Midnight for Morgana Read Online Free PDF Page B

ready to admit defeat.
     
     
     
    * * *
     
    On a cool afternoon with still no sign of summer, Morgana dusted in the parlor, looking out the wide multipaned window while she stood beside a long table directly below it. She stopped to poke the embers in the fireplace and drew her drab shawl closer about her as the sweet aroma of woodsmoke scented the parlor. Returned to her dusting, she saw three men ride along the path to the door, one of whom she recognized. She pressed her hand to her thudding heart. The man from the fair! He rode a fine black horse, the slipper in his hand. No, he must not see her! In her dowdy gray work dress and heavy scuffed shoes, she wanted nothing to do with him. If he recognized her at all–a question in her mind–he would see that she had deceived him and aye, everyone else at the fair. Of course, she had heard about his quest for the mysterious woman, but she had never dreamed he would come here. For three glorious nights, she had pretended to be something she was not, basking in the title of princess and the admiring glances of all the fairgoers. Although it had never been her intention, she had fooled everyone at the fair. He must not see her! She tossed her dust cloth aside and raced down the hall to her bedchamber, leaving it to one of her sisters or her father to answer the knock on the door. In her bedchamber, she sat on her narrow bed as she waited for the prince and his entourage to leave. But what if the shoe fit one of her sisters, a complication she didn’t want to consider? Tears brimmed her eyes, one solitary tear creeping down her cheek. If only she were a princess or at least a grand lady, if only the prince could learn to love her and want to marry her. . . Then Papa would have her off his hands, forcing her two sisters to fend for themselves. Shivering in the cold room, she smoothed her hand along the woolen blanket, her fingers catching in the rough fabric.
     
    A few minutes later, she heard a knock on her door, her father calling her. He entered the dim room, a look of entreaty on his face. With only one small window, she squinted her eyes to see him in the pale light.
     
    “Morgana, please come to the parlor, won’t you?” He held out a hand to her. “The prince is looking for the lady whose foot fits the shoe, surely you’ve heard about this? Your sisters already tried on the slipper, but their feet are much too big. I told Prince Keir I would come and get you.”
     
    “Papa, look at me! What will the prince think when he sees me?” She touched her tattered gray dress, the wool mended more times than she could count. She raised her foot. “And my shoes!” Humiliation washed over her in giant waves, all but drowning her.
     
    “Never mind all that,” her father said with a wave of his hand. “You are still my lovely daughter, and truth be told, the most beautiful of all my girls. Come, let us go to the parlor. We must not try the prince’s patience, for I fear he may soon leave.”
     
    “Good, I hope he does.” Yet she removed her ugly shawl and followed her father down the long hallway, setting her face in placid acceptance, as if she truly were a grand lady. Head held high, she entered the parlor to see the prince and the other two men, one of whom appeared to be a servant, and the other possibly a friend or a more important servant.
     
    Alana and Nola giggled as she entered the parlor, and when she caught the derisive look on the prince’s face, she wanted nothing but to go back to her room. Her face burned with dismay. Still, she forced a smile and greeted the prince. “Good afternoon, Prince Keir.”
     
    “‘Good afternoon, Prince Keir,’” Nola mimicked, the two sisters laughing.
     
    “Look at Morgana,” Alana exclaimed. “She looks like a servant.”
     
    Nola giggled. “Well, she is a servant.”
     
    Apparently fed up with their mockery, Kelwyn snapped his fingers. “Hush, girls. Your sister has as much right to try on the slipper