I'm startled awake by the sound of hooves pounding against the ground outside my window. For a moment, it feels normal, waking up like this, opening my eyes to the sound of the outside world instead of my own terror. I almost smile.

But then I walk carefully over to the window to look outside, the floor cold on my bare feet, and any trace of relief vanishes. There, in front of the castle, a dark carriage looms against the night. A man emerges from it, about the same age as Uther, looking at the sky like it owes him something. I back away from the window.

What scares me the most isn't the suddenness of the man's arrival, or the cold, cruel look on his face, or even how for an instant I imagined that he saw me, staring down at him in fear. It's what looms behind the carriage, mounted on wheels: a cage, just barely large enough for a single person.

I know this man. He's come to Camelot only a few times, but every one, he's carted someone away, screaming through the bars. I had never really thought about what happened to them. Now, watching the witchfinder open the door to the castle without knocking, a million horrific possibilities flit through my mind.

I crawl back into my sheets, shivering, and pray that this is just another nightmare.

It isn't.

The next morning, he's waiting in the hall, standing next to Uther. It strikes me how similar the two men look—the tall, proud way they hold themselves, the graying hair, the haughty tilt of the chin. They could be brothers.

"Morgana," Uther says, grasping my shoulder. "You remember Aredian, don't you?" His fingers sear through the fabric of my dress, but still, I force myself to respond.

"Of course." I smile, holding out my hand to him. He kisses it, long and dry, and it takes all of my willpower not to shrink away in disgust.

"I was telling Aredian about your dreams," Uther says. My smile wavers. My dreams, he said. Like he knows. Like he could ever know, could ever understand what it's like to question everything about who you are.

"Oh?" My voice pinches around the single syllable, and I catch Aredian raising his eyebrows, as if he can register the panic rising inside of me.

"Not to alarm you, " Uther continues, waving his hand like his words mean nothing, "But I've suspected, for some time now, that they may be the result of—" he pauses.

"Of what?"

"Of sorcery," Uther concludes.

"My lord, I really don't think—"

"I knew you would resist," he interjects, looking at me sternly. His eyes are gray and cold. "But really, it would be a relief for you, wouldn't it? If we catch the person doing this to you, you wouldn't have to suffer anymore."

It's tempting, the idea that someone is doing this to me. For a brief moment, I consider what that would mean—maybe I don't have magic, maybe I'm not alone, maybe someone else is to blame for everything. But I saw the flames, burning through my curtains. I heard the vase shatter. More than that, I felt the power coursing through me as it happened, even if I couldn't control it. I could feel the magic inside of me. But I have to play along with this.

"You're right, as usual," I lilt, laughing lightly. "Thank you." I chew on my tongue, willing the words to come out. "Thank you for doing this for me."

He smiles, and I imagine pulling his teeth out, one by one.

The investigations start slowly. First, Aredian asks for general accounts of magic in Camelot. A parade of townspeople, fear in their eyes, kneel before Uther and describe magic in a way more vivid than I ever thought it could be—dancing dwarves, birds bursting into flames, flowers blooming from barren ground. But the way they describe it, it's like something horrible happened. Something terrifying. When really, to me, it couldn't sound more beautiful.

Aredian sends them all away and turns to speak to Uther.

"It's as I suspected," he says grimly. "Magic has taken root here, like a disease. It's everywhere."

Arthur, standing next to me, arms folded, looks dubious.

"Forgive me, but the accounts of these people hardly sound like magic we've seen in the past. This isn't the witchcraft of some evil sorcerer—"

"Perhaps not," Aredian interjects, speaking loudly enough to drown out Arthur's protestations. He gazes out the long, clear window of the hall, surveying the courtyard. "But these are only the people who came forward. There's something darker here, in this place, I can sense it. I can taste it in the air." With a dramatic flourish, he whirls around, eyes stopping on my face. It only lasts a moment, but I shudder involuntarily.

"I fear it's someone in the castle," he continues. "No one else would have access to the lady Morgana. It has to be someone close to her, someone who sees her frequently."

"This is ridiculous," Arthur says, giving Uther a pointed look. Somewhere, some long lost part of me feels a surge of gratitude towards him.

