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Description
Part 1: The High Queen’s Daughter
Chapter
Drop by Drop
Morgan is poring over a book about the exotic philosopher Buddha and his teachings. She knows it is from the Far East and had to travel overseas before it could get anywhere near Britain. The only reason she acquired it was because Uther sent for it so his unruly stepdaughter would leave him alone for a few months, busy translating the text with the turban-wearing scholar he also sent for.
She has brought the book everywhere, the feasts in the Great Hall, the gardens, whenever she comes down to the servants’ quarters to read to her friends.
When she turns the page, a slip of parchments slides out. The words are written in blue ink, a gift she gave a while ago to one of the stable boys, Mark…
She shakes her head. When will he ever learn? Morgan doesn’t even think he is good at poetry… much.

Lady of many colors
So fair
Lady of fire in a house of doves
Why don’t you care?
If I could fight in a war
It’d be for you
If you decide
You’re finished with your lore
Find something else to bide
Your time, lady
Please go on a ride
On a fine black stallion

He can never call her Morgan without feeling that he was stepping out of his place; no matter how many poems he gives her…
Perhaps she does feel some sympathy for him; perhaps she could ride next to him and make a poor, lovesick boy happy…
But first, she has to finish translating this page to English.

A tall pageboy timidly taps Morgan on the shoulder. Morgan turns around and gives him a dazzling smile. “Yes?”
“The High Queen wishes to see you, and her sister with her.”
Morgan rolls her eyes.
“My aunt Morgause, I assume? Coming to tell me to stop acting like a little slut, like she always does?”
The pageboy blushes deeply.
“No, milady…her other sister. The Lady of the Lake, the Lady of Avalon.”
Morgan sits up a little straighter, astonished. “Oh? Really?” She slides off her chair, grabs a silver hairbrush, and untangles her shiny black waves.
The pageboy stands there awkwardly, looking as if he wishes to say something. Morgan sighs.
“You may speak freely, you know.”
He shuffles his feet and says, “Why does your aunt call you a little slut? All I ever hear from anyone is that you’re a girl of esteemed virtue…” He waits eagerly for how the infamous Morgan will respond, and has an inkling he’ll have a story to tell his comrades.
“Because I always speak my mind, how I believe the world should be, to both men and women. It makes no difference to me. In her shortsightedness and prudishness, she mistakes this as unchaste behavior. But I merely think it reasonable to be truthful… God knows this court could do with a little honesty. Don’t you think?”
He nods. The slender girl closes her eyes and says, “Did you know that a jug fills drop by drop?”
“Er…no?”
Morgan opens her eyes and stares him down.
“I’m not really talking about a jug, you know. I’m talking about life.”
“Of course you are,” he mutters under his breath.
“You could fill it all at once, but then it spills over. It would take patience, but filling it drop by drop would make it more perfect, complete, somehow. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
“Yes, Lady Morgan.”
Fixing him with a calculating gaze, she waves her hand at him.
“You may leave now.”
He gives a quick bow, then makes way for the door.
“Wait.”
Hesitantly, he turns around, a curiosity growing for this girl he’s watched from afar, who has been a constant conversation among his friends.
“How do I look?
She is wearing a gown of deep purple, with the sleeves capped and in a style so her alabaster shoulders are bare. Her hair cascades down her back, all the way down to her waist. Her face is radiant and serene, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, green eyes shouting with excitement.
“Beautiful,” he answers simply, truthfully.
“As beautiful as what?”
Racking his brains, he becomes panicked. What do maidens like to be compared to? Butterflies, dew, jewels-but Morgan is no regular maiden, she asks challenging questions, and some even say she is a sorceress, and-
An impeccable answer comes to him.
“As beautiful as a jug of water…filled drop by drop.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
She beams, and kisses him swiftly on each cheek.
“Now you may go.”
He walks out, dazed, and decides to tell his friends that he’s been kissed by the High Queen’s daughter…
Because if he tells them he’s been kissed by a jug of water filled drop by drop, he doubts they’ll understand.

