The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

Several maids appeared, Morgana hadn’t even noticed them arranging items in the chamber, but they must have been there, working silently, preparing everything for her arrival.

One of them hurried toward the bathing room.

Agnes gestured to the others.

”The wardrobe is prepared, but ensure the linens are fresh. The finest we have. And the bed, check that everything is perfect. Fresh linens, proper pillows. This is the king’s ward, and she deserves nothing but the best.”

The maids moved with immediate obedience, scurrying about the chamber, making small adjustments, ensuring that everything was absolutely perfect.

Agnes moved toward the fireplace.

”The hearth should be lit in the morning and kept warm throughout the day,” she instructed. ”But we’ll leave it dark for tonight, the lady needs rest more than she needs warmth.”

She turned back to Morgana.

”Come,” she said gently. ”Let’s get you into the bath. You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”

***

The bathing room was another revelation.

It was a space entirely devoted to the simple act of bathing, something Morgana had never experienced before in such luxury.

The bath itself was enormous....a tub carved from a single piece of stone, large enough for two people to recline in comfortably. Steam rose from the water, carrying the faint scent of herbs and oils that had been added.

Agnes helped Morgana out of her clothes with the practiced, nonsexual efficiency of a woman who had helped countless women bathe over her decades in service.

She spoke softly as she worked, her voice a gentle murmur that Morgana could hear but not quite process.

”The water is perfect temperature. Just let it relax your muscles. Everything that’s happened, all the tension....the water will help release it.”

Morgana stepped into the bath.

The warmth was almost overwhelming.

It enveloped her, wrapped around her like an embrace, seeped into her skin and her muscles and her bones. It was the most comforting physical sensation she had experienced in longer than she could remember.

She sank into the water until it came up to her neck.

And for the first time since the trial, she felt her body begin to relax slightly.

Agnes moved behind her with a pitcher of warm water and began to rinse her hair.

The older woman’s hands were gentle, careful, treating Morgana’s hair with respect and care. She worked in the scent of lavender and rose oil, massaging her scalp, working the dungeon grime and fear out of her hair.

”Just breathe, child,” Agnes said softly. ”Let the water wash it all away. All the fear, all the pain. Just let it go into the water and float away.”

Morgana closed her eyes.

She wasn’t processing Agnes’s words consciously, but something in her was responding to the kindness, to the care, to the simple human touch that suggested she was worth caring for.

She sat in the water while Agnes worked, not thinking, not feeling, just existing in the warmth and the gentle care.

Time seemed to move differently in the bath.

Hours might have passed, or minutes. Morgana couldn’t tell. She was disconnected from normal time, floating in a space between what had happened and what came next.

When Agnes finally helped her out of the bath, Morgana felt clean in a way that went beyond physical cleanliness. The dungeon seemed like a dream now, something that had happened to someone else, something that couldn’t possibly have been real.

Agnes wrapped her in soft towels and helped her into a simple but beautiful shift, fine linen in cream, soft and comfortable against her skin.

***

The maids had been busy while Morgana bathed.

The chamber had been further prepared, fresh candles lit throughout, casting a warm glow. The bed had been turned down, revealing fresh linens beneath. The windows had been closed, trapping the warmth inside.

And a table had been set with food.

So much food.

Bread...soft and white and clearly baked fresh. Cheese...several varieties, some hard and aged, some soft and creamy. Fruit...apples and pears and grapes. Pastries dusted with sugar. A small roasted chicken, still steaming. Wine in a crystal glass. Water in a ceramic pitcher.

It was more food than Morgana had seen in months. More food than she typically would have consumed in a week when she was working in the kitchen.

Agnes guided her toward the table.

”You need to eat,” she said gently. ”Your body has been through trauma. It needs nourishment.”

Morgana sat in one of the chairs before the table.

Agnes settled herself nearby, not eating, but watching, making sure Morgana consumed something.

Morgana picked up a piece of bread.

She looked at it for a moment, then brought it to her mouth and bit into it.

There was no taste. Nothing registered. She chewed mechanically and swallowed.

Then she picked up another piece and did the same.

And another.

She moved through the food without tasting it, without enjoying it, without experiencing any emotion connected to eating. It was simply something her body was doing because Agnes had suggested it, because her body apparently required it, because she existed in a space where food appeared and was consumed.

The chicken. The cheese. The fruit. The pastries.

All of it disappeared into her mouth and down her throat.

She drank the wine, it was sweet and slightly warm, and then water.

And then she was done.

Agnes nodded with approval.

”Good,” she said. ”Your body needed that. You’re beginning to recover.”

But Morgana didn’t feel recovered. She felt numb. Disconnected. Like she was watching someone else eat and function and exist.

***

As the night deepened, the maids cleared away the food trays.

The candles burned lower, their light growing softer and more intimate.

Agnes oversaw everything with quiet competence, ensuring that every detail was perfect, that every comfort was provided, that Morgana had everything she could possibly need.

Finally, she approached Morgana one last time.

The older woman’s eyes were gentle, filled with compassion and understanding and a kindness that Morgana was beginning to recognize as genuine.

”Is there anything you need, child?” Agnes asked softly. ”Anything at all?”