"Your Majesty," Mordred began, his voice steady and comforting, "don't let Killaraus unsettle you. I've spent some of my childhood here, and Lancelot has visited on multiple occasions as an ambassador. Isn't that so, Sir Lancelot?"

Lancelot nodded in agreement as he walked. Mordred's words offered a glimmer of reassurance, and I appreciated his attempt to ease my nerves.

"Thank you, Sir Mordred", I replied.

Our journey through the fortress continued in silence, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts. As we neared our destination, I steeled myself for the encounter that awaited us, hoping that Morgana would understand our plight and accept us – even without the gifts we had intended to present to her.

The moment we stepped into Morgana's grand throne room, I felt the atmosphere shift – a potent mixture of awe and dread filled the air. The stone walls bore the marks of skilled craftsmanship, their surfaces intricately carved with ancient symbols and delicate patterns that seemed to come alive in the soft illumination of purple and white fae lights. The high, vaulted ceilings stretched overhead, like an expansive sky of their own, adorned with masterful depictions of mythical creatures.

Seated on a majestic ebony throne, Morgana Le Fay looked every bit the powerful Fae Queen she was. Her beauty was captivating – long, dark hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall, framing a face that was both delicate and fierce. Her regal robes draped gracefully over her body, hinting at the curves that lay beneath. Her honey-coloured eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, and as they locked onto mine, I felt a shiver run down my spine.

"Welcome to Killaraus," Morgana purred, her velvety voice sending another shiver through me. "I trust your journey wasn't too troublesome?"

With every step she took, her presence filled the room, exuding an alluring sensuality that was both enchanting and intimidating.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady under her intense gaze. "However, I must ask for your forgiveness. We had brought gifts for you, but we were attacked by a group of fae bandits who took everything."

Morgana's laughter rang through the chamber, rich and melodic. "Fear not, dear Guinevere. I am not so easily offended. Besides, your presence here is a gift in itself."

Her words, accompanied by a mysterious smile, left me feeling both relieved and intrigued. Morgana's appearance was undeniably intimidating, yet there was something charming about her as well – a magnetic pull I couldn't quite resist. Killaraus and Avalon were not neighbours and my mother disliked the Queen since her ascension to power, so she had never visited us. This was the first time I met her.

"Come," she continued, beckoning us to follow her. "You must be tired after your long journey. Allow me to show you to your chambers, where you can clean yourselves and change into fresh clothes. And tonight" – her eyes sparkled with mischief – "we shall have a feast in your honour."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I murmured, my heart lifting at her kind offer. As we followed Morgana through the labyrinthine corridors of her palace, I couldn't help but marvel at its grandeur – and wonder what secrets lay hidden within these walls.

In my chambers, I sank into a bath scented with rare spices and fragrant flowers, the warm water soothing my weary muscles. My mood continued to improve as I dressed in the luxurious garments provided – a gown of deep crimson that hugged my curves and set off my blonde hair perfectly.

As I stood in front of the floor-length mirror, admiring my reflection, I couldn't deny that I looked quite dashing. The dress revealed more cleavage and skin than usual, giving me a daringly seductive look that was both thrilling and slightly alarming. I knew Lancelot would appreciate the outfit – but the thought of it sent a wave of guilt coursing through me.

As I prepared for the evening's festivities, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and trepidation. What would this banquet hold? Before I knew it, it was time for dinner already.

As night fell, the grand hall of Killaraus Fortress was transformed into a scene of resplendent beauty. Flickering fae lights cast warm, dancing shadows on the walls, while the fragrant aroma of tantalising delicacies wafted through the air. Finally, some decent fae food! Morgana, exuding an air of regal confidence, welcomed me into the banquet hall with open arms. Unexpectedly, she hugged me and kissed my cheeks, something we wouldn't typically do in Avalon. Her body was warm and her scent was sweet and exotic.

"Please, sit," Morgana beckoned with an elegant wave of her hand.

My eyes scanned the room, finding everything delightful – from the rich tapestries adorning the walls to the gleaming silverware that adorned the table. Mordred gestured at me, signalling for me to come closer. I settled in between him and Morgana, with Sir Lancelot sitting to the Queen's right.

The feast began, and my senses were overwhelmed by the array of sumptuous dishes that graced the table. I soon found myself distracted by the delicious food and Mordred's pleasant conversation. His sarcastic humour brought a smile to my face, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie forming between us.

