I'm walking through the same hall I've known since I was a little girl, but it's starker and more shadowed. The massive throne in the center seems to command most of the room. I can't take my eyes off it. Everything is cold — my hands, the floor, the air— and the coldness seeps into me until I can't remember feeling anything else. When I'm close enough I reach out to touch the gilded metal. It burns.

I jerk awake, covered in sweat, struggling not to cry. Something about being in that hall is deeply wrong, something about the way I feel when I reach for the throne. Like there's a tug inside me, so powerful that I can't resist. Moonlight floods the recesses of my room, silver and bright, and I try to focus on it as I tremble and hold my knees to my chest. There's something wrong with me, there has to be, because I can't shake these nightmares, no matter how hard I try. I murmur to myself as I wait for the reassuring footsteps of Guinevere.

When she rushes in she sits on the side of my bed and I take hold of her wrists, still trembling, and cling to her in the darkness.

"I'm here," she whispers, "I'm here and everything will be okay."

I try to speak, to say something, anything, but I'm afraid that words would only make the tears creeping down my face faster and thicker. I hate that I'm crying. I love Gwen, but somewhere deep down I'm scared of how much I need her, resentful of the fact that if she weren't here I wouldn't be sane. It shouldn't be that way. I should be strong enough to survive on my own.

"I'm okay," I say after several deep breaths. "You can go." Her brown eyes are filled with concern and I'm sure that somewhere in them I can detect pity, no matter how much she tries to disguise it. "Thank you," I whisper, even though I know that those two words can never communicate how much I owe her. She smiles and gets up to leave as I sink back down into my sheets and try to sleep.


The next morning I stand in front of the mirror and gingerly touch the purple half moons under my eyes, trying to figure out what jewelry will make me look like I'm in control, like everything is fine. I settle on an emerald colored dress and leave my dark hair loose around my shoulders. I hate twisting it up, even if it makes me look more regal.

Before I leave my chambers I remind myself to stand as straight as I possibly can, to keep my chin up, even though my limbs ache from exhaustion and a headache is already coming on. I can do this. I can stay in control if I focus hard enough, make them see me how I want them to. As someone to be respected, someone they can look up to.

I try to ignore the frigid glances Uther gives me as I walk into the same hall from my dream and take my place on the chair beside him. Something about his gaze is frightening, like he knows there's something really wrong with me. I've tried to avoid this room since the nightmares have started, but on some occasions it's impossible.

Today we're welcoming guests from another kingdom. I watch them as they enter— I've always been curious about what it would be like to live outside of Camelot. This place is all I've ever known, and while I have to be grateful, there are times when I wonder what it would be like to live somewhere else, somewhere where the rules are different.

My eyes settle on the girl first. She's beautiful in a subtle way, not so much her face, but the way she walks, how she holds herself. Watching her look proudly up at us reminds me to focus on the straightness of my spine and the tilt of my chin. Suddenly, I wish I had done something better with my hair, or at least put on a nicer gown. When her eyes meet mine I feel slightly ashamed, but then something seems to flash across her face for an instant and I forget that I'm supposed to be in control. Is it recognition?

Uther starts to give the usual speech, but my gaze is still trained on the girl as an uncomfortable feeling starts to rise through me. When he finishes and has them escorted to their corridors everyone starts to leave, and I catch sight of Merlin trailing behind Arthur. I know it isn't appropriate, but something about the way the manservant is whispering to his master makes me think that he knows something. I catch up to him and grab his arm. He turns around in surprise and looks at me.

"Who are they?" I say it quickly, before he can ask me what I'm doing, barely stopping myself from saying what I really want to know— who is she?

Merlin looks surprised. I bite my tongue to keep myself from apologizing and blushing. He's a servant, after all, and I have a right to address him how I choose.

"Arthur saved her, I guess." He looks unsurely around him, like he wants to say something more. Once I might have been suspicious, but Merlin often has that look. He didn't really answer my question, but judging by the way he's looking at me I don't think I'm going to get any more information. I expect him to walk away, but then I realize that he's waiting for me to dismiss him.

"Okay." I murmur. I watch him as he rushes to catch up with Arthur.


