Chapter 161: You Will Wear What Befits Your Station

The gown Agnes had selected was a deep forest green.

Morgana had never seen anything so beautiful. The fabric was silk that seemed to shimmer with its own light. The cut was elegant but not ostentatious, fitted enough to show her figure but not so tight as to be improper. It fell to her ankles with a grace that suggested it had been made specifically for someone of her height and build.

"This is too much," Morgana protested when Agnes brought it forward. "I can’t wear something like this. It’s too fine, too...."

"You are the ward of the throne now, child," Agnes said, her voice firm in a way that brooked no argument. "You will wear what befits your station."

The words carried a weight that Morgana had not fully appreciated until that moment. She was not just a girl anymore. Her status had changed. And her appearance needed to reflect that change. She was a representative of the kings now, in a way. What she wore was a statement about them as much as about herself.

Agnes helped her into the gown.

The servants returned to help with the braiding. Three of them worked together, their hands moving with practiced coordination. They created an intricate braid that began at the crown of her head and fell down her back like a waterfall of dark silk. Small flowers.....dried roses, Morgana realized, were woven into the braid at intervals, creating something that was beautiful without being overdone.

As they worked, Agnes moved around her, making small adjustments. A fold of fabric here. A smoothing of hair there. The care in the preparations was evident in every detail.

When they were finished, they stepped back.

Morgana was instructed to stand, and she did so slowly, uncertainly. One of the servants brought forward a mirror....a large, expensive piece of glass that showed a reflection Morgana barely recognized.

The girl staring back at her was not a servant.

She was not afraid, though fear lived behind her eyes. She was not uncertain, though uncertainty colored her expression. She was someone who could stand in a king’s presence without shame. She was someone whose beauty was evident not through artifice but through the simple reality of her youth, her strength, her presence.

She was someone transformed.

Agnes stepped back, examining her work with the critical eye of an expert.

A curl here was adjusted. The hem of the gown was checked and found to be perfect. The flowers in her hair were arranged just so. The overall effect was one of elegance without excess, beauty without artificiality.

Finally, Agnes seemed satisfied.

She gestured for the servants to step back, and then she moved closer to Morgana, placing her weathered hands on the younger woman’s shoulders.

"The kings are powerful men, child," Agnes said, her voice dropping to something more intimate. "I need you to understand that."

Morgana’s eyes met the old maid’s in the mirror that still held her reflection.

"They are also kind, in their own way," Agnes continued, pausing as if carefully choosing her next words. "But they are not like other men. You must understand that. They have lived for centuries. They have seen kingdoms rise and fall. They have endured things that would break a mortal mind."

She squeezed Morgana’s shoulders gently.

"When they look at you, when they speak to you, remember that you are under their protection. There is honor in that. There is safety in that. But there is also responsibility."

The warning was clear without being explicit.

Agnes’s hand moved up to stroke Morgana’s hair, a gesture that was almost maternal.

"They will not hurt you," the old maid said, and the certainty in her voice suggested she knew more than she was saying. "Whatever happens in that chamber, whatever they say or do, understand that their interest in you is genuine. They do not waste their time on trivialities."

She met Morgana’s eyes in the mirror once more.

"Go to them with your head held high, child. You belong there just as much as they do."

***

The corridors of the royal wing were more beautiful than Morgana had realized during her earlier journey through them.

She had been too frightened, too overwhelmed, to appreciate the details. But now, walking with Agnes toward the kings’ private chambers, she noticed everything. The paintings on the walls....scenes of ancient battles, of dragons soaring through storm-dark skies, of magic being wielded by beings both human and other. The stone beneath her feet, polished until it gleamed. The torches burning with steady flames, their light warm and golden.

Other servants bowed as they passed.

Morgana had not expected that. The servants of the palace did not bow to her, did not show her deference. But they did now. Their eyes held respect, or perhaps recognition of her new status. Agnes walked with the confidence of someone conducting a dignitary, and the palace staff responded accordingly.

A guard stood outside the heavy wooden doors of the kings’ private chambers.

He was tall, muscular, bearing the insignia of the First King’s personal guard. As Agnes and Morgana approached, he straightened, his hand moving away from the sword at his belt. He recognized Agnes, and more importantly, he had been expecting them. He did not ask for verification or credentials. He simply stepped aside, acknowledging their right to pass.

Agnes stopped before the door.

She turned to Morgana one final time, and in her expression was all the support and encouragement that words could not adequately convey.

"You will be fine, child," Agnes said. Her voice carried absolute certainty. "They will not hurt you."

The repetition of that phrase suggested that Agnes was trying to convince Morgana of something crucial, something that Morgana did not yet fully understand.

Agnes raised her hand and knocked.

Three sharp raps that echoed through the corridor and into the space beyond. The sound of preparation stopping. The sound of anticipation. The sound of three powerful men understanding that their guest had arrived.

Agnes placed a gentle hand on Morgana’s shoulder one final time.

"Go, child," she said. "They are waiting for you."

The door began to open from within.