned around and saw the shiny object in Nimueh’s fingers. “Of course,” she said airily, rushing over to take it before giving Nimueh an embrace and heading out the door. Nimueh could hear Mithian and Guinevere fawning over each other’s dresses as they walked down the hallway together, and she smiled reflexively.

The trek to the waterfall, though fairly lengthy, was nearly second-nature to Guinevere. Though she’d tell anyone who asked otherwise, she remembered in painstaking detail every moment of the day Morgana had proposed—including the placement of each and every leaf, petal, and insect along the path to the waterfall. The landmarks were all the same, even if perhaps those leaves, petals, and insects had long since moved on. Mithian, in contrast, was wonderstruck. It was, by all accounts, a lovely trail. Delicately sunlit. Wooded, meadowed, and winding. At the end of it was a stone tunnel that was frighteningly dark but gave way to a light that scattered and danced around the mouth of the tunnel as the sunbeams reflected off the drops of water cascading from the falls, their light spreading rainbows across the grey tunnel stone. Much of the trail followed a small stream that continued flowing up through the tunnel, its waters eventually adding onto the falls that started from a point above the opening of the tunnel.

Mithian and Guinevere walked along the stream, Mithian to the left and Guinevere to the right with their hands held over the waters. Reaching the edge of the path, Guinevere turned and reached across the stream to take Mithian’s other hand. “Princess Mithian of Nemeth,” she breathed, her eyes darting around Mithian’s face so as to capture every inch of her reaction. She stepped back, pulling a delicate tourmaline ring from a pocket hidden in her gown, to kneel in front of Mithian, still on the opposite side of the stream. “It’d be my greatest honour if you’d be my bride.”

Mithian, stunned, didn’t immediately respond. She simply stared at Guinevere in wide-eyed alarm.

“Mithian?” Guinevere asked, feeling her confidence falter.

Still not giving a verbal response, Mithian leapt across the stream and took the ring from Guinevere’s hand, slipping it onto her finger before dramatically turning in a circle, encompassing herself and Guinevere in the trail of her gown. When she was back to facing Guinevere, she took her hands, pulling her up and twirling once more, falling into an embrace afterwards. She reeled back and put her hands to Guinevere’s collarbone, bringing their lips together.

After they’d separated, Guinevere gave Mithian an airy laugh. “So… that would be a ‘yes,’ then, I assume.”

“What?” Mithian asked, also laughing.

“You never actually answered me.”

“Oh, I—” Mithian said, catching her breath before continuing. “Yes, Guinevere. Of course I’ll be your bride.”

And, just like that, they pulled each other back in for another kiss, Guinevere’s hands to Mithian’s waist and Mithian’s arms draped over Guinevere’s shoulders.

“We shouldn’t tell her,” Freya whispered to Kara. They were situated in Morgause and Morgana’s cabin, waiting for their hostesses to bring tea out.

“Why not?” Kara replied. “She doesn’t have a right to know?”

“A right? Not really, no. I mean, they’re no longer involved with each other, yeah? All telling her is going to do is upset her.”

“Telling me what?” Morgana asked, pulling out her chair and leaning back in it when she’d sat down.

Kara and Freya exchanged a look, but neither responded.

“What’s happened?” Morgana probed, narrowing her eyes. She settled her gaze to Freya, who wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Nothing,” Kara interposed, which dragged Morgana’s attention away from Freya and up to her. “Nothing, it’s just that… well, Sefa’s told us that Guinevere’s engaged. That’s all.”

“Engaged,” Morgana echoed.

“So we hear.”

“That was fast.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Freya said under her breath.

“Well… good,” Morgana said eventually.

“What?” Freya and Kara asked simultaneously.

“I’m not allowed to be happy for her?”

“We just thought you’d be more… upset,” Freya explained.

“Why would I be upset? She’s moved on. I’ve moved on. Everyone’s moved on. There’s nothing to be upset about.”

“If you say so,” Kara replied.

“So, when’s the wedding, then?”

“What wedding?” Morgause asked, carrying a tray with a tea kettle and four cups. She set it down in the middle of the table before promptly assuming a seat next to Kara. “You and Sefa finally decided to tie the knot? We’ve been waiting on that one for a while.”

“Not Kara,” Morgana replied with a shake of her head. “Guinevere.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Probably soon. Caidale moves fast on that sort of thing,” Kara once again interjected, deciding to skip the recap and resume their conversation where it had left off.

