Morgana pulled her hair over her right shoulder and braced her hand against the front of her riding corset whilst her maid began to tug on the ribbons at the back. She was yet another luxury Mordred had insisted on providing. A luxury, and a threat. She wasn't a fool. Lacey's job was to keep an eye on her as much as it was to serve her. But what could she do? If she'd argued too strongly against the appointment it would have been suspicious. What did someone with nothing to hide have to fear from a spy?

"I think you might need re-fitting, princess," Lacey said thoughtfully, with a particularly hard tug on the lacings.

"Mmm," Morgana replied, turning her head back towards her mirror. She was looking thinner. Her face seemed a little longer, her chin sharper, but she'd been putting that down to the increasing length of her hair. It tumbled over her breasts in the neat waves Lacey had diligently applied minutes earlier with a tool heated in the fire. She hadn't worn it so long in years.

"It's all the walking and riding you've been doing, I'll wager," Lacey continued obliviously, "maybe you should take it a little easier for a while, princess?"

Morgana thanked her for her concern. It wasn't the riding. In the last few months she'd mastered the art of appearing to eat more than she was in any way inclined to. Lacey didn't seem to have noticed, but Morgana wondered about Mordred. She caught him watching her sometimes at the high table in the hall where they ate with the residents of the castle almost every night.

Gone were Arthur's intimate family meals.

"The midnight blue, please Lacey," she smiled as the older woman approached the wardrobe.

Mace had always liked the blue.

"When we're done would you please inform his majesty I've gone to Oliford? Tell him there's a dispute in which I promise I'd intercede."

But of course, he'd already know all of that.

---

A stable boy was waiting in the yard with her horse. Apollo had been tacked in his new saddle and bridle, yet another generous gift from the king. He looked like something from the pages of one of the novels Tristan had devoured with such enthusiasm. She'd managed to salvage a few from his room, determined to keep them safe for him until he could reclaim them.

She hoped he was doing better. She hoped both of her boys were alright.

"Would you like a leg up, your highness?" the boy asked brightly. She shook her head and asked him to hold the stallion's head instead, unwilling to dismiss him entirely. They always looked a little dejected when she tried that. Once she was securely in the saddle, she produced a silver coin from the purse at her hip and leaned forwards to press it into his palm. His thanks echoed in her ears as she trotted across the cobbled yard, passing beneath the main gate and out onto the king's road.

Apollo was as eager as she was to leave the road behind. As soon as they were out of sight of the walls, Morgana turned him away, out into open countryside. The ground was hard from the cold and the grass remained wrapped in the frost of the night before. Smoke curled from Apollo's nostrils as he snorted his impatience, eager to run.

"Go on then, old friend," she told him, urging him on with a firm squeeze.

---

Archie, her deputy, was waiting for her at the edge of town. He waved when he saw her coming and strode out to greet her. He at least was not one of Mordred's. She'd trained him herself, and so she trusted him as much as she could anyone in the current climate. After her brother's betrayal, and after discovering how far his deception of her had gone, she was finding it difficult to trust anyone at all. Archie though, as far as she could tell, didn't report directly to the castle.

Nevertheless, it paid to be cautious.

Morgana reached out for Kraar. He was nearby, perched in a copse of trees a little to the west with Chip and the rest of the flock.

You know the drill, she thought, patrol to the perimeter, agents to their posts.

Already on it, Morgana Kraar replied, his concern for her obvious, no one's going to blindside you on my watch.

Satisfied, she turned back to Archie. He clapped his gloved hands together, in a vain attempt to warm them. Morgana kept her own gloves threaded through her belt, her fingers still warm from the exertion of her ride.

"Tell me you've managed to stop this from descending into a brawl, Archie," she said, with a half-smile. "Although..." she paused, considering, "a good blow to the head might not do either of them any harm."

Archie laughed appreciatively, nodding his agreement. "Everything's quiet for the moment. They're just waiting for you. Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"Neither of them is going to be delighted," she sighed, "but hopefully neither will feel he's been cheated, which may very well be the best we can hope for."

---

She finished reading the judgement from the parchment in her hands. Her thumb brushed against Mordred's signature at the bottom of the document as she reached the bottom. The meeting house retained a hushed, respectful silence. It was an improvement on how it had been when she'd first walked in hours ago. Was it hours? Or did it just feel like it?

Morgana finished and set the scroll back down on the table in front of her. The silence continued as she collected her gloves from beside her.

"If you need anything further, have word sent to me at the Castle. I urge you all, do not take matters into your own hands in future. I am here to help you." She rose slowly to her feet, and someone hurried forwards to wrap her cloak around her shoulders. "And now, if you'll excuse me gentlemen..." she continued, fastening the broach at the base of her neck as she pulled on her gloves "...I promised my nephew a gift from the market."

