The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

Helena heard the dismissal in those words. Every instinct told her to curtsy and leave immediately. But she remembered Isolde’s final instruction....that she should emphasize the importance of the message. That she should make sure the king understood that this was not a casual request.

She hesitated.

”Your Majesty,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush, ”Mistress Isolde said to tell you that it is important.”

The atmosphere in the room changed.

Draeven set down his pen.

Slowly, deliberately, he rose from his chair.

He was even more imposing standing than he was sitting. His full height became apparent, he was a tall man, and the breadth of his shoulders seemed to fill the space.

He moved around the desk with a predator’s grace, his golden eyes never leaving Helena’s face.

Helena’ felt her courage crumble. She wanted to run. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to flee. But her legs refused to obey her commands. She stood frozen, watching the king approach her.

”Are you threatening me?” Draeven asked, and his voice was soft. Almost gentle. Which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying than if he had shouted. ”Or is your mistress sending me a threat through you?”

”No!” Helena’s voice came out as a near-shriek. ”No, Your Majesty, I would never....she would never....”

”You would never what?” Draeven asked, and he stopped perhaps three paces away from her. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Close enough that she could see the subtle shift in his eyes, the way the gold seemed to glow with an inner fire. ”Threaten me? Or is it that you would never have the audacity to attempt it if your mistress had not put you up to it?”

”I’m just relaying what I was sent to deliver, Your Majesty,” Helena whispered, and tears were forming in her eyes now. ”I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean....Lady Isolde just asked me to...”

”I know what Lady Isolde asked you to do,” Draeven said, and there was something in his tone that suggested he understood far more than just the surface of the message. He understood the strategy behind it. He understood the calculation. He understood exactly what Isolde was trying to accomplish.

And he was not amused.

”Get up,” he commanded, his voice sharp and clear.

Helena hadn’t realized she had sunk to her knees. But she must have, because she was on the cold stone floor of his office, looking up at the king with absolute terror in her eyes.

She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over her own skirts in her haste.

Draeven watched her struggle with an expression of complete indifference.

”Go back to your mistress,” he said, and each word was carefully enunciated ”and tell her that I will not be seeing her this night. Tell her that if she wants to talk to me, she knows the way to my office. During business hours. With proper channels of communication. Is that clear?”

”Yes, Your Majesty,” Helena breathed. ”Yes, perfectly clear.”

”Good,” Draeven said. ”Now get out of my sight.”

Helena practically ran from the office.

She fled through the palace corridors as if the devil himself was chasing her.

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst. Her hands were shaking. Her entire body felt like it had been through a trauma. Because, in a way, it had been. She had been in the presence of a predator, and she had escaped by the thinnest of margins.

She didn’t stop running until she was back in Isolde’s chambers, breathless and white-faced.

Isolde was standing at her window, looking out over the palace grounds, when Helena burst through the door.

”Well?” Isolde asked, not turning around. ”What did he say?”

Helena’s breathing was ragged. She was still shaking. But she managed to relay the message....Draeven’s cold dismissal, his instruction that she use official channels, his final command.

As she spoke, she watched Isolde’s body slowly stiffen.

Isolde did not move. She did not cry out. She did not show any outward sign of emotion. But Helena could see it in the way her hands clenched at her sides. She could see it in the rigid line of her spine. She could see it in the way her entire body had gone tense, like a predator about to strike.

When Helena finished, there was a long silence.

Then, slowly, Isolde turned to face her maid.

”Leave,” Isolde said quietly.

Helena needed no further encouragement. She fled, closing the door behind her as softly as possible.

***

Alone in her chambers, Isolde allowed the mask to slip.

Her hands clenched into fists. Her jaw tightened. Her entire body trembled with rage so intense it was almost physical.

He had rejected her.

Not gently. Not with the pretense of politeness or circumstance. But coldly. Dismissively. As if she were beneath him. As if she were insignificant.

She had been so certain. So absolutely certain that if she sent him a message, if she expressed her interest, if she made her availability clear, he would respond. He would see her. He would recognize that she was not like the other noble daughters. That she was worth his time.

But he hadn’t.

He had looked at her through a maid and seen... nothing.

The humiliation burned like acid in her chest.

She moved to her mirror and stared at her reflection. The beautiful hair. The perfect skin. The elegant gown. All of it seemed suddenly meaningless. Because the king had not seen any of it. He had not seen her at all.

But then, as she stood there, a thought occurred to her. A thought that shifted her rage from disappointment into something far darker and more focused.

The stable guard.

One of her people...a servant she had cultivated a friendship with through careful attention and small favors, had come to her three days ago with interesting information. The stable guard had been visiting the First King’s office every single day. Coming and going at specific times. Clearly delivering reports about something.

About what?

Isolde had assumed it was kingdom business. But now, remembering the way Draeven’s eyes had shifted when she last saw him two days ago, remembering the way he had seemed to understand her strategy instantly, she realized something else.

He was distracted.

Something or someone, had caught his attention. Something so significant that a stable guard was reporting to him daily about it. Something so important that a First King, who should be interested in the selection process, who should be interested in his own marriage prospects, was instead focused entirely on whatever was happening in the stables.

And Isolde knew exactly who that someone was.

Morgana.