Someone entered the passage. Morgana heard the chinking of chainmail, but she did not raise her head from her knees. She knew who it was, and she didn't want to speak to him. It was as much his fault as Uther's. How could he stand by, watching as his father murdered an innocent child—a child—and say nothing?
The footsteps paused. She heard him sigh. 'Morgana, why are you crying?'

'Go away!' she shouted in response, her eyes fixed on her knees.

For a very long moment, Arthur said nothing. Morgana felt his closeness, though, and she knew he was looking down at her. When finally he spoke, his voice was hard. 'Fine'.

She heard his footsteps march away, heard his chamber door slam shut with unnecessary force.

Good, Morgana thought, if I've offended him, I'm glad.

Some part of her acknowledged that Arthur could not have stopped his father, even if he had tried. But he hadn't tried.

She closed her eyes, sniffling. The image of the pale-haired girl filled her mind. She had stood there, alone and trembling, apologising through her tears, apologising over and over…

She never meant to use her magic. The poor thing couldn't control it. Did she deserve to die simply for having magic?

Morgana raised her head from her knees. The corridor around her was a dimly-lit blur. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffed, and hugged her arms around her chest.

Arthur would be king one day, and he would be the one to command such punishments. She couldn't picture it—she didn't want to. It was true; she and Arthur had grown apart these last few years. He was always with his friends; young knights and noblemen, striding about the castle grounds when they weren't busy training, bragging to anyone who would listen and tormenting anyone who wouldn't. And she was always….well, alone.

Still, she cared about Arthur, as much as she hated to admit it at that moment. For many long years, he had been her friend. Beneath it all, his heart was good—or at least it had been. What would happen when he became king, when his responsibilities involved assigning death sentences to eight-year-old children?

He will change, she answered herself. He won't be the boy you knew.

She was leaning back against the door, chewing her lip and lost in thought, when a door creaked open further down the passage.

A figure stepped into the shadows, marching forward with a purpose. Morgana turned away as he entered the light, not wanting to look at him. Why could he not just let her be?

'Get up,' said Arthur Pendragon in his usual commanding tones.

'No.' Morgana made a show of studying the intricate carpet she was seated on, running her fingers lightly over the patterns.

'Do not test my patience, Morgana. I have something to show you.'

'Whatever it is, I don't care to see it.'

Arthur laughed drily. 'Oh, I think you will.'

Morgana finally looked up at him, observing his sly grin through narrowed eyes. 'Did you misunderstand my request to be alone? I don't want to speak to you.'

His smirk widened. 'You believe you have a choice in this matter?'

'Yes, I do. And my choice is to sit here and close my eyes and hum until you are gone.' She closed her eyes to show that she was serious.

Arthur breathed a sigh. 'I'm afraid you leave me no choice.'

Morgana's eyes fluttered open in time to see him swooping down toward her. She made a sound—partly a squeal, partly a half-formed protest that came out in a grunt— as she was lifted from the ground and slung face-first over his shoulder.

'What are you doing?' she yelled when the air had returned to her lungs.

'I'm enjoying this no more than you,' Arthur assured her, amusement in his voice, 'but as you refuse to cooperate—'

'Refuse to cooperate?' she spluttered, upside-down and fuming. 'You cannot just force me to do what you want.'

'That's strange,' he said, his tone thoughtful, 'it appears I am.'

Morgana curled her hand into a fist and thumped his back, none too gently. 'Arthur Pendragon, I demand you release me. This instant!'

'You forget, Morgana, I'm the heir prince. I make the demands.'

Morgana let out a noise of exasperation and hit him again, this time in pure frustration. If she had not been so angry, her aggression may have shocked her. 'I hate you,' she told him, rather childishly, she knew, but she was too upset to care.

His behaviour was beyond tolerance. When had become so arrogant?

A sudden rush of night air made her gasp. 'Where are you taking me?' she hissed, trying to make sense of her upside down view of the world. They were under the open sky, surrounded by clusters of white stone buildings that shone like pearls beneath the moonlight.

'The lower town,' said Arthur, descending a stairwell. His shoulder pushed painfully into her stomach with each downward step.

'The lower town? What is there for me to see in the lower town?'

'Town folk.'

'Clever, Arthur,' she jeered. 'You've had your fun, now put me down.'

'Will you stop complaining if I do?'

They had reached the bottom of the stair, and Morgana could see the thatched-roof houses of the town ahead. 'Yes.'

Arthur chuckled. 'We both know that's a lie.' He paused, however, and lowered Morgana to the ground. She pulled away from him as soon as her feet made contact with the cobblestones.

Arthur raised a brow at her, a smile on the edge of his lips. Then he turned and continued walking.

Morgana hesitated. She should go back to the castle; she should leave him.

…And yet, his mysterious attitude had perked her curiosity.

Damn it, she thought, hurrying to catch up with the prince.

'Are you going to tell me where we're going?' she asked, following him through moonlit streets. It was well past the market hours, and the roads and town squares where all but deserted.

'I might have,' said Arthur, 'had you not been so rude to me.'

'Rude?'

'You said you hate me.'

She laughed drily. 'You deserved it.'

Arthur swirled round, staring at her intently. Morgana very nearly collided with him.

'What happened, Morgana?' he asked. 'What changed? We used to get along.'

Morgana took a step back, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. 'What changed?' she asked. 'You changed.'

'I didn't.'

'You did. Ever since you surrounded yourself with those…those fools. And now I…well I never see you anymore.'

She looked up, meeting his blue eyes. He was studying her, his lips concealing a smile.

'What?' she snapped.

'Nothing,' said Arthur, grinning. 'It's just…I didn't realise you missed me so much.'

Morgana stared at him. 'That's not what I…,' she trailed off, groaning in frustration. 'Never mind. Are you going to show me why you dragged me down here or can I return to my chambers?'

Arthur chuckled and cocked his head to the left, gesturing for her to follow.

Lips pursed and brows frowning, she did so. He thinks I miss him, she mused to herself. Of course he does. He thinks the whole world is in love with him, why would he think any different of me?

'Here we are,' Arthur announced, stopping at the door of a rather shabby town house. Before she could ask any questions, he was rapping on the door.

A young woman answered. Her eyes widened when she saw her guests, and she shrunk slightly, bowing her head. 'Prince Arthur. I…I did not expect to see you again.'

'Nor did I expect to return,' he said, with a glance at Morgana. 'The Lady Morgana would like to see your son.'

'Or course, sire, of course.' The woman shuffled back into the house calling 'Deon! Deon!'

The prince turned to Morgana with a smile.

'What is this about, Arthur?'

He gestured ahead with his chin. Morgana turned.

The woman was returning, and with her came a young boy, half hidden behind her skirts.

Arthur crouched down and beckoned the boy closer. 'Let us see your face, Deon.'

The boy swallowed, looking apprehensive as his mother dragged him out from behind her. She raised her candle, showering her son's small face in flickering yellow light.

Morgana gasped despite herself.