Camelot's Crow | ✓ [BOOK 3]

~ 47 ~

FOR THE FIRST TIME since his coronation, Morgana was not met with hatred when he entered his kingdom. Instead, as he made his way up the steps of the palace, Kit and Namyra protectively at his side, there were no crowds. No angry protesters, no riots. It was empty and quiet, and for once, Morgana was able to breathe in his own home.

He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep until he was old, but he had things to do. He had to find ways to publicly honor all those who had fallen in the battle, and those who had suffered for the fate of the world. This was the first time he truly felt like the Queen of anything, and if he were being honest with himself, he hated it.

"I fought in that war," he murmured to Kit that night. "I gained more scars than I even know how to count. I just want to stop being responsible for anything right now."

Kit curled into his side, wrapping his arms around him. "Me, too," he whispered. "I'm lucky enough that I don't have to be until the castle is finished, but you shouldn't have to do anything, either."

"What'll happen when you're King?" Morgana asked. "You'll be busy with your kingdom and I'll be here with mine, when will I ever see you?"

"We'll find a way," Kit assured him. "I promise we will."

For now, Morgana cherished Kit's warm body curled up into his own, the steady rise and fall of his breaths as he drifted off in his arms. He looked peaceful when he slept, and Morgana watched him for a long time. He was afraid to sleep, he'd suffered a horrible night terror the night before which sent him back to the moment where he realized he'd killed Kit. But in his dream, Kit stayed dead. He didn't want to see that again.

The silence of the night was disturbed when Kit stirred in Morgana's arms. His brow was furrowed, and he was whimpering gently between heavy breaths. He was clearly in distress, and when Morgana shook his shoulders to wake him, Kit shot upright, gasping.

"Kit, what's wrong?"

The prince rubbed the sleep from his eyes, or perhaps he was attempting to clear his mind of what he'd just dreamed about. "I never have dreams," he told him. There was a tremor in his voice, weak and sorrowful and full of pain. "Why now? Why these dreams?"

Morgana propped himself up onto one elbow, pushing a strand of hair from Kit's face, now dewy with sweat. "I don't know. What did you dream of?"

Kit's throat bobbed, and he shuddered as he spoke. "Lionel," he breathed. "That banshee was for him, the one we heard so long ago. It warned us and we didn't even know it."

The faery pulled him into an embrace, kissing the side of his head. Kit was torn apart by his grief, and Morgana felt himself feeling guilty for a moment. He'd left the battle feeling victorious, thinking about how grateful he'd been that Kit wasn't dead. That was the most painful part of that war for him, the moment when his world shattered completely and he was so afraid he'd lost him. But Kit didn't get to have his world back. Lionel was gone forever.

It went on like this for several nights. They took turns waking the other up from their nightmares and holding each other until the sun came up. Kit had become a shell of a man, and Morgana had no idea what to do but watch. He wouldn't eat, he would hardly leave the bed, and it was starting to eat away at Morgana to watch his light fade away like this. The man who had saved the world with his sunlight was suddenly so dim, and it killed him to watch.

He realized that there was nothing he could really do to help Kit other than make sure he wasn't alone. So he went about his business, ruling his kingdom as best as he could. After awhile he'd felt like he was just a face put to Namyra's instruction. She was doing a much better job of this, and it was clear it was something she enjoyed. She'd been a princess before, but she moved like a queen, and Morgana just felt lost.