THE MOMENT HE SAW Titania vanish with the boy in her arms, Morgana snuck into the palace after her. He had no mind to tell the others, he'd let them figure it out on their own. Namyra wasn't at her best, he had no doubts she would lose. He thought nothing more of it as he slipped through a window, tiptoeing behind Titania, his thick cloak brushing against the ground behind him.
He thought he was being quiet as he followed her into a large bedroom, wrangling the screaming boy into a closet and locking it with a vicious growl. "Shut up, you little BRAT!" she screeched, and smacked the wood of the doors for good measure. To Morgana's horror, Lionel's screaming ceased with a quiet, strangled sound, and he heard a thud against the wood.
Unfortunately, Titania didn't leave. He stayed rooted in his place, focusing on his glamour in hopes she wouldn't notice him there so easily. He'd be a fool to think it would've actually worked, but a man could hope for at least a moment of borrowed time. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as she got closer to the doorway he cowered behind, head tilted in feigned curiosity.
"I know you're there," she said, creeping around the corner. Morgana pressed his back to the wall, reaching for a knife as he strained his glamour, waiting until the last second. When Titania was halfway out the door and inches from him, and he finally dropped the magic, pressing the blade to her throat and pushing her out of the room, shoving her against the wall on the other side of the corridor.
She made no effort to move, just laughed against him. In a sudden move, she slid her own neck across the surface until blood bubbled from the cut and slowly faded away as she healed herself. Morgana wasn't so lucky. There was no trace of blood, but his coughs were wet and he clutched his throat, stumbling back from her. His head was spinning.
"You thought that was very clever, didn't you?" she mused, giving him a toothy grin. "Fine, seven out of ten, I'll give you that much. Maybe you should go straight for the kill next time." Her eyes widened briefly with the last word, and Morgana felt his stomach churn.
The Unseelie coughed, but the sharp pain in his throat subsided, and he caught his breath against the wall, blade drawn. "What do you want?"
"The sword, have you been listening?"
"Why do you want it?" he asked. "It's a mediocre weapon at best. There are better ways to take out your enemies."
Titania crossed the hall, but he was already too low on energy to fight her as she gripped his metal hand, holding it up for him to see. "I tried them, Morgana. I tried the greatest weapon of all. But it would never kill my biggest nemesis, only a few pests along the way."
Morgana's eyes turned into dinner plates when he realized what she was saying. His mind recalled the stinging pain in his wrist when Connor cut his hand clean off, how he hadn't been able to work his karma like he wanted to. It was his left hand, the side of his body that'd been most ravaged by his strange childhood illness, a case no one had ever seen before.
Of course. It was a perfect plan, if she had every intention of clearing her kingdom of all its people. Was she trying to weaken Mab? She mentioned her greatest nemesis. Of course a disease wouldn't be enough to take out a Grand Queen. They were immortal, the most pure of the Sídhe, the last remaining from when they were feral, unruly, wild and uncivilized.
But why would she risk her own people? He recalled something Mab said a long time ago, but he shook his head. It didn't make sense.
"Why do you hate her so bad?" he asked her, feigning sympathy.
The tough façade cracked only for a moment, dew gracing her eyelashes just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of weakness. "Because she is the reason why this is happening. She is the reason why we cannot be who we were meant to be. She's turning the Sídhe into humans every day, stripping them of everything that makes them beautiful. We have to start over."
"You're insane," he breathed.
Her voice came out in a chilling cry, hurting his ears with it's volume. "Of course I fucking am! I've been alive since the first setting of the sun. It hurts, Morgana, it's agony. We weren't meant to be alive this long. I envy you."
There were real tears now, burning hot lines into her cheeks.
"There is nothing to envy about me," Morgana growled back.
She let out a heavy sound, something between a sob and a laugh and a scream. "There is so much," she wept. "I wish I was as fragile as you. I wish I could rest."
Realization dawned over his face. Maybe it wasn't such a crazy thought, after all. Mab said that, should Titania ever fall, she would take her kingdom with her, because she couldn't bear the thought of someone else standing where she once stood for so long. She sent out a plague, not to weaken Mab. Mab was not her greatest enemy.
She sent out the plague to take down her people. She wanted to die, because she was her own worst enemy.
"Bloody hell, Mab, you were right," he muttered to himself, then looked up at Titania again. "There are better ways to go about this. Write a suicide note and find a brutal friend. You don't have to take an entire people with you."
"You wouldn't understand," she hissed. "This place is mine. These people are mine. I will never part from them, and if that means I take them with me, then so be it."
Morgana shoved her back. He was surprised she hadn't tried to cut him open yet. "I'd be more than happy to kill you," he said. "But I won't let you kill anyone else in the process."
"They're tied to me," said Titania. "They need me to live. They'll die anyways."
"Then why make them suffer?" he asked, drawing a sword. "Why not let nature take its course?"
She said nothing, and it occurred to him that she had no idea if it was true. She had no idea if it really would kill them all if she died. It was a cruel obsession, and Morgana lost any pity he would've had for her because of it.
He didn't know when she started to attack, but she was fast, and she was ruthless. Blow after blow sent him against the wall and sliding to the ground, and he'd somehow lost his sword somewhere along the way. There was nothing left in him to fight, all the strength Kit gave him was gone, and the determination that would've kept him going was overpowered by his pain. His gut was blossoming with red, all the cracks reopened in his skin. It was so much blood, he could see the bright red in the dark black of his clothes.