Morgana emerged back into the cold, stepping into the chilling embrace of an icy wind. She was glad suddenly that she'd worn her tallest boots. The meeting hall had seemed draughty, but it was nothing compared to the afternoon air. The morning had been positively tropical. Wrapping her cloak more tightly around herself, she strode towards the row of colourful market stalls to her left. The stall holders smiled as they saw her coming, and she made a beeline for the toymaker.

She was deep in conversation with him about the wooden dragon he'd made, complete with wheels and a ribbon to pull it along, when Kraar's mind connected with hers.

We've got eyes on someone, her familiar told her, with a note of urgency, behind you, to your right, by the apple stall. He's got his hood up, so that's all we've got for now. Shortwing can't get anything else for you yet.

Stay on it, Morgana replied. She glanced over her shoulder, following Kraar directions, and wept her gaze past the stranger as if she were just doing a straight forwards scan of the crowd. She turned back to the toy maker with a smile and handed over the coins she'd offered him. When he'd promised to have it delivered to the castle for her at his earliest convenience, she turned to walk away.

Which was when the merchant raised the hue and cry. Morgana raised her head sharply, her gaze falling on the back of the retreating figure, his cloak trailing behind him as he ran. Quickly, she removed her own, freeing her arms, and thrust the bundle of fabric into the toy maker's arms.

"I'll be back," she promised him, setting off at a run, eager to close the gap between them. As she weaved her way through the crowd, she used the strip of leather around her wrist to tie back her hair, leaving the curls to bounce and swing down her back as she burst through the final row of stalls and into the more open streets beyond. She was just in time to see the thief disappear around the corner into the alleyway which ran between the candle maker's and the potter's workshop.

We've got eyes on him Kraar interjected into her thoughts, he's heading south east. Stubbeak's tailing him.

Morgana nodded and darted down the street to her right, heading south behind the bookbinder's. When she hit the gentleman's tailor's, she took a sharp turn to the east, skidding around the corner as her riding boots failed to grip the icy cobbles. Cursing under her breath, she took a shorter stride to compensate and quickened her pace. Kraar kept her apprised of her quarry's movements as she weaved her way through the streets. She knew them well, had seen them built, but whoever this man was, he was good.

Very good.

She was breathing hard by the time she caught her next glimpse of him. The corset was doing her no favours. She hadn't dressed for this.

Enough running.

Morgana drew one of her twin blades from its sheath on her left hip, and took a final turn. She slipped into the narrow gap between the bakery and the dairy. It was only just wide enough for her to edge through.

Be careful, Morgana Kraar warned her, as the man's shadow flittered past her hiding place.

With her chest still heaving against its casing, she stepped from her hiding place to block his path. Moving quickly, she advanced on him, rising up onto the balls of her feet to press the blade against his neck. His back bumped against the building behind him, and his hood fell back.

The revelation almost took her breath away.

Mace

She stood frozen, keeping the blade in place, unable to do anything else. The sight of him ignited a war inside her. Part of her was relieved, wanted her to throw herself into his arms, to have him hold her until the world felt safe. Another part was afraid and furious in equal measure, scared they'd be seen, terrified he was going to be caught by someone less charitable than her, worried Mordred would know, and furious that Mace would risk it.

The sound of her name on his lips shepherded a further sensation into the fray. A furious, desperate desire to kiss him, to pull him back into the shadows and...

Morgana shook her head and tightened her grip on her knife.

"Maybe I should!" she hissed at him furiously, her eyes flashing. She tried to ignore her increasing awareness of the broadness of his heaving chest, and of her own, pressed so tightly against him, the top curve of her breasts emerging above the neckline of her dress with each gasped breath. "Are you mad!?"

He was smiling at her, so pleased with himself it was almost a smirk, goading her.

Damn him

"Damn you" she breathed, finally managing to find it within herself to move the knife. She lowered it away from his throat, but didn't sheathe it. Morgana took a step back, and glared up at him.

"What in Aura's name do you think you're doing?" she demanded, glancing up and down the street to make sure no one was about to stumble across them. "You can't be here! And you certainly can't be here with me."

Hot tears prickled behind her eyes, but she blinked them back, determined he wouldn't see her cry. And yet, the only thing in the world she wanted was for him to hold her. To have someone tell her she wasn't as alone as she felt, and that everything was going to be alright.

Morgana reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist, dragging him into a narrow cut between two houses. They had to duck beneath the laundry suspended from the lines woven between the buildings on either side.

"Put your hood back up," she told him, creeping up to the end of the cut to peer around the corner. It was clear for now. "Follow me."

Kraar? she thought, feeling him connect find us somewhere safe.