The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

Morgana woke to the sound of a bell.

It was sharp and jarring, cutting through the darkness like a blade. Around her, the other girls stirred.....groaning, muttering, dragging themselves upright in their narrow cots.

It was still dark outside.

Morgana pushed herself up, her body aching from yesterday’s work. Her muscles protested as she swung her legs over the side of the cot and reached for her dress.

Beside her, Rowan was already moving, her wild curls escaping from beneath her scarf as she fumbled with her boots.

”How is it morning already?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

”It’s not,” Morgana said, glancing toward the small window high on the wall. The sky beyond was still black, barely touched by the first hint of gray. ”It’s barely past dawn.”

”Tell that to whoever’s ringing that bloody bell.”

Around them, the other girls were dressing quickly, their movements practiced and efficient. Most of them had been here longer, a few days, maybe a week....and they already knew the routine.

Morgana and Rowan were still learning.

”Move!” someone hissed from the doorway.

Morgana looked up to see one of the senior maids...a tall, sharp-faced woman named Berta...standing with her arms crossed. ”You’ve got five minutes to be dressed and downstairs. Anyone who’s late scrubs the latrines for a week.”

The room erupted into motion.

Morgana yanked on her boots, tied her apron, and twisted her hair into a hasty braid. Rowan did the same, her fingers flying.

They joined the stream of girls hurrying out of the dormitory and down the narrow servants’ staircase.

The palace was already awake.

Everywhere Morgana looked, there were people moving, servants carrying trays and linens, guards changing shifts, kitchen staff hauling sacks of flour and bundles of herbs. The air smelled of smoke and bread and something faintly metallic.

It was chaos.

Beautiful, terrifying chaos.

They reached the lower hall where Mistress Calla was waiting, her expression as stern as ever. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her sharp eyes sweeping over the assembled girls.

”Line up,” she barked.

They obeyed.

Calla walked down the line slowly, inspecting each girl with the critical eye of a general reviewing troops. She paused in front of one girl whose apron was crooked and yanked it straight without a word. Another girl’s hair was loose, and Calla gave her a look that could have curdled milk.

When she reached Morgana, she paused.

Morgana held her breath.

Calla’s eyes flicked over her, taking in the neat braid, the clean apron, the straight posture.

Then she moved on.

Morgana exhaled.

”Your assignments,” Calla said, returning to the front of the group. ”Kitchens...first six. Laundry....next four. Chambers....the rest of you.”

She began calling out names and tasks, her voice brisk and efficient.

When she reached Morgana and Rowan, she consulted her ledger briefly. ”Upper east wing. Third and fourth floors. You’ll tend the guest chambers...fires, linens, water. Everything must be spotless. The noble daughters will be arriving throughout the day, and their rooms must be ready.”

Morgana’s stomach tightened. Noble daughters. Right.

”Yes, Mistress,” she said.

Calla nodded. ”Go. You’ll find supplies in the linen closet at the end of the hall. Don’t dawdle.”

***

The upper east wing was a world apart from the servants’ quarters.

The corridors here were wide and clean, the floors polished stone instead of rough wood. Tapestries hung on the walls...rich, woven scenes of dragons and battles and ancient kings. The air smelled faintly of lavender and beeswax.

It was beautiful.

And utterly intimidating.

Morgana and Rowan found the linen closet and gathered their supplies...fresh sheets, blankets, towels, a bundle of kindling for the fireplaces.

Then they got to work.

The first chamber was enormous.

It had a four-poster bed draped in heavy velvet curtains, a carved wardrobe that reached nearly to the ceiling, a vanity with a silver mirror, and a fireplace large enough to stand in.

Morgana stared. ”This is one room?”

Rowan laughed. ”And we’re cleaning twelve of them.”

They set to work.

Stripping the bed. Beating the dust from the curtains. Scrubbing the floor. Laying the fire. Filling the water basin. Hanging fresh towels.

It was exhausting.

***

By the time they finished the third room, Morgana’s back ached and her hands were red and raw.

”How do people live like this?” Rowan muttered, hauling a bucket of coal to the next fireplace. ”All this space for one person?”

Morgana shook her head. ”I don’t know.”

They worked in silence for a while, moving from room to room with mechanical efficiency.

But as they worked, Morgana couldn’t help but listen.

The palace was full of voices.

Servants passed in the corridors, talking in low, urgent tones. She caught fragments of conversation...gossip, rumors, whispers.

”...heard three more carriages arrived this morning...”

”...Lady Seraphine from the western provinces, they say she’s got royal blood...”

”...the kings won’t even look at them, mark my words...”

”...cursed, the lot of them. No woman’s ever lasted more than a fortnight...”

Morgana’s ears pricked at that last one, but the voices faded before she could hear more.

Cursed.

She thought of Atheris’s words. ”The kings are not what they seem.”

What did that mean?

”Morgana.”

She looked up to find Rowan staring at her, one eyebrow raised.

”You’re doing it again,” Rowan said.

”Doing what?”

”That thing where you look like you’re a thousand miles away.” Rowan grinned. ”Come on. Last two rooms, then we can eat.”

Morgana forced a smile. ”Right. Sorry.”

***

They finished the remaining chambers just as the midday bell rang.

Lunch was a hurried affair in the servants’ hall.

Long tables crowded with exhausted girls and boys shoveling down bowls of thin stew and chunks of dark bread. The room was loud, full of chatter and clatter and the scrape of benches against stone.

Morgana and Rowan found seats near the end of one table and ate quickly.