The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

But even as he spoke, the warriors exchanged uncertain glances.

There was something wrong. They could sense it, some instinctual awareness that told them this morning was different from other mornings. That the young king who had just arrived was not entirely himself.

Captain Rhen studied Kaelen with the careful eye of someone accustomed to assessing threats. He saw the tension in Kaelen’s shoulders, the way his pale eyes seemed to burn with an intensity that was unusual even for the king. He saw the way Kaelen’s hands were slightly clenched at his sides, as if he was holding something back by sheer force of will.

”Would you like a sparring partner, Your Majesty?” Rhen asked, with the diplomatic tone of someone choosing his words carefully.

”Yes,” Kaelen said. ”You. Fight me.”

There was no question in his tone. No negotiation. Simply a command.

Rhen exchanged a glance with his second-in-command, then set down the wooden practice sword he’d been holding and picked up a fresh one.

”As you wish, Your Majesty,” he said, and moved to the center of the training ground.

Kaelen followed, and the other warriors quickly moved to the edges of the field, giving them space to work.

The first exchange was controlled.

Rhen moved into a standard defensive stance, his practice sword raised, and waited for Kaelen to initiate the attack. This was protocol when training with royalty, you did not strike first at a king, even in practice. You defended, you responded, you let the king dictate the pace and intensity of the bout.

Kaelen moved forward with practiced efficiency.

His first strike was clean and precise....a high cut that Rhen blocked easily, the wooden swords meeting with a solid thunk that echoed across the training ground. Rhen countered with a thrust toward Kaelen’s ribs, which the king deflected with a smooth downward parry.

***

For the first few minutes, it was textbook training, two warriors exchanging blows, testing each other’s technique, warming up their muscles for more intensive work.

But something was off.

Captain Rhen felt it immediately. Kaelen’s movements were sharper than usual. More aggressive. There was an intensity to his strikes that went beyond normal training intensity. It was as if the king was trying to hurt him, not spar with him.

Rhen adjusted his defense, moving more carefully, being more precise with his counters. He’d trained enough warriors to know when someone was losing control, when the veneer of technique was being stripped away by emotion or exhaustion or something darker.

Kaelen pressed forward.

His strikes became faster, more powerful. Rhen’s arms began to ache from blocking, the impacts of the wooden swords jarring his bones with each collision. The king was not holding back anymore, he was attacking with the kind of intensity that belonged in a real battle, not a training session.

”Your Majesty,” Rhen said carefully, between exchanges, ”perhaps we should....”

”Again,” Kaelen interrupted, his voice flat and cold.

They continued.

The warriors watching from the sidelines had grown quiet. Even the youngest among them sensed that something was wrong. This was not normal training. This was something else, something more primal, more desperate.

One of the younger soldiers, a boy named Marcus who had only recently joined the guard, whispered to his neighbor: ”There’s something wrong with the king.”

His companion, an older warrior named Stefan, said nothing. But he nodded, his hand instinctively moving to the pommel of his sword, ready for... what? He didn’t know. He only knew that the king was losing something, some essential control that had defined him.

Rhen was sweating now. Genuinely struggling to keep up with Kaelen’s strikes. The king’s technique was flawless, but it was being driven by raw aggression rather than strategic thinking. He was fighting like he was trying to prove something, or destroy something, or both.

One of Kaelen’s strikes came very close to Rhen’s face. Too close. The captain jerked his head back, and the wooden sword whistled past his ear with inches to spare.

”Careful, Your Majesty,” Rhen said, breathing heavily.

But Kaelen didn’t respond. His eyes were focused on something beyond the training ground, beyond the present moment. He was lost in the rhythm of combat, in the mindless exchange of strikes and counters.

And then, abruptly, his eyes changed.

It happened so quickly that Rhen almost missed it. But he’d trained long enough to recognize the signs. The pupils dilated. The color of his eyes seemed to shift...still pale blue, but somehow deeper, more ancient. There was something moving beneath the surface of those eyes. Something that was not Kaelen, or at least, not the human Kaelen that the captain had trained.

Gods, Rhen thought. He’s losing control.

***

Kaelen pressed his advantage.

Rhen was tiring. The captain’s movements, which had been precise and controlled, were becoming more defensive, more desperate. He was no longer trying to spar with the king. He was trying to survive the sparring session.

Kaelen drove Rhen backward across the training ground, his strikes coming faster and faster, giving the captain no time to counterattack, no time to think. Just react, defend, retreat.

When Kaelen’s next strike came, it was with such force that Rhen’s wooden sword simply couldn’t withstand the impact.

The weapon shattered.

Splinters of wood exploded outward, and Rhen’s arms flew backward from the impact. The captain stumbled, nearly falling, and threw up his hands defensively.

This was the moment to stop. This was the moment when they would both step back and declare the training session over. This was protocol.

But Kaelen didn’t step back.

Instead, he raised his sword again, prepared to strike the defenseless captain.

Several of the warriors watching gasped in shock. One of them moved forward instinctively, but Stefan...the older warrior, grabbed his arm and held him back.

”Don’t,” Stefan whispered. ”Not yet.”

Rhen raised his hands further, a gesture of submission and deference. ”Your Majesty,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. ”The bout is complete. I yield.”