Chapter 164: They Are Pleased With You

Agnes was waiting in the corridor exactly as Thorne had said she would be.

The old maid took one look at Morgana and a knowing smile crossed her face. She said nothing, simply placed a gentle hand on Morgana’s arm and began to guide her back through the corridors toward her chamber.

As they walked, Morgana found herself looking back once.

Through the open door of the kings’ chamber, she could see them. Draeven had returned to his seat. Kaelen was leaning back in his chair, his pale eyes still burning with that fire that seemed to never fully diminish. And Thorne stood by the window, looking out at the palace grounds with the expression of someone who was already thinking several moves ahead.

They had turned to watch her leave.

All three of them stood as she departed, a gesture of respect that would have been more appropriate for a queen than a ward.

Agnes squeezed her arm gently.

"You did well, child," the old maid said. "They are pleased with you."

"How can you tell?" Morgana asked, her voice still slightly dazed from the experience of being in their presence, of feeling their attention focused entirely on her.

Agnes’s smile deepened.

"Because they rose when you entered," she said simply. "Because they watched you as you ate. Because King Draeven invited you back himself. These are not things they do lightly, child."

They walked in silence for a moment, and then Agnes added, "They will come for you again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. You have been claimed. You understand that, don’t you?"

Morgana did not answer because she was not sure of the answer. She had been claimed, yes, but claimed for what purpose? What did these three ancient beings want from her? What did it mean to be the focus of their attention?

***

The walk back through the palace corridors felt longer than the walk to the kings’ chambers had been.

Agnes moved beside her with the practiced grace of someone who had navigated these stone passages for decades. Her weathered hand occasionally touched Morgana’s arm gently, a gesture of reassurance that Morgana appreciated more than she could express. Around them, servants moved with their morning duties, but they were less visible now, their eyes sliding away from Morgana as if acknowledging that something fundamental had changed in her status.

When they reached her chamber, Agnes paused at the threshold.

"Rest now, child," she said, her voice carrying the weight of genuine care. "You’ve had quite a morning."

Morgana nodded, uncertain what else to do with the kindness being offered.

Agnes placed a weathered hand on her shoulder, squeezed gently, then continued with her instructions: "If you need anything at all, simply ring the bell by your bed. Someone will come immediately. Anything at all, child. Do not hesitate."

The emphasis on those last words suggested that Agnes understood what Morgana might need....not food or water, but reassurance, comfort, human connection in a world that had suddenly become very large and very strange.

"Thank you, Agnes," Morgana whispered.

The old maid smiled, a expression that crinkled the corners of her eyes and suggested she had been beautiful once, in a different lifetime. Then she turned and left, pulling the heavy wooden door closed behind her with a soft but final click.

Morgana was alone.

The chamber seemed larger without anyone else in it. The beautiful furniture, the fine paintings on the walls, the intricate tapestries depicting scenes of ancient dragons and battles fought centuries ago, all of it seemed to loom around her, emphasizing the emptiness of her solitude. She stood in the center of the room for a long moment, uncertain what to do with herself.

There were no duties. No expectations. No one waiting for her, no tasks requiring her attention. After weeks of being assigned work from the moment she woke until the moment she slept, the absence of purpose felt almost like a physical weight pressing down on her chest.

She moved to the window without conscious decision.

The palace grounds spread out below her like a painting in motion.

Servants moved through the courtyards with their morning purposes, carrying water, moving supplies, tending to the endless details that kept a kingdom functioning. The sun was high enough now that the light fell clearly across the stone below, illuminating every detail of the life she had once been part of.

And there, in a corner of the courtyard near the kitchens, Morgana saw them.

Two kitchen maids, girls who could not have been more than a year or two younger than Morgana, were laughing together. One of them spun in a circle, her work apron flaring around her, her head thrown back to the morning sun. Her laughter drifted up to Morgana’s window, a sound of pure, uncomplicated joy. The other girl was chasing her, their movements careless and free, the way that only people without responsibility could move.

Morgana watched them, and something in her chest ached.

Those girls were free.

Not in the sense of legal freedom, they were still servants, still bound by duty and obligation. But they were free in a way that Morgana no longer was. Free to laugh without calculation. Free to move without awareness of how their movements might be perceived. Free to exist without the weight of eyes watching them, assessing them, wanting something from them.

She pressed her palm against the cool glass of the window.

The contact with the cold material grounded her, pulled her slightly back from the spiral of her own thoughts. She understood, with a clarity that was almost painful, that she could never return to that simplicity. That girl spinning in the courtyard without care, that girl no longer existed in Morgana. That version of herself had been burned away in the fire of the trial, of the conspiracy, of the kings’ decision to claim her as their ward.

The line had been crossed.

There was no going back.