“Public affairs, Caidale weddings?” Morgana asked, pouring tea into each cup.

“Depends…” Kara replied, narrowing her eyes as she watched Morgana. “Guinevere and Mithian are both royalty, so I imagine it will be. They’ve got subjects to put on a show for, you know? Hardly seems appropriate to do something small.”

“Well, I’d love to know when. So I can… send them a wedding present or something. Days like that should be properly commemorated.”

Freya and Kara once again exchanged uneasy expressions.

Chapter Text

The wedding was planned for no more than two weeks after the engagement had been made official.

Kara was right. Caidale moved fast on that sort of thing.

It wasn’t easy pulling together a ceremony on short notice, though it was something of an expected hassle. The two-week timeframe was tradition in Caidale, and, while it was always a bit of a pain in the ass, usually there was a longer (and more public) courtship prior to engagement. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked as a buffer. Once it became apparent the relationship was serious, little details would be thought over here and there. All they’d have to do in those two weeks is pull together everything they’d already been working out for months. It had gone down that way with Revna and Thomas; they’d been in a well-known relationship for three years before finally engaging. Arrangements for their inevitable wedding had been put into motion not even two years into it.

This was different.

With Guinevere and Mithian, the engagement was how their involvement was announced to the people. Castle-folk, particularly royalty, knew before that—the courts of Nemeth and Caidale had, of course, come together to encourage the step forward. But, in the interest of maintaining the princesses’ privacy as long as they wished their courtship to be covert, planners and performers and caterers and every other layperson necessary to put on an event like a wedding couldn’t be contacted. It meant their entire ceremony had to be stitched together and pulled through in that two-week window. Doable for such dedicated courts as theirs, but still daunting.

Guinevere wore her mother’s wedding gown—a glittering silvery number off-set with white and navy blue. Mithian had always planned to do the same; as per Nemeth customs, her mother (and her mother’s mother before that) had dressed in deep violet and pearls. The dress was, however, too damaged in the fire. As such, instead Revna lent Mithian her own mother’s wedding gown. Seafoam green with diamonds—a far cry from the darker colours favoured by Nemeth tradition, but still beautiful nonetheless. And, in an attempt to bring something customary to Nemeth to the dress, the sewn-in diamonds and the matching jewellery were replaced with pearls. A painstaking process that forever altered a historical gown, but the effort was much appreciated by the Nemeth court.

The weather was fair. A gentle breeze. Partly cloudy. In light of this, the ceremony was held outdoors in the town square so townspeople could attend. A large platform was erected in the centre upon which the brides-to-be were to stand. Beside their position on the stage was a podium for the officiator. Thomas and Revna stood watch from the balcony, flanked by Nimueh and Sefa and other palace workers of the sort. Everything—the stage, the balcony, the castle walls—was adorned with jewels and flowers and banners and glitter. By all accounts, it was a stunning ceremony.

Guinevere stared over Mithian in front of her, blown away entirely. She watched with bated breath as Mithian’s chest—exposed entirely save for the space covered by her delicate pearl necklace—rose and fell with her breaths. Mithian, in turn, found her eyes trailing down Guinevere’s hair, its long curls cascading down Guinevere’s back like the waterfall at which they’d gotten engaged. Neither of them knew who it was precisely that made the first move, but they eventually realised their hands were entwined. After a small glance down to see their hands and the glistening silver bands on their ring fingers, Mithian and Guinevere drew their eyes up until they met.

Mithian felt like she was going to melt on the spot.

As for Guinevere, the feeling was mutual. Or at least she knew deep down it was. Why shouldn't it be? There was nowhere else she’d rather have been than standing on that stage with Mithian as her bride. And yet, there was a twinge of unidentifiable but complex emotion.

Her eyes had caught someone in the audience. A glimpse of raven black hair, of jade green and gold on pale skin. And though she knew well what she was seeing was there, she decided to tell herself that, in the wake of all the rushing emotions and wedding day jitters, her senses were simply deceiving her. Because surely that made more sense than—

Morgana, who stood in the audience after blowing off a planned outing with Vivian, had caught Guinevere’s gaze, and their eyes had met. Unlike Guinevere, however, who had promptly drawn her attention to Mithian, Morgana let hers stay settled. She watched intently as Mithian and Guinevere kissed. The spectators around her erupted in excited but dignified applause; her hands rested firmly at her side, as if she were more statue than woman.

By the time Guinevere had stepped back from Mithian and allowed herself to scan the crowd once again, Morgana was nowhere to be found.