Morgana sat on a stone bench in the castle gardens; the princess wasn’t holding court today. She was left with little to do when the royal court wasn’t in session, yet she had to keep up the appearance of a noblewoman. So here she sat, along with many of the other young ladies.

She didn’t belong here, hanging about with these brainless idiots. Resisting the urge to curl her lip as she listened to them gossip about the royals, she brushed an imaginary bit of fluff from her skirts. Silks and satins, utterly useless bits of fabric as far as she was concerned.

Having been raised in the Mountains of Rain and Night, she knew these fabric would have never held up in the damp and cold of those ruthless mountains. She’d grown up in those harsh mountains and she was made of sterner stuff than these foolish, giggling girls.

Women could do so much if they used their brains, she was proof of that, yet these women made all females look like simpering idiots. She snorted. Her father had made certain she could hold her own in a man’s world. He’d made certain she could fight as well—and in some cases better—than most men.

According to the laws of the land, her brother Morgan had been her father’s heir, despite the fact that she was the first-born, by a full minute, but because she was female she could never inherit a title and lands. Her father had never treated the two of them differently; they received the same praise when they succeeded and the same punishment when they failed. She bore the scars as proof of the latter.

Yet in the end, it would be she who sat on the throne of Araluen, not her father or her brother. Neither had succeeded in destroying the enemy, Morgan had eliminated Will Treaty’s wife, but it was a minimal victory. The woman wasn’t a warrior of any sort. Her brother had also managed to get a spy into the palace here, that informant was still in place. It came in handy; she couldn’t be everywhere, after all.

“Lady Monica, you looked terribly lonely over here. Do you mind if I join you?”

She glanced up at the girl standing beside her and somehow managed to keep the look of disgust from her face. The girl needed to cut out the heart of the seamstress who had made her gown. The mustard yellow concoction was doing nothing for the girl’s complexion. She looked as if she’d just left her sick bed. Managing somehow to plaster a welcoming smile on her face, she gestured to the empty seat beside her. “Yes, of course.” She couldn’t for the life of her remember the girl’s name.

“Isn’t just a gorgeous day?” the girl gushed.

“Yes, indeed,” Morgana replied duly.

“I haven’t noticed you joining any of the groups.”

Morgana kept her polite smile in place. “I don’t know anyone here, I grew up mostly isolated. My father was rather overprotective. My mother died when I was very young.”

“Oh you poor dear! How horrible for you! You’re father must love you very much and fear losing you, to protect you so, how lovely.” She finished with a wistful sigh.

“Yes of course.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Pardon?”

“Does your father wish for you to make a match with the prince?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Morgana resisted the urge to stab the girl through the throat and watch her choke on her own blood as she died. “Yes I suppose so, he didn’t say really. He packed me off and told me to make a good impression.”

She leaned conspiratorially close to Morgana. “Have you seen the prince in the mornings, practicing with his sword?”

Morgana blinked at the girl. “Practicing? What do you mean?”

“Oh, he’s spectacular! If his mother doesn’t hold court in the mornings he practices with a few of the other knights and sometimes …” She paused and looked around as if to be certain no one was listening. “He doesn’t wear a shirt! He’s beautiful!”

“Is he now?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, we never get close. We stay in the trees and watch. It wouldn’t be decent to stand close and ogling him. I doubt we could get any closer anyway.”

Morgana frowned. “Why would that be?”

“Because that Ranger girl is always with him. You know it doesn’t matter how they dress her, she will never be a lady,” the girl said with a sniff of disapproval.

Morgana kept her look neutral. She knew everything there was to know about her enemies already. She didn’t need this bitter girl to fill her in. In truth, Morgana didn’t like brainless gossips. In her mind there was a difference between informants and gossips, these foolish girls usually prattled on about information they received second hand. Information that was often erroneous. While informants spent time ferreting out the information they gathered and made certain it was correct before they passed it on. This girl would look much nicer in red—blood red; perhaps she could assist her in that by slitting her throat. She kept her look politely interested as the girl continued to ramble on about the Ranger Deva.

Morgana felt more inclined to defend the Ranger than to side with the mustard seed seated beside her. She felt a certain affinity for the Ranger; after all, she had more in common with Deva Treaty than with the girls at the Royal Court. They were both warriors.

A genuine smile spread across her lips at the thought. She’d had enough of the girl’s prattling. “Perhaps I’ll join you the next time you gather to watch the prince.” It might pay to see how well the young prince used a blade.

“Oh yes of course! I’d love it if you joined us! I’ll fetch you tomorrow morning!” She informed Morgana of the time and then hurried off when she spotted another friend of hers—in an equally disastrous gown—waving to her from across the garden.

Morgana watched the girl go. As badly as she despised these brainless foolish girls, they occasionally had their uses. She rose leisurely and walked from the garden as if she had all the time in the world to stroll about aimlessly. Tomorrow she would go with the insipid little twits and watch the prince at practice; she would oooh and aahh over him just as they did. In reality, she would study his every move; learn how the boy fought and exactly how good he was with that blade of his.

She hummed an old lullaby that her father used to sing to her when she was a child. The words eluded her at the moment, it had been something about a murderous old witch stealing away babes in the night. It brought back fond memories of her father.