"You will show Aredian some respect." Uther walks closer to Arthur, edging me out of the conversation.

"But father, you can't possibly think—"

"He is here to help Morgana, because I asked him to. He is our guest," Uther growls. His lip curls into the beginning of a snarl. "You will treat him with the courtesy he deserves."

I watch Arthur carefully, noting the ever so slight trembling in his shoulders, how he reluctantly bows his head in submission. He's still terrified of the king. In some ways, I realize, I'm lucky—Uther may have control over me, but at least I've never had to live with him as a father.

"Yes, father." Arthur murmurs. Uther nods, satisfied.

I still can't shake the feeling that Aredian is watching me.

That night someone knocks on the door to my chambers. I'm lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, so lost in thought that at first I don't respond. It happens again, louder this time.

Reluctantly, I drag myself from between the sheets, pull a wrap around my shoulders, and answer.

Merlin is standing there, fear written all over his face. He looks more terrified than I am. I step closer to him and look down both ends of the hallway—no one else is around. It's just us, uncomfortable in the torchlit darkness, and everything we haven't said to each other. We haven't spoken since Gwen's return.

"What do you want?" He fidgets, eyes firmly focused on the floor. I want to make him look at me. I want to force him to meet my eyes, to truly face everything I know I am. Everything he refuses to acknowledge is true.

"They've taken Gaius."

"What?"

"I wouldn't be coming to you if I wasn't desperate, but—"

"Who?" I interject. "Who has taken him?"

He looks at me like I'm an idiot. "The witchfinder," he says, voice cold. "The person Uther brought here to help you." Finally, he looks me in the eye.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"You're the king's ward, Morgana. He'll listen to you." I laugh cruelly.

"You really think Uther listens to me? He hates me," I say.

"No, he doesn't."

Merlin shakes his head. I hate the way he's watching me, like he's disappointed, like he expected so much more. Like he doesn't understand what could happen to me if I push against Uther too hard. But of course he doesn't—how could he? He's still trying to pretend that I don't have magic.

"Goodnight," I hiss, and start to shut the door.

"Morgana please." Merlin grabs the door, forcing it open again. For a moment, I'm overcome with the urge to slam it on his fingers. He softens a little, taking in my desperation. "They'll kill him," he whispers, as if he's afraid to say it out loud. "You know what they do to people accused of witchcraft."

I don't answer him, but I also don't slam the door. I don't order him away, even though I could, even though I know that as much as Uther hates me I still have power Merlin could never dream of having.

"You're better than this," he says softly. "Remember Mordred? Remember how we fought for him?"

I close my eyes, remembering that night, the first time I saw Merlin as anything other than a servant. It all seems so distant now.

"I'll do it," I say finally, opening my eyes. A glimmer of hope passes over Merlin's face.

"Thank you," he says, and before I can change my mind he disappears down the hallway like a ghost.

The next morning I go to speak to Uther, but on my way to the throne room I run into Aredian. He steps out of an alcove, silently, like he's been waiting.

"Morgana," he says. "I was hoping to find you." He places a hand on my shoulder, and before I can stop myself I pull away from him. He smirks, amused by my repulsion. Gray light filters in through the window next to us. I look around to see if someone is here to help me, a servant, maybe, or a guard, but the hallway is empty.

"I was just on my way to speak to the king," I begin, talking too quickly, and attempt to get around him. He steps in front of me, blocking my path. "I really wouldn't want to keep him waiting." I cringe at how desperate I sound.

"Oh, this won't take too long. I'm sure Uther won't mind."

Realizing I have no way out, I nod, spreading my lips in what I hope is a pleasant smile.

He grins, long teeth visible in the soft daylight, and leads me through the castle.

He takes me to the dungeons.

On the way to the interrogation room, we pass Gaius, crumpled and helpless in the corner of the cell. I've never seen him look like this before—broken, defeated. Like there's nothing left for him in the world. For a brief moment, he meets my gaze. I have just enough time to see his eyes widen in horror before Aredian pulls me away.

"So," he says when I'm seated across from him, "I have a few questions for you." We're in one of the larger cells, one of the few that has a small window, lined with iron bars, shoved near the ceiling. I nod, pretending he doesn't scare me. He takes notes on the other side of the table, and I can just barely make out the sound of mice scurrying in the corners over the scratching of his long, feathered quill.