Morgana'a will to live had gone. His mind wandered to Giselle, to how sad she'd be when he left. But she had Selene, she had her mother and all her new, wonderful friends. They had each other. What would there be to miss?
Titania came to deliver the final blow, and Morgana let it come. And yet, it never did. Instead, he felt a spray of hot liquid splash across his face, and he opened his eyes to find a blade wedged through her abdomen. It pulled out with a thickening squelch, and she whirled around.
It felt like someone had reached into his chest and gripped Morgana's heart, squeezing it until it burst in his ribcage. Kit looked at him like his own had been ripped from its place and thrown into a fire. He stood still, long enough for Titania to lunge at him. All the strength Morgana had left in him to keep his eyes open he sent Titania's way. Whatever it was that moved Morgana in front of the blade of Excalibur heading straight for Kit's heart sent the Queen away from him. The sound of Kit hitting the ground rang out through the halls and his quick, heavy breaths brought him a small sliver of comfort. He was alive. That was all he needed.
Then large, callused hands cupped his face, shaking his shoulders. "Morgana," he whimpered. "Morgana, please. Please, don't do this to me."
But it was too late. His heart slowed to a halt, and with one last breath, his body went as still as stone.
* * *
Kit was hardly an adult when his mother died in front of him. He didn't know a person had that much blood in them until he saw it all pooling on the floor and covering him from head to toe as he cradled her, shoving away every doctor and healer mage trying to pull him back. Nothing would tear him away from her, and nothing would ever cut his heart as deep as this.
This was the second time he felt that awful pain, the second time he let out a scream with this much agony, as he held a blood-soaked Morgana in his arms, body void of any sign of life. There was still a glimmer of hope that he was in there, a miracle waiting to happen, but it was a breath away from being crushed. Where the hell was the Holy Grail? All of that trouble just for it to be gone when he needed it most.
He could hardly make a sound. The sobs were too big for his lungs, getting caught in his throat until more came along and dislodged them in big, ugly, strangled cries. He didn't know if the dampness of his cheeks came more from the blood, the sweat, or the tears, or perhaps all of the above.
Kit's hands fumbled around Morgana's body, cut up like a pastry. He desperately pressed on the wounds as though it wasn't too late to stop the bleeding. This hurt worse than the first hundred times he thought Morgana had died.
"He needs an anchor," a familiar voice said in his head. It was Mab, and it wasn't a memory. "Be his anchor, Kristofer. Meet him on the other side of the wall, and don't let go of him until he makes it through."
Hope rushed through his chest with a flurry of adrenaline. He resisted the urge to give him strength, because he knew this was Morgana's burden to overcome. This was his wall to break through. All Kit could do was hold him while he did. Maybe he could still make it.
"Morgana," he started. "I don't know if you can hear me. Maybe you can still feel." He paused to cry into his chest again. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't trust you, especially when you finally trusted me. I'm sorry for all the times I hurt you, all the times I took you for granted. I never did thank you for taking Excalibur to the chest for me. You nearly died. I don't know if you did it for me, but you saved my life.
"You've saved my life so many times, Morgana. You've saved it so many times, in fact, I think you might be my life. You're my life, Morgana, and I swear to every fucking God that ever lived, if you die right now, I will, too."
He shoved Morgana's long black hair back from his face, beaten and grimy and bruised and as breathtaking as it'd ever been.
"God, you're so beautiful," he whispered. "I've never had anyone take my breath away like you do. A million beautiful women and it's you I'd be looking at, Morgana. If someone told me you'd hung the moon, I would believe them." He laughed. "Shit, Morgana, I think you are the moon."
Kit took his hand with his own, studying the stark contrast between them. His own skin was the color of honey, kissed by the sun, with the faintest golden shimmer and littered with scars. Morgana's hands were long and lithe and unbearably soft against his own, a hundred shades lighter. He reflected the sunlight, looked as white as a cloud in the moonlight, like he'd been etched from marble. He was sure the man was carved by the Gods themselves.
He studied his face, from the steady arch of his brows and the sharp touch of his cheekbones, sunken and severe and as elegant as ever. His jaw was strong and clear, and Kit's fingertips brushed the small scar that stretched across it. He loved to kiss it, because Morgana let out a lovely sigh whenever he did. His nose was long and slender, with a perfectly defined bridge that stuck out from his face, just a bit crooked, in the most charming way. His lashes were long and cast shadows against the purple circles beneath his eyes, the ones that walked the line between exhaustion and a dark, alluring beauty.
The cracks of his skin formed a pattern like lightning, an endearing blemish that only made Morgana's face more addicting than he would've already been. His hair, once completely white, now took on the color of the night sky, echoing his lunar disposition.
Kit's breath caught in his throat, and his next words, impulsive and messy and entirely, irrevocably honest, came out in a pathetic, desperate whimper into the curve of Morgana's pointed ear. The words burned his chest and fluttered in his stomach, laced in hope and fear and a passion like he'd never felt before. They were as true as the sky was blue and the sun set at the end of the day and the waves crashed upon the shore, and Kit couldn't remember the last time he ever said anything like this and meant it so much.
"I love you, Morgana."