The thrilling conclusion to the bestselling Morgan Le Fay series

Grieving over a devastating loss, Morgan has retreated to the sanctuary of Belle Garde behind a veil of fairy magic, after swearing vengeance upon King Arthur and Camelot.

Steeped in her rage, she becomes a storm of retribution, battling to avenge her brother’s wrongs while trying to undo a terrible tragedy. But with her resurrection skills elusive and Camelot growing in glory and strength, Morgan is failing, her freedom under threat in the wake of her chaos and treasonous reputation.

All appears futile, until her efforts bring news of scandal in the Royal Court, and Morgan is once again drawn inside Camelot’s golden walls. When an encounter with Arthur’s trusted knight, Sir Lancelot, sparks suspicions of Queen Guinevere’s adultery, Morgan falls deeper into obsession, the need to punish those who betrayed her driving her further away from her loved ones, and the woman she once wished to be.

As the Age of Camelot darkens, and the forces of love, fate and truth collide, she must choose between her thirst for vengeance and the power to heal what is broken, and decide who Morgan le Fay truly is, in her own future and for all time.

Storm over Camelot is due for release 2nd April 2026 – you can pre-order your copy on Bookshop.org

Storm over Camelot

As the hour approached, I marshalled the iron clouds within the wind and made my way into the forest, waiting inside the treeline at the chase meadow’s edge. In the distance, the hunting party appeared, a bright gathering of horses and hounds, cantering through the leaf-strewn grass. Men of spurs and rank rode first, flanked by woodsmen and kennel masters, squires following on their rounceys.

It was not hard to spot a king amongst his knights. Arthur rode in the centre of his retinue, his golden aspect and red stallion shining in the midday sun. No matter who surrounded him, how large and impressive and finely garbed his men were, he always seemed taller than the rest, prouder, anointed by a light that could only be bestowed by God.

I didn’t need to see any more; I would bring the darkness to him.

Taking hold of my storm, I drew down the cloud. The men looked up in astonishment, faces shadowed as I pulled the dense grey mass lower, blocking the sun. When all eyes were on the sky, I splayed my
fingers and let loose the rain.

It was cold and hard, shocking after the pleasant autumn air. Knights shied away with shouts of complaint, pulling their mantles over their heads. None of them had dressed for wet weather. A few shifted their mounts under overhanging tree branches, seeking shelter to wait out what they thought was a typical Welsh tempest. They didn’t know the storm would not end until I was satisfied.

With my free hand, I caught the wind and spun it at the group like a ball through skittles. Men and hounds scattered and I pursued them with the rain in icy torrents, the pressure in my blood crackling with the first frisson of lightning. I snapped down a slim white bolt, whipping the hot force against a tree bough. Bark shot off in splinters as thunder roared in answer. Horses screamed and plunged, flinging their riders to the muddied ground.

Arthur’s hunter leapt sideways and bucked, but he held firm to his seat. ‘Seek shelter!’ he commanded. ‘Keep to the treeline and ride for the lodge – now!’

The party obeyed, those still mounted gripping their saddles and galloping off, others dashing away on foot, pursuing their foaming steeds. My brother ushered them before him like a good shepherd, watching for their safety until they were all gone. Seeing my opportunity, I pulled down another fork of lightning, slamming the bolt into the ground between him and his retreating men. Thunder crashed in answer, loud as the end of the world.

Arthur’s horse reared, shaking him loose. He wrestled enough control to dismount, but his steed tore away from his grip, taking off after the others. He shouted in protest and made to follow, but I brought down a channel of battering rain and blocked his progress as the men charged further out of earshot, leaving him alone.

One more gust of wind was all I needed. I caught a gale in my palm and cut Arthur from his flock as a wolf would a newborn lamb.

As I intended, he dove into the woods, away from the storm’s relentless assault, disorientated by reverberating thunder and ice hail that stung like snakebites. My chaos chased him deeper into the trees, further from his knights. It would take a long while for them to calm their disarray and discover their king was missing. I had time.

I tracked him for half a mile, then let the wind drop. Arthur stopped immediately, taking in his surroundings, narrowed eyes scanning for any movement through the trees. A slight quiver reached my senses – not fear, but unsurety. He was hopelessly lost and knew something was in pursuit.

However, nothing could dampen his stubborn bravery, or the forest instincts of his childhood. My brother tilted his head, listening beyond the downpour’s hiss for a different, lower roar, following the sound to the edge of a stream that ran between us. As he looked at it, I sensed his wayfinder’s relief: he knew the same waterway flowed into the chase and should lead him back to where he began.

