The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

He was passionate about his work. He was brilliant. He was convinced that he was on the verge of understanding something monumental, something that would change the course of history. Being near him felt like being near something important, something significant, something that mattered.

***

The physical attraction came later.

It started with him noticing her in a different way. Looking at her with awareness rather than just scholarly interest. The way his hand would linger when he passed her a manuscript. The way his eyes would track her movements when he thought she wasn’t watching.

They were careful at first. Propriety demanded discretion. But eventually, they stopped being careful. They found private spaces in the temple. They found empty chambers in the archive. They became lovers in the way of young people who believe themselves to be the first to ever feel such intensity.

And Kael, in those private moments, began to speak to her differently.

”You know,” he said once, as they lay together in a small chamber deep in the archive, ”I believe the prophecy speaks of someone who is coming into the world now. Someone who will be born within the next few years.”

”How do you know that?” Elara asked, her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

”The patterns in the texts,” he said. ”The cycles of history. The way events seem to be accelerating. It’s all pointing to something imminent.”

He paused, his fingers stroking her hair.

”And I believe that when she comes, she will be extraordinary,” he continued. ”Not just powerful, but truly remarkable. She will have abilities that the world has never seen before. She will be capable of things that are beyond our current understanding of magic.”

Elara had felt a shiver run through her at his words.

”How will you recognize her?” she asked.

”I don’t know yet,” he said. ”But I will. When she comes, I will know.”

***

Then few weeks later, Kael’s obsession became obvious.

The realization came gradually, in small moments that accumulated into a terrible understanding.

It started with an offhand comment. Kael was studying her face one night, his expression thoughtful, almost calculating. ”Your bloodline,” he said. ”Where does your family come from? Do you know your ancestry?”

It seemed like a casual question. Elara answered it the way she always did...vaguely, offering little detail, redirecting the conversation.

But she noticed that he asked more questions after that. Questions about her family’s history. Questions about whether there had been any unusual occurrences in her family line. Questions about whether she had ever experienced anything that might be considered magical.

***

Then there was the night she found herself sitting alone in the archive, and she overheard a conversation.

Kael was speaking with one of the senior priests. They thought they were alone, thought no one was within earshot. But Elara was in an alcove nearby, hidden from view, and she heard every word.

”The bloodlines you’ve identified,” the priest was saying. ”How promising are they?”

”There are three candidates,” Kael replied. ”Three women whose family histories suggest they might carry the genetic markers we’re looking for. One in the southern provinces. One in the capital. And one here in the temple.”

Elara’s blood had gone cold.

”And you’re certain?” the priest asked.

”As certain as I can be without more direct testing,” Kael said. ”But yes, I believe one of these three women could be the Mother of Dragons. Or could produce her, if we encourage the right kind of union.”

The priest made a sound that might have been approval.

”We’ll need to monitor them carefully,” he continued. ”And prepare contingencies. If one of them is indeed the chosen one, we can’t afford to let her slip away from us. When she comes of age, when she begins to show signs of her power, we need to be ready to claim her.”

Elara had sat in that alcove for a long time after they left, her heart pounding, her mind racing through the implications of what she had heard.

She was one of the candidates. She was certain of it. The questions Kael had been asking, the way he studied her, the way he had slowly, carefully, been trying to understand her... it all made sense now.

He had been studying her. Assessing her. Determining whether she was the bloodline they were looking for.

And when he realized that she wasn’t, when he understood that she was not the Mother of Dragons herself, he had shifted his focus. Had begun to think about whether she could produce the Mother of Dragons. Whether, if a child were born to her with the right father, that child might be the one.

The betrayal was absolute.

Everything between them, every tender moment, every intimate confession, every time he had told her he loved her, it had all been part of a larger plan. It had all been calculated. It had all been a means to an end.

She had not been loved. She had been studied. She had not been chosen for who she was. She had been chosen for what she might produce.

***

She had fled Valorhold in the dead of night, barely pausing to gather the most essential possessions.

She was heavily pregnant, nearly eight months along, when she realized the full scope of Kael’s betrayal and the danger she was in. She didn’t know how much time she had before the priests came for her. Didn’t know whether Kael would tell them about her pregnancy, whether he would cooperate with whatever plan they had to take her child.

What she did know was that she would not let them take Morgana.

She did not know, at that point, that her daughter would be named Morgana. She did not know the significance of the name that would be spoken over her newborn daughter. She only knew that she had to escape. Had to run. Had to get far enough away that no one could find her, could take her child, could use her daughter for whatever purposes the priests and Kael had in mind.

She had friends in the city...healers she had worked with, people who owed her favors. She had called in those favors, had begged for passage, for help, for a way out. A merchant was leaving the city that night, heading east. He agreed to take her, for a price she could barely afford but managed to scrape together.

The journey had been agonizing.

Every moment, she expected to be stopped. Every time she heard horses, every time she saw riders in the distance, she thought it was the priests coming after her, coming to take her child. She traveled as quickly as her pregnant body would allow, pressing forward even when she was exhausted, even when her body screamed at her to stop.

And then, in the village of Ashford, five days out from Valorhold, the fire had come.