The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

”At the banquet. When I was staring at you...and yes, I know I was staring....you didn’t smile. Didn’t bat your eyelashes. Didn’t try to catch my attention.” His mouth curved slightly. ”You looked terrified.”

”I was.”

”I know. And that’s why I couldn’t look away.”

Morgana’s pulse raced. ”I don’t understand.”

”Neither do I.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in every line of his body. ”I don’t understand why I can’t stop thinking about you. Why I summoned you here. Why I....”

He stopped himself.

”Why you what?” Morgana asked softly.

Draeven’s gaze locked onto hers, and the intensity in his eyes made her breath hitch.

”Why I want to know everything about you,” he said quietly. ”Where you came from. What you dream about. What makes you laugh. What makes you afraid.”

He stepped closer.

”Why the air shimmered around you that day in the market.”

Morgana’s blood turned to ice.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice barely steady.

”Yes, you do.”

”I don’t...”

”Morgana.” He was close now....so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, could see the flecks of amber in his golden eyes. ”I’ve lived for two centuries. I’ve seen things that would drive most men mad. And I know what I saw.”

Her hands trembled. ”Please don’t...”

”I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was rough, almost pleading. ”I just... I need to understand.”

”There’s nothing to understand.”

”Then why can’t I stop thinking about you?” He reached out, his hand hovering near her face. ”Why does every instinct I have tell me that you’re important?”

Morgana’s chest heaved. ”I’m not. I’m just....”

”Stop saying that.” His hand dropped, but his gaze didn’t waver. ”You’re not just anything.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Morgana stood, suddenly desperate to put distance between them. ”I should go.”

”Wait.”

She turned back.

Draeven was watching her with an expression she couldn’t name,something caught between longing and frustration and fear.

”You’re not safe here,” he said quietly.

Her stomach twisted. ”What?”

”This palace. The nobles. My brother.” His jaw tightened. ”You’re not safe, Morgana. And I don’t know how to protect you without making it worse.”

”What do you mean?”

”I mean...” He stopped, his fists clenching. ”I mean that the more I try to keep you close, the more danger you’re in. From Kaelen. From the court. From... me.”

Morgana’s throat closed. ”From you?”

He looked away. ”You should go.”

”Draeven....”

”Go, Morgana.” His voice was strained. ”Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her heart pounding.

Then she turned and fled.

She didn’t stop running until she was three floors down, hidden in an empty corridor, her back pressed against the cold stone wall.

Her entire body was shaking.

You’re not safe here.

I don’t know how to protect you without making it worse.

She pressed her hands to her face, trying to breathe.

What was happening to her?

Why did the kings keep pulling her into their orbit?

Why did Draeven look at her like she was something precious and dangerous all at once?

And why....gods help her, why did part of her want to go back?

***

Morgana spent the next two days trying to become invisible.

She kept her head down, worked quickly, spoke only when spoken to. She avoided the upper floors, avoided the nobles, avoided anywhere she might run into him.

Either of them.

All three of them.

But the palace had other plans.

On the third day, Mistress Calla assigned her to the library.

”It needs dusting,” Calla said briskly. ”The shelves, the tables, the window ledges. Everything. And be careful. Some of those books are older than the kingdom itself. If you damage one, you’ll be scrubbing chamber pots for the rest of your contract.”

”Yes, Mistress,” Morgana said.

She gathered her supplies...cloths, a feather duster, a small ladder, and made her way to the library.

She’d never been there before.

The library was breathtaking.

It was enormous...two stories tall, with floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books. Sunlight streamed through tall, narrow windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. The smell of old parchment and leather and something faintly sweet filled the space.

It was beautiful.

And, mercifully, empty.

Morgana set down her supplies and got to work.

She started with the lower shelves, running her cloth carefully over the spines of ancient tomes. The titles were written in languages she didn’t recognize, some in ornate script, others in symbols that looked almost like runes.

She moved methodically, shelf by shelf, losing herself in the quiet rhythm of the work.

It was peaceful here.

Safe.

She was halfway through the second row when she heard footsteps.

Morgana froze.

Someone else was in the library.

She peeked around the edge of the shelf and saw a figure standing near one of the reading tables in the center of the room.

A man.

Tall, with dark hair falling past his shoulders. He was dressed simply....dark trousers, a white shirt, a long coat, and he was bent over an open book, his expression focused.

Morgana’s breath caught.

The stranger from the garden.

For a moment, she considered slipping away before he noticed her.

But then he looked up.

And their eyes met.

His expression shifted....surprise, then something softer. Recognition.

”Morgana,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

She stepped out from behind the shelf, her heart hammering. ”My lord.”

His mouth curved slightly. ”I didn’t expect to see you here.”

”I’m working, my lord. Cleaning.”

”Ah.” He glanced around at the shelves. ”Then I’m interrupting.”

”No, my lord. I can...I’ll work quietly. I won’t disturb you.”

”You’re not disturbing me.” He closed the book he’d been reading and leaned against the table, his gaze steady on her. ”In fact, I’m glad you’re here.”

Morgana’s stomach fluttered. ”You are?”

”I’ve been thinking about our conversation. In the garden.”