Morgana stretched out on a bed wide enough for three people, soft as a cloud and draped with linens that smelled faintly of jasmine. The Golden Swan Inn catered to wealthy merchants and visiting dignitaries, not lost princesses or would-be avengers. But that's exactly why she'd chosen it. No one would look for her here.The bath she'd taken earlier had been almost decadent—hot water scented with oils, actual soap that didn't feel like sand against her skin. After months at sea with the Veyshari, washing in buckets of saltwater or cold streams, it felt like pure luxury.She plucked another purple grape from the bowl beside her bed. The fruit here was incredible—plump, sweet, and fresh. She popped it into her mouth, savoring the burst of flavor.Her fingers traced the edges of the folder Rook had given her.Sir Bedivere, Knight Commander of the Star Knights. Her father's right hand. The man who'd taught her to hold a practice sword when she was seven years old, laughing when she'd nearly taken his eye out with an enthusiastic swing."Just like your father," he'd said, ruffling her hair. "Too much fire for your own good."He’d once trained Arthur—Adom's father.Morgana frowned at the memory of the quiet, serious knight who'd been like a shadow to her father.She should have approached him when she last saw him. Told him she was alive. That his son had helped save her.But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Arthur was still in the imperial army, still serving the man who'd murdered his General—her father. If she'd revealed herself, put Arthur in that position... what would it have done to him? To Adom? The boy needed his father as an anchor.Maybe later, when she had more power, more allies. Maybe then she could rally Arthur to her cause. Tell him the truth about what had happened the night her father died."When you see the truth," Bedivere had told her father once, not knowing she was listening (...)