It pains me to still stand by my three-point rating for the final book of The Morgan Trilogy: Storm Over Camelot. The storytelling and prose are, once again, masterful. Keetch has an undeniable gift for bringing Morgan le Fay to life on the page — her depth, her volatility, her wild, aching emotions feel vivid and real throughout.
And yet.
Call me immature if you like, but I longed to see Morgan truly destroy Camelot — to see it crumble under the weight of her rage and power. That outcome would have felt more honest to the journey we were promised. Instead, we are given a Morgan who is largely lost, carried away by her emotions, swearing vengeance that never truly comes. Her arc ultimately bends toward growth, forgiveness, and something almost saint-like, which felt at odds with the ferocity built up across the previous books.
The introduction of a bizarre new antagonist in Sir Lancelot only added to my frustration. Keetch leans heavily on repetition: the knight is kidnapped twice, Morgan cycles through the same mistakes again and again, and even her favourite curse — “may the devil take you” — begins to feel emblematic of a story stuck in a loop. At times, the narrative felt circular rather than escalating.
What disappointed me most was how narrowly Morgan’s vengeance was framed. Her rage is reduced almost entirely to the loss of her lover, while some of the most agonising moments of the earlier books — the theft of her son by Merlin, the impossible moral bind Guinevere forced her into — feel strangely secondary. These betrayals shaped Morgan at her core, and yet their emotional and narrative weight is never fully reckoned with.
As Morgan’s power grows, I also struggled to understand her inaction. Why does she never attempt to break the supposedly unbreakable charm cast by the Lady of the Lake — especially when she later acquires a ring capable of nullifying magic and even breaks her own unbreakable protections around her home? That betrayal by the Lady of the Lake, repeated more than once, feels enormous in significance and yet remains largely unaddressed.
The resurrection of Accolon similarly felt unnecessary, even detrimental, cheapening the emotional impact of what came before. While it is admirable to see how lovingly Keetch treats her characters and the complexity she grants them, I found myself craving harder justice — something beyond conjured storms and the disruption of festivities. After so much betrayal, particularly from the lake fairy Morgan once trusted, restraint felt less like growth and more like avoidance.
It is thrilling to witness Morgan’s power expand, to hear her acknowledge that she could burn soldiers to ash if she wished. But she never truly wields her magic with that level of consequence. The promise of devastation remains just that — a promise never fulfilled.
Don’t get me wrong: I did love this book. I just longed for more. More action, more reckoning, more consequence — something beyond dwelling in rage only to dissolve it into forgiveness. After everything Morgan endured, I wanted a storm that truly broke the world.