"How long have you known Gaius?"

"All my life," I say. "He's been the court physician for as long as I can remember." He nods smugly, as if I've said something useful to him.

"And how long has he been treating you?"

I falter. "Treating me?"

"For your nightmares." He sets his quill down, leaning in closer to me. "The nightmares the king is so concerned about."

"Oh," I say quickly, "of course." He looks at me expectantly, and I realize that I still haven't answered his initial question. "I'm not sure exactly. Around a year now, I think."

"You think?"

I open and close my mouth, not sure how to respond. Before I can come up with an answer he asks another question.

"Tell me more about these nightmares." He scribbles a few things down, then looks up at me expectantly.

"They're just nightmares, really," I say, hoping that the slight waver in my voice doesn't give away how nervous I am.

"What happens in them? Something about the way he's looking at me makes me feel like he knows, he knows I'm hiding something, knows my dreams aren't normal.

"I don't know," I murmur. "I'll—see something, something frightening. Someone will betray me," I say, even though that's not right, not really. Thankfully, he doesn't ask for more detail.

"And how long has this been going on for?"

"Since I was a girl," I reply sincerely. Surprisingly, it feels almost nice to talk about this, to tell someone what it's like. When I stare down at the table, I can almost forget who I'm speaking to. "Although it's been worse lately," I add.

"Interesting," he says, writing faster, and it occurs to me that I may have said something wrong, given away too much. "What does Gaius do to help?"

I pause, trying to choose my words carefully. I promised Merlin. I told him I would help Gaius. "He gives me serums. To drink."

"And would you say the serums help?"

"Yes," I say unthinkingly, lying through my teeth.

"Interesting." He stands up and walks towards me, abandoning his notes at the other end of the table. He doesn't stop until he's inches away from my face, so close that I can smell his stale breath. "Because you just told me that they've gotten worse," he whispers. I shiver despite the dungeon's uncomfortable warmth. "Was that a lie? Or are you lying to me now?"

I feel myself start sweating, skin dampening beneath my dress. I start to say something, anything, to save myself, desperate to hold on to some semblance of control of the situation, but before I can get the words out Aredian starts to speak again.

"Do you know what I think," he murmurs into my ear. I close my eyes, squeezing the edge of my chair. "I think, there are two possible explanations for your—nightmares. Either," he says, backing away from me, "Gaius has been enchanting you. It couldn't have been anyone else, could it?"

He doesn't want me to answer the question, and even if he did, I don't have an answer for him. "What's the other explanation?" I ask, even though, watching his lips twist upwards in triumph, I know I'll regret it.

"I just think it's strange. The king's ward, young, beautiful, healthy in all other aspects." He settles back into his chair. "You know, I met a girl like you, once. Really, she was a lovely girl. Everyone was so charmed by her. But," he says, "you see, she suffered from the same ailment as you. Her family—mother, father, younger brother—they couldn't sleep because of her screams." He picks up his quill, stroking the long feathers almost gently. "Everyone was so puzzled. Until one night, her father gave me permission to watch her sleep. It was heartbreaking, watching her thrash and kick, asleep but not resting. And then," he continues, "she woke up. It happened quickly. Her sheets, fluttering to the ceiling. The window flew open, and her eyes—her eyes flashed gold."

I stare weakly at the ground, all remnants of my strength gone. He knows. He has to know. It's all over—he's probably already told Uther. I'm going to die. They're going to kill me. Uther is going to kill me.

"The family understood, of course, what I had to do."

"What do you want from me?" I growl, summoning all the power I wish I had. He grins.

"Thinking back, I recognize that the girl's behavior may not have been her own fault. "Perhaps," he says, going back to writing notes, "someone else was enchanting her. Someone like Gauis."

Then I understand. I don't have to die. I know what he wants.

"So, Lady Morgana, ward of King Uther Pendragon," Aredian says, voice silky with triumph because he knows he's won. "Is there anything else you would like to tell me about Gaius?"

And, forcing Merlin's face from my mind, hating myself, I begin to talk.