The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

They bowed their heads. They created space. They treated Morgana with a deference that none of them had shown her weeks ago when she was simply another servant in the palace.

She was someone now.

Someone important.

Someone protected.

The realization of that should have made her feel something. Relief, perhaps. Joy, perhaps. Gratitude, perhaps.

Instead, she felt nothing.

Agnes glanced back occasionally, checking on her, assessing her state with the eyes of someone who had seen trauma before, who understood shock, who knew the signs of a person whose mind had simply shut down as a way of surviving an unbearable situation.

The older woman didn’t ask questions.

She didn’t demand explanations or force conversation.

She simply led Morgana through the corridors, climbing staircases, moving deeper into the palace, toward the royal wing where only the most important people in the kingdom were allowed to stay.

The walls began to change.

The stone grew finer. The torches were more frequent, illuminating the corridors more brightly. The paintings on the walls depicted scenes of royal power and ancient dragons. The air itself seemed to shift, becoming something more rarefied, more charged with importance.

They were entering a different world.

A world that Morgana did not belong in.

A world that the trial had claimed her for anyway.

Finally, Agnes stopped before a heavy wooden door.

It was ornate, carved with dragons and scrollwork, painted in shades of deep blue and gold. It looked like it belonged to someone of consequence. Someone of power.

Agnes produced a key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

She stepped aside to allow Morgana to enter.

***

Morgana stepped through the doorway and into a room that stole her breath.

It was vast.

Not vast in the way that the throne room was vast, oppressive and overwhelming and designed to make you feel small. This vastness was different. It was designed to make you feel safe. To make you feel important. To make you feel like you belonged somewhere.

The chamber was divided into multiple spaces.

The main room was dominated by a fireplace with a marble mantel. The hearth was dark now, but Morgana could imagine how it would look when it was lit....warm, inviting, beautiful. Before the fireplace was a sitting area with plush chairs and cushions in shades of blue and gold.

Along one wall was a writing desk, finely made, with drawers and a leather top. Parchment and quills were arranged on it, waiting to be used. A bookshelf stood beside it, though it was mostly empty, waiting to be filled.

On the opposite wall was a large wardrobe, doors carved with the same dragon motifs as the entrance door.

And dominating the far side of the room was a bed.

It was enormous. The frame was made of dark wood and carved with intricate patterns. The bed linens were fine....linen and silk in shades of cream and gold. There were pillows arranged at the head, more pillows than anyone could possibly need, but each one suggesting comfort and luxury.

Large windows ran along the eastern wall, and through them, Morgana could see the palace grounds beginning to dim as evening approached. The view was breathtaking, she could see gardens, courtyards, the tops of towers.

She could see the entire palace spread out below her like a kingdom of its own.

Everything was beautiful.

Everything was clean.

Everything was terrifyingly foreign.

This was not a servant’s room.

This was not a place designed for someone like her.

This was a place designed for someone of importance. Someone of status. Someone who belonged to the royal family itself.

Morgana moved into the room slowly, as if walking through a dream, as if at any moment she might wake up and find herself back in the dungeons, back in chains, back in the cold and dark where she belonged.

Agnes closed the door softly behind them.

”This is yours now,” Agnes said gently. ”The First King ordered that it be prepared for you. Not too far from the royal chambers, so you’re close to the kings’ protection, but private enough that you have your own space.”

Morgana nodded slightly.

She didn’t speak. The words felt too heavy, too difficult, too much to manage.

Agnes seemed to understand this.

She didn’t push for conversation.

Instead, she moved into the room with quiet purpose.

”We need to get you properly settled,” she said. ”Let me show you where everything is, and then we’ll get you cleaned up. You’ve had quite an ordeal, and you need proper care.”

***

Agnes moved through the chamber with the practiced efficiency of someone who had prepared rooms for nobility her entire life.

She was a woman who knew exactly what needed to be done and how to do it without fuss or drama.

She gestured toward a door at the side of the main chamber.

”The bathing room is through there,” she said. ”It has hot water that flows directly from the heating system beneath the palace. The water will be warm whenever you need it.”

She moved toward the wardrobe and opened it to reveal an array of clothing...gowns and shifts and undergarments, all in fine materials, all clearly chosen with care.

”These are for you,” Agnes said. ”Simple clothing, but well-made. Appropriate for someone of your new status. Not servant’s garb, but not overly formal either. Suitable for daily wear.”

She turned to look at Morgana.

”We need to get you out of those clothes and into a proper bath,” Agnes said gently. ”And then we’ll get you something to eat. When did you last eat something, child?”

Morgana opened her mouth, then closed it again.

The truth was, she couldn’t remember. Time in the dungeons had been a blur of darkness and fear and cold. She had been given bread and water, she thought, but the details were fuzzy, unreal.

She shook her head slightly.

Agnes’s expression softened with compassion.

”Thought so,” she said. ”Well, we’ll fix that. But first, a bath.”

She raised her voice and called out toward the main chamber.

”The water should be heated by now. Check the bathing room and ensure the temperature is correct...warm, not hot. The lady has been through an ordeal.”