The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

Time passed.

The candles burned lower. The night deepened. The palace around them grew quieter as servants found their rest and the normal rhythm of the day gave way to sleep.

Rowan gradually became more aware of the danger.

”I should leave soon,” she said softly. ”Before Mistress Calla notices I’m gone. If she realizes I’m missing...”

”Not yet,” Morgana said, her grip on Rowan’s hand tightening. ”Please. Just a little longer.”

Rowan hesitated, torn between the desire to stay and the need to avoid discovery.

”I know,” Rowan said finally. ”But I have to. If Calla finds out I was here, in the royal wing, there will be questions I can’t answer.”

Morgana understood logically that Rowan was right. But her heart didn’t want to let go.

They stood up slowly, reluctantly, like people moving through water.

They moved toward the door.

This was the goodbye Morgana had been dreading since the moment Rowan appeared in her doorway.

And then....

The bell tolled.

It was not a small bell. It was not a hand bell or a servant’s bell or any of the small bells used throughout the palace for simple communication.

This was a massive bell, the kind that hung in the ancient tower at the center of the palace, the kind that was only rung in cases of emergency or grave historical significance.

The sound was enormous.

It reverberated through the stone walls and the marble floors and the very air itself. It seemed to shake the foundations of the palace. It seemed to reach into every chamber and every corridor and every secret space within the building and announce that something significant was happening.

The sound was wrong.

It was unsettling.

It carried a weight that made both Morgana and Rowan freeze in place.

Their bodies tensed immediately, responding to the primal understanding that something had happened. Something had changed. Something significant was unfolding.

”What was that?” Rowan whispered, her voice small and uncertain.

Morgana didn’t answer.

She was already moving toward the window.

***

Morgana reached the window first, pressing her face against the glass, trying to see what was happening below.

Rowan joined her immediately, neither of them willing to be alone in their confusion.

What they saw made their breath catch.

The palace grounds below were in upheaval.

People were moving everywhere.

Not the normal, orderly movement of palace staff going about their duties.

This was urgent. This was chaotic. This was the movement of people responding to an emergency.

Servants were running with purpose, their movements sharp and decisive.

They carried buckets....empty buckets and full buckets, all kinds of containers.

They were moving toward the far end of the palace.

Toward the tower.

Toward where Morgana knew the ancient dragons were kept.

More people began to arrive below.

More servants.

More guards.

More activity.

All converging on the same location.

All with the same urgent purpose.

All moving with the kind of haste that suggested something was catastrophically wrong.

Rowan pressed her hand against the window glass.

”What is happening down there?” she asked, her voice confused and filled with concern. ”Morgana, what is that?”

Morgana didn’t answer.

She couldn’t answer.

Because her mind was racing with possibilities, with fears, with the understanding that whatever was happening below was connected to the dragons. Connected to the ancient ones.

More people arrived below:

More servants emerging from the palace.

More guards positioned at the tower entrance.

More buckets being carried.

More activity.

More urgency.

The palace that had been mostly quiet, that had been settling into night, was suddenly alive with desperate, purposeful movement.

The bell tolled once more...a single, deep note that seemed to echo through eternity.

***

Rowan suddenly understood.

She turned away from the window and looked at Morgana with fear in her eyes.

”I need to leave,” she said. Her voice was no longer uncertain or hesitant. It was definitive. Certain. Urgent. ”I need to leave now. Before Mistress Calla realizes I’m gone.”

Morgana wanted to protest.

She wanted to tell Rowan to stay. To hold her. To keep her in this chamber where she was safe.

But she understood that Rowan was right.

If Mistress Calla noticed Rowan missing right now, during whatever crisis was unfolding at the tower, there would be questions. There would be explanations demanded. There would be consequences.

And Rowan would be blamed. Rowan would be punished. Rowan would suffer for coming to visit her.

Morgana couldn’t allow that.

”Yes,” she whispered. ”You’re right. Go. Be safe.”

They moved toward the door.

Rowan paused at the threshold and turned back to Morgana one last time.

Their eyes met across the distance of the chamber.

So much to say. So much to feel. So much that would have to wait because time had run out.

”I’ll come back,” Rowan said, and her voice carried a promise. ”I swear it. When things settle. When it’s safe. I’ll come back.”

Morgana reached out and squeezed her hand one last time.

”Please,” she whispered. ”Come back. Promise me.”

”I promise,” Rowan said. ”I promise I’ll come back to you.”

They embraced quickly...not nearly long enough, a final moment of connection before the danger of separation.

”Be safe,” Rowan whispered into Morgana’s hair. ”Please be safe.”

”You too,” Morgana replied. ”Be careful. Get back to the kitchens.”

Rowan nodded.

She opened the door carefully and looked out into the corridor.

It was empty.

Everyone in the palace was focused on the crisis at the far end of the building. The corridors were abandoned. The way was clear.

Rowan stepped out into the hallway.

She looked back at Morgana one final time....a long, lingering look that tried to communicate everything there wasn’t time to say.

And then she was gone.

The door closed softly behind her.

And Morgana was alone.

She moved immediately back to the window.

She had to understand what was happening below.

She had to know.

The activity had not diminished. If anything, it had increased.