The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

The knock came sharp and purposeful.

It was not the gentle, tentative knock of someone asking permission to enter, but the brisk, confident knock of palace staff executing their morning duties. The kind of knock that came with the absolute certainty that entry would be granted.

Morgana stirred slowly, pulled from sleep by the insistent sound.

She had not been sleeping deeply. Her mind had been spiraling through dreams and half-thoughts all night.

Sleep had come in fragments, in moments stolen between anxiety and the weight of her transformed circumstances.

She pushed herself up slightly, her back against the wooden frame of the bed, and called out: ”Come in.”

The door opened with smooth grace.

Agnes entered first, her weathered face already assessing the state of her charge with the practiced eye of someone who had served noble families for decades. Behind her came three servants....two young women Morgana had not seen before, and another girl who carried items. One servant bore a large pitcher, steam rising from its spout, the scent of lavender and rose oils floating ahead of her. Another carried trays laden with breakfast.....fresh bread still warm from the ovens, wheels of cheese, bowls of fruit glistening with morning dew, eggs prepared with herbs, honeycomb in a crystal dish.

The third servant began the business of arranging everything, setting up the bathing routine that would precede the day’s activities.

Morgana watched them from her position on the bed.

She remained there, observing the choreography of service that had become her daily reality. The servants moved around the chamber with the coordination of dancers who had practiced their steps a thousand times. Water was poured into the large stone bath. Fresh linens were laid out. The breakfast tray was positioned on the small table by the window.

It was all precise, all careful, all designed to ensure that the ward of the throne was prepared for whatever the day might demand.

Agnes approached the bed slowly, giving Morgana space but making her presence known. Her aged eyes took in everything, the state of the linens, whether Morgana looked rested, whether there were signs of distress.

”Good morning, child,” Agnes said, her voice carrying the warmth of genuine care. ”How was your night? Did you sleep well?”

Morgana managed a small smile, though the truth was more complicated. She had slept in fragments, her mind too active to allow for the deep rest her body craved.

”Well enough, Agnes,” she replied, which was not entirely a lie. ”I slept.”

Agnes nodded, accepting the answer without pressing for more truth.

”That is good, child,” Agnes said. ”The body needs rest after the stress you have endured.”

But then her expression changed.

”I come with news from the kings,” Agnes said carefully, her eyes Morgana’s expression.

Morgana’s entire body went alert. News from the kings? Had something happened? Had they changed their minds about her being their ward? Had....

”The kings will not be having breakfast with you this morning,” Agnes continued, seeming to understand the direction of Morgana’s spiraling thoughts. ”They left the palace very early this morning. There was urgent business that required their immediate attention.”

The servant paused, allowing this information to settle.

Morgana felt something tighten in her chest. The breakfast with the kings had become the anchor of her days, the moment she anticipated and dreaded in equal measure. The thought of it not happening created a strange sense of loss.

”King Draeven sent word before they departed,” Agnes said. ”He said they would have dinner with you instead. This evening, child. They wish to dine with you when they return.”

Morgana nodded slowly, processing this information. Dinner instead of breakfast. The day restructured. More time to face the tea with the noble daughters without the kings present.

”I understand, Agnes,” Morgana said quietly.

Agnes studied her for a long moment, then nodded her acceptance. She moved closer to the bed and extended her hand.

”Come, child. Let’s get you prepared for the morning. We must have you ready for the day.”

Morgana allowed Agnes to help her from the bed.

The touch of the old maid’s hands was gentle but firm, steadying her as she stood. The servants had begun preparing the bathing chamber, and steam was beginning to rise from the heated water.

Agnes guided her to sit up, helping her adjust the pillows behind her back so she could remain propped against the bed frame.

But as Agnes was about to move away to oversee the servants, Morgana called her name softly.

”Agnes?”

The old maid turned back immediately, her expression shifting to concern.

”Yes, child? Is anything the matter?”

Morgana hesitated for a while, Then, slowly, she reached out and took Agnes’s hand. The old maid’s skin was warm, weathered, familiar in a way that very little else in the palace had become.

”The noble daughters sent word yesterday,” Morgana said quietly.

Agnes’s entire body seemed to go very still.

”What did they say?” Agnes asked, her voice taking on an edge of urgency. ”What did they say, my lady?”

”They invited me to tea,” Morgana said simply. ”This afternoon. By noon, they said.”

Agnes moved to sit beside Morgana on the bed, her aged joints creaking slightly as she lowered herself. For a long moment, she said nothing. She simply sat beside her young charge, her eyes distant, her mind clearly working through something complex.

Finally, she spoke.

”I have been expecting it to happen,” Agnes said quietly.

Morgana’s head came up sharply.

”You have?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. ”You expected the noble daughters to invite me to tea?”

Agnes nodded slowly, her weathered face showing the weight of knowledge that came from decades of service in the palace. She reached over and took Morgana’s hand, holding it gently.

”Yes, child,” Agnes said. ”I have been expecting it. In fact, I would have been surprised if they had not reached out to you by now.”