Description
Part 1: The High Queen’s Daughter
Chapter
Drop by Drop
Morgan is poring over a book about the exotic philosopher Buddha and his teachings. She knows it is from the Far East and had to travel overseas before it could get anywhere near Britain. The only reason she acquired it was because Uther sent for it so his unruly stepdaughter would leave him alone for a few months, busy translating the text with the turban-wearing scholar he also sent for.
She has brought the book everywhere, the feasts in the Great Hall, the gardens, whenever she comes down to the servants’ quarters to read to her friends.
When she turns the page, a slip of parchments slides out. The words are written in blue ink, a gift she gave a while ago to one of the stable boys, Mark…
She shakes her head. When will he ever learn? Morgan doesn’t even think he is good at poetry… much.

Lady of many colors
So fair
Lady of fire in a house of doves
Why don’t you care?
If I could fight in a war
It’d be for you
If you decide
You’re finished with your lore
Find something else to bide
Your time, lady
Please go on a ride
On a fine black stallion

He can never call her Morgan without feeling that he was stepping out of his place; no matter how many poems he gives her…
Perhaps she does feel some sympathy for him; perhaps she could ride next to him and make a poor, lovesick boy happy…
But first, she has to finish translating this page to English.

A tall pageboy timidly taps Morgan on the shoulder. Morgan turns around and gives him a dazzling smile. “Yes?”
“The High Queen wishes to see you, and her sister with her.”
Morgan rolls her eyes.
“My aunt Morgause, I assume? Coming to tell me to stop acting like a little slut, like she always does?”
The pageboy blushes deeply.
“No, milady…her other sister. The Lady of the Lake, the Lady of Avalon.”
Morgan sits up a little straighter, astonished. “Oh? Really?” She slides off her chair, grabs a silver hairbrush, and untangles her shiny black waves.
The pageboy stands there awkwardly, looking as if he wishes to say something. Morgan sighs.
“You may speak freely, you know.”
He shuffles his feet and says, “Why does your aunt call you a little slut? All I ever hear from anyone is that you’re a girl of esteemed virtue…” He waits eagerly for how the infamous Morgan will respond, and has an inkling he’ll have a story to tell his comrades.
“Because I always speak my mind, how I believe the world should be, to both men and women. It makes no difference to me. In her shortsightedness and prudishness, she mistakes this as unchaste behavior. But I merely think it reasonable to be truthful… God knows this court could do with a little honesty. Don’t you think?”
He nods. The slender girl closes her eyes and says, “Did you know that a jug fills drop by drop?”
“Er…no?”
Morgan opens her eyes and stares him down.
“I’m not really talking about a jug, you know. I’m talking about life.”
“Of course you are,” he mutters under his breath.
“You could fill it all at once, but then it spills over. It would take patience, but filling it drop by drop would make it more perfect, complete, somehow. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
“Yes, Lady Morgan.”
Fixing him with a calculating gaze, she waves her hand at him.
“You may leave now.”
He gives a quick bow, then makes way for the door.
“Wait.”
Hesitantly, he turns around, a curiosity growing for this girl he’s watched from afar, who has been a constant conversation among his friends.
“How do I look?
She is wearing a gown of deep purple, with the sleeves capped and in a style so her alabaster shoulders are bare. Her hair cascades down her back, all the way down to her waist. Her face is radiant and serene, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, green eyes shouting with excitement.
“Beautiful,” he answers simply, truthfully.
“As beautiful as what?”
Racking his brains, he becomes panicked. What do maidens like to be compared to? Butterflies, dew, jewels-but Morgan is no regular maiden, she asks challenging questions, and some even say she is a sorceress, and-
An impeccable answer comes to him.
“As beautiful as a jug of water…filled drop by drop.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
She beams, and kisses him swiftly on each cheek.
“Now you may go.”
He walks out, dazed, and decides to tell his friends that he’s been kissed by the High Queen’s daughter…
Because if he tells them he’s been kissed by a jug of water filled drop by drop, he doubts they’ll understand.