"Have you ever tasted this dish? It's called the Jewel of Killaraus" Mordred asked, smirking as he held up a sliver of roasted pheasant drizzled with some sort of exotic sauce.

"Never," I admitted.

"Allow me," Mordred said.

He cut a generous piece of the succulent meat, then offered me a forkful. His cheeks were faintly blushing as I took the utensil from his hands, possibly due to the fruity wine he had been sipping throughout dinner. Taking a bite of the pheasant, I was surprised by how delicious it was – the juicy meat melting in my mouth like butter.

"It's truly wonderful!" I exclaimed, looking at Mordred with admiration.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," he replied, smiling warmly as he graciously served me another piece.

As the night progressed, I couldn't help but be drawn to the interaction between Morgana and Lancelot. They seemed to get along well – too well, perhaps. Had they met like this before? It almost seemed as though they were friends... or even more than that. My heart twisted with a mixture of jealousy and apprehension as I watched Morgana's flirtatious gestures and smiles.

The Queen often leaned towards Lancelot, her fingers brushing against his forearm in a deliberate manner that left no doubt as to her intentions.

"Sir Lancelot," Morgana purred, her voice low and velvety. "You must tell me more about your daring exploits. I find them... exhilarating."

"Of course, Your Majesty," he replied, his gaze never leaving hers.

As the evening wore on, a jealousy I couldn't suppress clawed at my insides. Each time Morgana touched Lancelot, whether it was a brush of her fingers against his hand or a playful nudge with her shoulder, I felt a surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. And yet, despite the turmoil within, I couldn't tear my eyes away from their interactions.

"Are you all right?" Mordred asked, concern etched on his face as he noticed my growing discomfort.

"Yes," I lied, forcing a smile. "I'm just... a bit tired, I suppose."

The clinking of goblets and melodic laughter of the guests provided a distracting backdrop to my racing thoughts for a while. As Mordred excused himself from our table to converse with a noble, I found myself inadvertently eavesdropping on Morgana's words to Lancelot once again.

"Sir Lancelot," she cooed, her voice barely audible amidst the din of conversation, "I would be most honoured if you would join me in my chambers later tonight... I have something I wish to discuss with you."

The surge of jealousy that coursed through me was undeniable, morphing into a fierce determination as the implications of their interaction tugged at my heartstrings. What did this mean? Were they lovers? I couldn't bear the thought of his sweet lips caressing someone else's skin...

"It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty," Lancelot replied, offering her a gentle smile that sent venomous envy coursing through my veins.

"It would be my pleasure?" What the hell? So did he just go around romancing queens, was that the Sir Lancelot that showed me such kindness in the infirmary, the same one who saved me from a unicorn? I knew I should turn away, avert my gaze from the scene before me. But I couldn't help myself — part of me wanted to see how this played out. My heart twisted in agony as the Queen and Sir Lancelot shared one last meaningful glance. 

As the feast drew to an end, Sir Lancelot made his way out of the banquet hall, carefully skirting the edges of the room where he would remain unseen. His swift departure left me confused and lost in a slew of swirling emotions. Was he really going to meet Morgana at her chambers? Did he plan on spending the night there?

I had no choice but to find out. My feet carried me silently towards the door, my heart pounding in my chest with every step as I followed him from a safe distance through the labyrinthine corridors of Killaraus Fortress. The moonlight illuminated his path as he walked quickly ahead, seemingly unaware that I was trailing behind him. Sure enough, he headed straight for what seemed like Morgana's chambers, confirming my fear. I hid as Lancelot slowly opened the door to her chambers, first checking if no one was around with a quick glance. He didn't see me.

My heart shattered into a million pieces. I couldn't believe it — Lancelot had really come to meet Morgana at her chambers with the intention of spending the night there. Were they lovers? Would he touch her as he touched me, kiss her as he kissed me? Did he really feel any affection for me or was everything he did for me just an act?

My head ached. Still, I had to find out for sure, so I crept up to the entrance of Morgana's chambers. 

"I need to know," I whispered to myself, trying to steady my nerves.

My resolve strengthened as I prepared to face the reality that awaited within. My knuckles turned white as I clenched my fists, taking a deep breath before hesitantly grabbing the doorknob.