“I can’t believe you let Mordred see that,” Morgana admonished. “He’s just a boy.”

“He’s strong, like his father.” Yurien’s eyes lit with pride.

But Morgana knew better. Her son was sensitive. Clever. Curious. He might have Yurien’s fair coloring, but if he took after anyone, it was her.

And then, as if he had overheard them, Mordred appeared in the doorway, in a linen shift that had grown too short for him. He blinked, rubbing his eyes.

“What’s the matter, my love?” Morgana asked. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I had a nightmare,” Mordred complained. A worn poppet shaped like a dragon dangled from one hand, its tail trailing on the floor.

Morgana threw an accusing glance at her husband. “It’s late.” She placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, steering him back into the hall. He was so small, she couldn’t help but thinking. So breakable. “Go and have your nurse tuck you into bed.”

“She’s asleep,” Mordred complained. “And she smells funny. Can’t you do it?”

Morgana sighed. “All right,” she agreed, walking him back to his quarters.

Belowdecks, the galleass was more of a warship than a residence, its corridors spare and weathered. They would have been much more comfortable staying in the proffered guest quarters at the castle. But Yurien refused to sleep under another king’s roof, especially when he wasn’t allowed his own armed guards.

Morgana pushed open the cabin door and wrinkled her nose at the smell. She pointed accusingly at the balled-up bed linens in the corner.

“Mordred,” she scolded.

“It was an accident!” the boy wailed.

She dug her wand from her sleeve and muttered a cleaning spell. “Did you even try to fix it yourself?” she asked. “It’s a simple incantation.”

Mordred lifted his chin. “Father says a prince shouldn’t use magic.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Your father is just jealous because he can’t use magic.”

“That wasn’t what it looked like today when he slit the boatswain’s throat. You should have seen all the blood. It was like a fountain.” Mordred climbed eagerly into his bunk, pulling up the covers. “May I have a bedtime story? A really quick one, and then I promise I’ll go straight to sleep.”

He stared up at her, his expression pleading. Morgana sat down, smoothing the covers. She had never been able to refuse him.

“Once there was a little girl whom everyone had forgotten,” she began.

“No, I hate that one! It’s stupid and boring. Tell me one about pirates. And make them slit each other’s throats.”

CHAPTER 36

Emry made her way to Gawain’s chambers the next morning. She was once again dressed as her brother, and the binding felt tight and constricting against her chest. Or perhaps that was the heaviness in her heart over what had happened with Arthur.