She nodded, not a hint of fear in her face. “I have no doubt of that. Arthur shall not touch a hair on my child’s head.”
Following an impulse, I moved towards her and embraced her swiftly.
“Soft-hearted Morgan,” she whispered.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said.
BOOK 3
3nd PROLOGUE
In the heart of spring, a child shall rise,
From royal blood, a king's demise.
Born of sister, born that day,
Kings shall fall in disarray.
When springtime blooms, the babe is blessed,
Born of kin from the king's own nest,
A sister's child, the kingdom shakes,
The death of kings, the birth awaits.
Born of power in endless night,
To cast down realms, a dark birthright.
Both fae and mortals, their thrones shall swirl,
In the child's hands, lies the end of the world.