Swiftly, he took off along the bank. His long stride was hard to kee up with, but I was in no hurry. Arthur had found the stream and calculated his way out, exactly as I hoped. What he did not know was that I had already made the water flow in the wrong direction.

Consequently, my brother came to a halt in a circular clearing where the valley side rose up, forest floor giving way to a rocky outcropping and sheer high cliff, cut by a blade of waterfall. At its foot, water crashed white and rageful into a round dark pool, foaming with the rain. Arthur regarded the sight with confusion, incredulous that the stone barricade had dared interrupt his passage. He took a few impatient steps one way, then the other, eventually realising there was no way beyond.

‘Damn you to Hell!’ he roared up at the cliff, then looked back at the unnatural stream, pouring into the pool. As he watched, I let the water return to its true flow, changing direction before his eyes.

‘Who is doing this?’ he shouted. Furious, he swung back towards the stream bank. I was already standing on the opposite side.

My brother started in shock, bootheel slipping on the slick stones. He listed sideways, arms flailing, but there was nothing to grab. Bodily strength alone saved him from plunging into the churning black lagoon.

‘Watch your step, Your Highness,’ I said. ‘If you fall in, you may never find your way back to the surface.’

Arthur stilled, like prey understanding it is finally trapped.

‘Morgan,’ he said. ‘I should have known.’

‘What did you expect, charging into my domain?’ I replied. ‘I thought it was time we looked one another in the eye.’

He glared at me, drawing himself to his imperious height even as his breaths came ragged. ‘Your manner of gaining my attention was unnecessary. You put my retinue in danger – they are nothing to do with the trouble between us.’

‘Between us?’ I exclaimed. ‘I am in no way to blame for what has been done to me. Or are you finally admitting your part in it all? Your faults – your failures.’

He flinched, but put stubborn hands on his hips. ‘I am High King. Every wrong, danger and unsolved problem in my realm is a failure of mine. You, sister, are perhaps the greatest threat to the kingdom’s peace, and I am guilty of unleashing you upon the world.’

‘How dare you,’ I said. ‘You may rule everyone else, but you do not rule me. I unleashed myself upon this world.’

Arthur remained unmoved, his face watchful, superior.

‘Is that why you came here?’ I said scornfully. ‘Desperately haunting my borders, thinking you could solve the problem of Morgan le Fay?’

‘I had to act because of your damnable letter,’ he retorted. ‘Did you think I could let such an aggression go unanswered?’

I scoffed. ‘So my letter left you irrevocably threatened? I heard the entire court laughed – that your Queen was particularly amused. Hardly a terror worth avenging.’

‘I did not laugh,’ he said. ‘It was a threat to my kingdom, myself, and those I love. Your words have not left my thoughts since.’

I paused, trying to recall exactly what Sir Manassen had said, and realised there was no lie: Guinevere laughed, the court followed, but my brother had walked away.

‘Well, here I am, the menace to Camelot’s peace,’ I said. ‘What do you wish to say? That all you visited upon me – slaying my lover, keeping my son from me, painting me as a corrupt traitoress – is akin to your mild feeling of disruption? Poor you, Arthur.’

The barb struck home, his countenance darkening until he was unyielding as granite. Rain hit his face, pointed and cold, but he no longer seemed to feel it.

‘You could have had peace, Morgan,’ he said in a low voice. ‘When divine justice turned you into stone, I was contented. Even when I heard you broke free of God’s will, I was satisfied to pretend you did not exist. I had no desire to hear from you ever again.’

‘Turning to stone wasn’t heavenly punishment,’ I snapped. ‘I did that with my own power. I saved myself and my people from your self-righteous violence.’

‘And so you were saved,’ he said bitterly. ‘Yet you could not keep away, could you? Putting your voice in that letter in all its black bile and rancour. Trying to force yourself into my head in daylight, as you have infiltrated my mind at night. Filling my sleep with images of Tintagel Castle and its relentless roaring sea.’

The words took the air from my lungs, his precise description of my own marauding dreams: a sea blue and wild, crashing over high cliffs I suddenly recognised. How had I not seen it before? The island, the sounds and scents my nights were steeped in came from a place I knew in my bones, my blood. All along, I had been dreaming of Tintagel.

And somehow, so had my brother.

Storm over Camelot is due for release 2nd April 2026 – you can pre-order your copy on Bookshop.org