Chapter 225: She Met With The White-Haired Girl

She didn’t wait for Morgana to respond. Instead, she moved quickly to the washstand, grabbing a ceramic bowl and filling it with water. She retrieved several pieces of soft cloth and dunked them into the water, squeezing out the excess.

She returned to the bed and placed one of the cool, damp cloths on Morgana’s forehead.

Morgana gasped slightly at the sudden coolness, but then sighed with relief as the damp cloth began to ease some of the heat radiating from her body.

Rowan retrieved another cloth and began to gently wipe Morgana’s hands, her wrists, anywhere she could reach, trying to cool her friend’s body from the outside while the fever raged from within.

Morgana watched her friend work, seeing the determination in Rowan’s face, the careful way she was attending to every detail of Morgana’s care.

Despite the fever, despite the exhaustion, Morgana smiled.

"You sure know how to care for me, Rowan," she said softly, her eyes closing as Rowan continued her work.

Rowan paused in her ministrations and looked at her friend with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and profound love.

"Well, I told your Ma that I’d look out for you while we’re in the palace," Rowan said, returning to her work. "So I’m keeping my promise. And moreover, the kings will have my head if anything happens to you."

The mention of her mother made something crack open inside Morgana’s chest.

She opened her eyes and looked at Rowan, and suddenly there were tears streaming down her face....she didn’t know when they’d started falling.

"I really miss her, Rowan," Morgana whispered, her voice breaking. "I miss her so much it hurts."

Rowan understood immediately that she was talking about her mother.

Rowan set down the cloth and reached up to gently wipe the tears from Morgana’s face with her thumbs.

"I know you do, Morgana," Rowan said softly, her own eyes glistening with tears of sympathy. "But don’t cry. You’re the kings’ ward now, and I believe you’ll be able to see her very soon. Just be patient."

Morgana shook her head slowly, wanting to believe it, wanting to trust in the possibility of seeing her mother again before it was too late. But she had heard something in Astraea’s words, something about enemies and loved ones being used as weapons.

Still, she didn’t voice those fears. Instead, she simply closed her eyes and let Rowan continue her careful, loving work.

***

*THE DINNER ROOM*

In the grand dining chamber of the palace, three kings sat waiting.

The table was set for four....a statement in itself. The fourth place at the head of the table, beside the First King, was positioned as if the person meant to sit there was someone of supreme importance. Someone whose presence would change the entire dynamic of the meal.

Draeven sat at the head of the table, his golden eyes watching the servants as they moved back and forth, ensuring that everything was perfect, that every detail was exactly as it should be.

Kaelen sat to his right, his pale eyes distant, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair in a rhythm that suggested his mind was far away. His lips were curved in what might have been a smile, but it was the smile of someone lost in memory.

Thorne sat to the left of Draeven, his dark eyes fixed on the empty chair, his jaw clenching and unclenching in a rhythm that spoke of barely contained frustration. He had spent the entire day in meetings, and all he wanted was to see her.

***

And then Rhen entered.

He moved stood before them and bowed deeply,

"My kings," he said formally.

Thorne’s head snapped up immediately, his dark eyes fixing on Rhen.

"Where is Morgana?" Thorne asked, not bothering with courtesy.

Kaelen’s finger stopped its drumming. His entire body went still, as if he had sensed something in his brother’s tone.

Draeven set down his goblet slowly, his golden eyes fixed on Rhen.

"Your majesty," Rhen said, his voice steady despite the weight of what he was about to convey, "Lady Morgana won’t be able to attend dinner."

The words fell into the chamber like stones into still water.

Kaelen was already moving before Rhen could finish, his chair scraping backward violently as he stood.

"Why?" Kaelen demanded, his voice sharp. "What happened?"

Rhen remained perfectly composed. "Her maid said she isn’t feeling too well," Rhen explained. "When I expressed concern and said I was going to call the Royal Physicians, Lady Morgana said not to worry, that she would be better after getting enough rest."

Kaelen was already moving toward the door.

His entire body was screaming with need, with hunger, with the primal urge to go to her, to see her with his own eyes, to verify that she was okay.

But then Draeven’s voice stopped him. "Sit down, Kaelen."

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh. But it was absolute.

Kaelen froze mid-stride, his pale eyes blazing as he turned to face his eldest brother.

"Didn’t you hear him?" Kaelen demanded, his voice dropping several octaves as his dragon began to surface in his tone. "She’s sick. Why are we sitting here? We should be...."

"Yes, I heard him," Draeven said calmly, setting down his goblet with deliberate care. "And we will get to that immediately. But we need to talk about something else right now."

Kaelen’s fists clenched at his sides. His entire body was vibrating with frustrated energy, with the need to move, to go, to be with her.

"What could possibly be more important than going to her right now, brother?" Kaelen asked, and there was a note of something almost dangerous in his voice, the sound of a dragon barely contained within human skin.

Draeven leaned back in his chair, studying his youngest brother with the calm assessment of a king who understood the nature of his brothers’ passions.

"She met with the white-haired girl," Draeven said, "She went to see her. Without telling us."