I'm underwater. Greenish light filters through the filmy surface and gives everything a midlewy glow. There's a blurred figure suspended in the water a little ways away, and I swim closer to see who it is. Shocked, I realize it's Arthur. I look around, frantic, trying to grab him but unable to make my arms work. When my eyes drift upward I see a girl, her hand held flat over the surface—

I awake with a start. The girl was the one that arrived yesterday; I think Uther said her name was Sophia. I have to warn Arthur. It's early and I'm disoriented— Sophia's face swims across my vision every time I close my eyes— so it takes me a moment to realize that I didn't wake up shaking and crying. Scared, yes, but also in control. A hint of a smile creeps onto my face before I start focusing again. I need to find him.

I'm tempted to go in my nightgown because this could be urgent, she could kidnap him at any moment, but I have a feeling that I'll be taken more seriously if I'm fully dressed. Instead of calling for Gwen, who barely gets to sleep through the night because of me, I select and put on a rich blue dress on my own, along with gleaming earrings and a simple necklace whose pendant nestles itself against my ribcage. I stop at the mirror on my way out and smile.

I find Arthur sleeping peacefully in his chambers. Mouth slightly open, he looks less arrogant, less guarded, than usual. The prince and I were close at one point, when we were children. I remember sword fighting with him almost every day, insulting each other in between clashes of our wooden swords. Of course that's all over now. He's the prince, destined for the throne, and has duties to fulfill, and no one expects much of me. At some point Uther encouraged me to shift my attention towards other, more practical tasks. Sometimes though, if the armory is empty, I practice the stances and moves. Just in case.

"Arthur." I say as gently as possible. His eyes flutter open and widen in surprise when they land on me.

"What are you doing here?" He sits up quickly and runs his fingers through his hair. I hesitate. It seems dangerous to confess my dream— what if he thinks it's magic? But I know I have to try to warn him.

"You're in danger." I say at last.

"In danger?" The expression on his face shifts from surprised to skeptical. "Is this about a nightmare?"

"Yes, but — " I begin, but he cuts me off.

"You need to realize that they're just dreams. They're not real." He rubs his eyes. "I can't believe you woke me up for this." Anger flashes through me.

"You're not even going to listen to what I have to say?" He's already back in bed, face turned away from me. For an instant I imagine leaving now; it's his fault for not taking me seriously. But then I feel disgusted at myself. He's a prat, but I've known him my entire life. He's like family. I shake him violently and start speaking again, explaining my dream, how it feels too real, how I was there, I saw it happen.

"Go back to bed, Morgana." he murmurs sleepily. I suck in a breath and clench my teeth. He shouldn't be so dismissive, I know just as much as he does. After shaking him more but to no avail, I decide that it's a lost cause. Some part of me is hopeful that he's right, that maybe it is just a dream.

"I hope I'm wrong." Defeatedly, I drag myself out the door and through the silent, sleeping hallways of the castle back to my chambers.

As I turn the corridor I find myself face to face with Sophia. She smiles almost dreamily. Her eyes are clear blue, and her hair is wispy and faded. She seems to float, rather than stand, on the stone ground.

"Hello." she murmurs. "The Lady Morgana, isn't it?" I nod, and to my shock she falls to her knees in a deep and dramatic bow. I think she's mocking me until I catch sight of her eyes, lowered and almost fearful. I seize my opportunity.

"Listen," I begin, standing as tall as I can manage. "I know you're up to something. I'm warning you, if anything happens to Arthur, anything at all, I will find you." I hope that she can't tell that I'm not really sure what I would do once I did find her. As I speak she starts to stand up again, any trace of her previous expression gone. She smiles innocently again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she responds, and starts to glide past me. I step in front of her, blocking her path.

"I mean it." I say in a tone I hope is menacing. She leans closer to me, and I want to recoil from her but something keeps me rooted to the ground. She puts her mouth by my ear, and starts to speak, her voice soft and smooth.

"I bowed to you," she whispers, "As my once and future queen." I pull away, surprised.

"I'm not—" but she puts her finger to her lips and I fall silent. I watch her until she disappears around the corner and remain, stranded, in the middle of the corridor. What did she mean? I'll never be queen. I stand in the same place for several minutes until part of me thinks that I'd better shove her words into the recesses of my mind so I couldn't dwell on them for too long. They could be dangerous.