The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

”Morgana of Ashford. Rowan of Ashford.”

They stepped forward.

Calla consulted her ledger. ”East wing today. The noble daughters’ chambers. You’ll tend fires, change linens, and empty wash basins. Be quick. Be quiet. Be invisible.”

Morgana’s stomach sank.

The noble daughters’ chambers.

Of course.

”Yes, Mistress,” she said.

Calla’s sharp eyes flicked to her. ”And if any of them speak to you, you respond politely and briefly. You do not engage in conversation. You do not offer opinions. You do not exist beyond your function. Is that clear?”

”Yes, Mistress.”

”Good. Go.”

***

The east wing was even grander than the guest chambers Morgana had cleaned on her first day.

The corridors here were wider, the floors polished marble instead of stone. Gilt-framed paintings hung on the walls, portraits of long-dead nobles, landscapes of far-off kingdoms. The air smelled of perfume and powder and something floral that made Morgana’s nose itch.

She and Rowan moved quietly through the halls, carrying their bundles of fresh linens and their buckets of kindling.

The noble daughters were still asleep...or at least, still in their rooms. Occasionally, Morgana heard laughter or the murmur of voices behind closed doors, but for the most part, the wing was quiet.

They started with the first chamber.

It was obscenely large, bigger than Morgana’s entire cottage back home. A four-poster bed draped in silk. A wardrobe that could have held a dozen gowns. A vanity covered in bottles and brushes and tiny pots of rouge.

Morgana and Rowan worked quickly, stripping the bed, laying fresh sheets, sweeping the hearth, building a new fire.

They moved to the next room. Then the next.

It was monotonous work, but Morgana preferred it that way. Monotonous meant invisible. Invisible meant safe.

But halfway through the fourth chamber, the door opened.

Morgana froze, her arms full of linens.

A woman stood in the doorway.

She was tall and slender, with blonde hair piled high in an elaborate style that must have taken her maid an hour to arrange. Her gown was pale blue silk, embroidered with silver thread, and rings glittered on every finger.

Her eyes were cold.

Ice-blue and sharp as glass.

Morgana recognized her immediately.

The woman from the banquet. The one who had noticed Draeven staring.

Lady Isolde.

”Oh,” Isolde said, her voice light and pleasant. ”You’re the new girls.”

Morgana dropped into a curtsy, her heart hammering. ”Yes, my lady.”

Beside her, Rowan did the same.

Isolde stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping over them with the kind of lazy assessment one might give livestock at market.

”How... quaint,” she said. ”Tell me, what are your names?”

”Morgana, my lady. And this is Rowan.”

”Morgana.” Isolde repeated the name slowly, as if testing it. ”How lovely. And you’re from... where, exactly?”

”Ashford, my lady. A village east of here.”

”I see.” Isolde moved closer, her silk skirts whispering against the floor. ”And how are you finding palace life, Morgana? Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”

There was something in her tone, something sharp beneath the sweetness, that made Morgana’s skin prickle.

”It’s an honor to serve, my lady,” she said carefully.

”An honor.” Isolde’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ”How delightful. You must be so grateful for the opportunity.”

”Yes, my lady.”

Isolde circled her slowly, like a cat circling a mouse.

”Tell me, Morgana,” she said, her voice dropping to something softer, more intimate. ”Did you enjoy the banquet last night?”

Morgana’s stomach twisted. ”I was honored to serve, my lady.”

”I’m sure you were.” Isolde stopped in front of her, her gaze sharp. ”And did you notice anything... interesting? During the banquet?”

”No, my lady.”

”No?” Isolde’s eyebrows rose. ”Nothing at all?”

”No, my lady. I was focused on my duties.”

”How admirable.” Isolde’s smile turned cold. ”Because I noticed something very interesting, Morgana. Would you like to know what it was?”

Morgana’s pulse spiked. ”If it pleases you, my lady.”

Isolde leaned in close, so close Morgana could smell the rose oil in her hair, see the faint dusting of powder on her cheeks.

”I noticed,” Isolde said softly, ”that King Draeven couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

The room went silent.

Morgana’s blood turned to ice.

”My lady, I...”

”Don’t.” Isolde’s voice was still soft, but there was steel beneath it now. ”Don’t insult me by lying. I saw it. And so did half the hall.”

Morgana’s mouth went dry. ”I didn’t do anything, my lady. I swear...”

”I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.” Isolde straightened, her expression turning glacial. ”What I care about is making sure it doesn’t happen again.”

”My lady...”

”You’re a servant,” Isolde said, her voice sharp now. ”A nobody from a nothing village who scrubs floors and empties chamber pots. You are here to work. Not to catch the eye of kings.”

Morgana’s hands clenched around the linens. ”I wasn’t trying to....”

”I don’t care what you were trying to do.” Isolde’s eyes were cold and hard. ”I care what you will do. Which is stay away from him. Stay out of his sight. Stay in whatever dark corner servants belong in and do not draw his attention again. Do you understand me?”

Morgana’s throat was tight, but she forced the words out. ”Yes, my lady.”

”Good.” Isolde stepped back, her smile returning, sweet and poisonous. ”I’m so glad we had this little chat. I’d hate for there to be any... misunderstandings.”

She turned toward the door, then paused.

”Oh, and Morgana?”

”Yes, my lady?”

Isolde glanced back over her shoulder, her expression pleasant.

”If I see him looking at you again,” she said softly, ”I’ll make sure you’re dismissed. Or worse. Do we have an understanding?”

Morgana’s stomach churned. ”Yes, my lady.”

”Wonderful.” Isolde’s smile brightened. ”You may go.”

Morgana didn’t need to be told twice.

She and Rowan fled the room, their arms still full of linens, and didn’t stop until they were halfway down the corridor.

When they finally slowed, Rowan grabbed Morgana’s arm.

”Are you all right?” she whispered, her face pale.