"I told you long ago, every one of those lords should be killed!"
"Exactly! We should use the Round Table Conference to lure them all to Camelot, then lock them together in The Black Room! Smear honey all over their feet and bring in two sheep—they'll bawl their eyes out and confess every last scheme they've got!"
"You're talking about yourself, aren't you, Bavangshi...?"
"Barghest, you stupid dog! We're discussing how to deal with those lords. Why are you dragging me into this?!"
As the doors were pushed open, a chattering clamor echoed through the vast hall. Mordred, Bavangshi, Barghest, and the others filed inside.
On the cold yet magnificent throne, the figure bent over a desk, scribbling on a thin, creased sheet of paper, paused at the sound. She capped her pen, closed the book, and looked calmly at the children she had raised.
The face hidden beneath her visor remained an indistinct mystery. Her tall figure still carried the aloof majesty of one who looked down upon the mortal world, imposing and awe-inspiring.
"Is it all settled?"
"Yeah!"
Mordred nodded seriously, knelt on one knee before the throne, and offered the Queen the family crests he had taken from the "spoils of war."
Morgan's gaze swept over the crests in his palm. She nodded slightly, and the tense body upon the throne slumped a little before straightening once more.
"This year's Samhain is almost here, isn't it?"
The faint murmur echoed in the Fae Knights' ears. The sudden change of subject left them somewhat bewildered.
Within the dim hall, the goddess upon the throne turned and gazed absently out the window.
The room now needed the light of glowstone lamps as well.
What was fading would eventually fade. What endured would continue.
Time flew, and before anyone realized