***

Mitchell spun to block the blade of the knight who had come around behind him after first dispatching the one he’d been engaged with, he was just in the nick of time to block the swing. He grinned and shoved the knight back, causing the man to stumble. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw two others trying to slip up on him. They really were trying to put him through his paces today, weren’t they? He grinned, kicked out at the knight in front of him as the man recovered, catching him in the midsection and sending him to the ground.

“Come on now gentlemen, you really aren’t playing fair,” he told them with a wide grin. It was obvious that he was rather enjoying himself.

The knights snickered as they rushed forward together. Mitchell dropped to the ground and rolled to one side of the men, catching the two men off guard. Mitchell jumped nimbly back to his feet and bent low and ran forward, barreling into the two surprised men with his shoulder, knocking them to the ground. His father began clapping. “Nicely done Mitchell.”

He grinned, while sucking in a few deep breathes. “Thanks Dad.” He sheathed his sword.

Deva sauntered forward. “Don’t get cocky now; there is always someone better out there somewhere.”

Mitchell rolled his eyes. “You sound like Halt.”

She grinned. “Well he has a point.”

Mitchell sighed and shook his head. “Yes, I suppose so.” He looked at the knights who were now gathering in a small group, talking and laughing. He turned and headed over to them.

Deva smiled as she watched him talk with the knights. He always thanked them and spoke with them for several minutes afterward. Horace smiled and nudged her with an elbow. “Cassandra still giving the two of you a hard time?”

She nodded, still watching Mitchell for a moment before looking up at his father. “Yes of course.”

“I don’t see why she hasn’t accepted the inevitable yet.” He chuckled.

Deva blinked up at him. “You don’t agree with her?”

“No, I know better than to argue with Mitchell when he has his mind set on something. Despite what his mother believes, our son can be quite stubborn.”

Deva grinned widely. “Much like his mother.”

Horace laughed. “Indeed. The two of you will do well together. And I wouldn’t worry, Deva, you’ll do fine as a royal.” He winked at her.

Before she could comment, he walked over to join Mitchell. Deva sighed and went back to sit down on the sidelines beside Logan and Holly. Holly was doing better, although the healer would prefer if she stayed off her feet. Logan had insisted on carrying her outside, despite her protests that she could walk perfectly fine all on her own, they’d argued the entire way. Logan had still carried her, despite her protests.

She glanced back at the trees to where the colored specks of dresses peeked through from the court’s ladies as they watched through the gaps in the trees. Deva snorted, idiots. She wondered if they really believed that the knights and the Rangers didn’t know that they were “hiding” in the trees watching. Foolish really. Especially in their brightly colored dresses.

Morgana was thinking much the same thing where she stood in the trees with the group of girls. If these absurd girls believed they were hidden they were truly witless, she was not going to be the one to inform them of their stupidity. Instead, she stood silently and watched as the prince fought. Studied every move he made, every stroke of his blade, every single defense and offense. At the end of the session, she was forced to admit that he fought extremely well despite his youth. It had been beneficial for her to observe him today. The knights that had gone against him had given no quarter, they had fought hard even thought they were going up against the prince.

She watched as the group began to depart, the knights were leaving, as were the Rangers and the prince, Sir Horace as well. Morgana smiled at the gathered girls. “Well I suppose that is all then.”

The girls began babbling all at once and Morgana winced at the sheer volume. “Isn’t he devine?” one girl gushed.

“I wish he would have removed his shirt today!” another lamented.

On and on it went until Morgana thought she would rip her hair out simply from listening to their idiotic comments, when they made it back to the castle she removed herself from their company and headed for her rooms. Glad to be free from the gaggle of babbling preposterous girls.

She straggled slowly down the long corridor until she made it to her room, once inside she gave a sigh of relief, glad to finally be alone. No sooner had she shut the door than a knock sounded, giving a frustrated growl, she pulled the door open. “Yes, what is it?”

“Begging your pardon Miss. This is for you.” The maid held out a sealed envelope.”

“Thank you.” Morgana snatched the envelope from the woman and shut the door quickly. She recognized the scrawl across the front. It was from the informant inside the castle. All communication was written correspondence only; letters were to be slipped carefully in with all of the castle’s mail, they could never be seen talking to one another. She tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the short note.

The Rangers, Halt and Will, would be returning soon. She pressed her lips together. Not all together unexpected, they couldn’t remain away from the castle indefinitely. It might be to her advantage to have them in residence anyway. It would make it easier to kill them in the end.

She burned the note, watching as the paper curled and then blackened into nothing but useless ash. The rest of the missive was what concerned her. The daughter of the Ranger Halt, the one called Holly, seemed overly suspicious of her. Morgana frowned, uncertain why the girl would be suspicious. Morgana could think of nothing that she’d done to warrant suspicion.

If the girl became a problem then she’d need to disappear—permanently. An easy enough thing to accomplish, she had several of her men hidden a short distance from the castle, secreted in the forest. Holly O’Carrick could be dealt with easily if the matter got out of hand. She didn’t think it would, however, Holly was only a girl of fifteen. Certainly not well enough trained as of yet to be much of a threat.

Although, she had gotten lucky enough to take down Morgan that needed considering.

Morgana, pursed her lips, perhaps she should instruct her informant to keep a closer eye on the little Ranger girl. She might merit watching. So many, many things to consider when destroying those that opposed you, she thought idly as she sat down to compose a carefully worded response to her informant.