The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

”Morgana of Ashford,” Cedric said, his voice echoing through the chamber, ”you have heard the testimony against you. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

Morgana’s throat was dry.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears.

She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but her voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

”I didn’t steal the necklace,” she said.

The words sounded hollow. They sounded unconvincing. They sounded like the desperate denials of someone who was guilty and knew it.

”I don’t know how it came to be in my trunk,” she continued, forcing her voice louder. ”I have no idea. But I swear to you, I didn’t put it there. Someone planted it. Someone is trying to frame me.”

”Frame you?” Cedric’s eyebrow rose. ”And why would anyone do that? What possible reason could anyone have for planting stolen property in your quarters and then orchestrating your arrest?”

Morgana’s throat closed.

The words were there, but she couldn’t say them.

Because the kings watch me. Because the noble daughters hate me. Because I’m a threat to their position in the selection. Because I somehow matter in a way that I don’t understand.

But she couldn’t say any of that.

If she accused the noble daughters openly, she would be seen as hysterical. If she suggested that they had conspired against her, she would sound paranoid. If she tried to explain something she didn’t understand herself, she would sound confused and unreliable.

”I don’t know,” she whispered. ”But I’m innocent. I swear it.”

”Do you have any evidence to support this claim?” Cedric asked, and his tone suggested that he already knew the answer.

”No. But....”

”Then the council will deliberate,” Cedric said, cutting her off. ”We will hear all testimony, and we will make our determination. You will wait here for our decision.”

Morgana’s legs felt like they might give out.

The walls of the chamber seemed to be closing in.

The crowd of faces seemed to be pressing down on her, suffocating her, crushing her under the weight of their judgment.

And she understood, in that moment, with absolute certainty:

She was going to die.

These people had decided her fate, and there was nothing she could do to change it.

***

The council members huddled together at the front of the chamber, their voices dropping to urgent whispers.

Morgana stood alone in the center of the marble floor, alone in a room full of hundreds of people.

Her legs were shaking.

Her heart was pounding.

Her breath was coming in shallow gasps.

She watched as the ministers leaned in toward one another, watched as they conferred, watched as they nodded in agreement.

She didn’t need to hear their words to know what they were saying.

Guilty. Definitely guilty. No doubt at all. A clear case. Overwhelming evidence. Multiple witnesses. No credible defense.

The machinery of justice was grinding toward its inevitable conclusion.

Cedric listened to each minister in turn, his expression growing more and more grave.

Nods of agreement rippled through the group.

There were no dissenters.

There was no one arguing for leniency, no one suggesting that perhaps the evidence wasn’t quite as overwhelming as it seemed, no one willing to speak up for the innocent until proven guilty.

No one at all.

The weight of twelve men’s judgment pressed down on Morgana like something physical.

She closed her eyes and tried to pray, though she had never been particularly devout.

***

Cedric stood.

The council fell silent.

The entire chamber fell silent, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

”We have heard all testimony,” Cedric said, his voice echoing through the vast space. ”We have considered the evidence presented. We have evaluated the credibility of the witnesses and the veracity of their claims.”

He paused.

”The evidence against the accused is overwhelming,” he continued. ”The necklace was found in her possession. Multiple witnesses place her at the scene of the crime. She has offered no credible defense. Her denials are unconvincing when weighed against the testimony of five separate individuals.”

Morgana felt the room spinning.

”Therefore,” Cedric said, and his voice was becoming something distant and dreamlike, ”the council recommends....”

The word hung in the air.

Recommends.

Recommends what? What was the punishment for theft in a royal palace? She knew, somewhere in her fractured mind, that she knew the answer.

But she didn’t want to know it.

”...immediate expulsion from her post as a palace maid,” Cedric continued. ”The accused will be stripped of all position and title. She will be banned from the palace grounds permanently. And...”

The word ”and” hung in the air like a guillotine blade suspended above her neck.

Morgana’s vision was going white.

She could feel her knees beginning to buckle.

The faces in the crowd were becoming indistinct, unreal, like things from a dream.

”....and the matter of execution will be determined by....”

The word began to form on Cedric’s lips.

The verdict that would seal her fate.

The pronouncement that would end her life.

And the entire room held its breath, waiting for him to speak the words that would kill her.

”Wait.”

The entire room froze.

Every head turned.

Every eye shifted away from Morgana and toward the dais where the three kings sat.

One of them had spoken.

One of them was about to intervene.

Morgana’s heart stopped.

She didn’t dare to hope.

But somewhere deep inside her chest, a small, fragile spark of something that might have been hope began to kindle.

Thorne stood from his throne.

He rose slowly, deliberately, with measured grace.

His dark eyes were fixed on Cedric with an intensity that made the head minister visibly uncomfortable.

”Your Majesty?” Cedric said, shock evident in his voice.

Thorne descended the steps of the dais with the same deliberate grace. His boots echoed against the marble floor, each footfall announcing his presence, his power, his authority.

He stopped in the center of the chamber, a few feet from where Morgana stood.

And for just a fraction of a second, his dark gaze met hers.

And in that gaze was a promise.

A promise that she was not alone in this room.

A promise that someone had seen what was happening.

A promise that salvation was arriving.

Then Thorne turned to face the council.

”I have evidence,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, ”that contradicts the council’s findings.”

The room erupted.

Gasps, murmurs, shocked exclamations rippled through the crowd.

Isolde’s smile faltered.

And Cedric’s expression shifted from shock to something that looked very much like fear.

”Your Majesty,” Cedric said, his voice shaking slightly, ”with respect, the evidence has been presented. The witnesses have testified. Unless you have information that directly contradicts.....”

”I do,” Thorne said quietly. ”I do have information that directly contradicts everything you have just heard.”

He gestured to one of the guards standing at the side of the chamber.

”Bring him in,” Thorne commanded.

The guard nodded and disappeared through a side door.

And in that moment, as Morgana watched, as the entire room watched, as the machinery of justice that had been grinding inexorably forward suddenly ground to a halt....

She felt something shift.

She felt the weight of doom lift, just slightly.

She felt the first real flutter of hope that she might actually survive this day.

And her eyes filled with tears.