A short story from the pages of The Children of the May saga... Young Prince Accolon and his friend Ontzlake travel through the lands of Gore, fantasizing about taking back their stolen birthrights. When a mysterious maiden offers Accolon a magical gift, he is set on a collision course with the man who took Castle Caerleon from him... King Arthur. The Tale of Prince Accolon is a short story set in The Children of the May universe. It is best read after the first story in the Children of the May sequence, The Children of the May, also available on Wattpad.

[OLD VERSION] [NOT EDITED] Morgana was satisfied living her normal life on Earth, until one night she was pulled into a parallel universe. Surrounded by strange and wonderful creatures, Morgana is forced to adapt to her new life, whilst the lies coiled around her old life are slowly unravelled. Her future is uncertain, all relying on whether or not she can save her new kingdom from the threat lying in the darkness. The Thariels. She is taught they are evil to the core, but when a Thariel saves her life, Morgana is unsure who speaks the truth and who she can trust. With hundreds of people counting on her to save them from an enemy that may in fact only be misunderstood, what can Morgana do?

The Children of the May saga continues... Secrets. Lies. Someone Must Die... Stranded on Avalon, Drift is transformed. Back in Britain, Mordred’s war against King Arthur is plagued by disasters and defeats. Merlin and the knights of the round table are more powerful and more vicious than ever. When Drift comes back to the mainland, Britain will shake from the isles of Orkney to the kick of Cornwall. When secrets are revealed, a friend and a foe must die... Ides of the May is the second novel in S. J. Moore’s Children of the May saga. Inventively adapted from tales in Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur and other medieval sources, the Children of the May stories are full of action, adventure, magic, humour and romance - a version of the Arthurian legends for today.

It wasn't always like this, always running with nowhere to hide, always fearing your own shadow. Someone once said that the world was happy. That people were happy. But of course, that happiness had to dissipate like smoke on a cold gray morning. Everyone ran. And you had to run, too, or be trampled by the crazed, rampaging herd. So everyone ran. Except one person. He stayed back, breathing the billowing toxic fumes. He coughed, face grimy and scarred, limping slightly. He couldn't run. He had watched as the mob receded into the gray ashes of the distance. He yearned to run after them. But his leg decreed he couldn't. So he stayed. And he watched.