The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

Agnes released her hands and stepped back, giving Morgana space to process this.

”So be careful, child. Be smart. Be cautious with every person who approaches you. And most importantly, do not consume anything that has not been prepared under your direct observation.”

Morgana looked at Agnes with new understanding.

The old maid who the kings have assigned to her. But there was something else in Agnes now, something that suggested depths of knowledge that went beyond what a simple servant should possess.

These were not things a chambermaid should know.

But before Morgana could ask the questions forming in her mind, Agnes spoke again.

”Come, child,” she said, her voice returning to its normal tone of care and efficiency. ”Let’s get you ready for the morning. We have much to prepare for.”

And Morgana understood, in that moment, that there were things Agnes was not going to tell her. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. There were secrets behind the old maid’s knowing eyes, and Morgana had enough intelligence to recognize that pushing for those secrets now would not serve her.

Instead, she simply nodded and allowed Agnes to guide her toward the bathing chamber.

***

The hot water enveloped Morgana like a benediction.

Agnes directed the servants with quiet authority, ensuring that every detail of the bathing process was executed perfectly. Fresh rose petals floated on the surface of the water. Oils infused the steam with scent. The servants moved around Morgana with practiced efficiency, washing her hair, scrubbing her skin clean, preparing her as if she were royalty rather than a servant-turned-ward.

And perhaps, Morgana thought distantly, that was exactly what she had become.

Agnes stood at the edge of the bathing chamber, supervising, ensuring that nothing was overlooked.

When Morgana emerged from the water, the servants dried her with care, combing through her hair, preparing her for the next stage of the morning’s ritual.

The dressing was a process that took nearly an hour.

A gown was brought forward, this one a deep blue that seemed to hold the color of twilight. The servants helped her into it, adjusting the fit with small tugs and adjustments until it hung perfectly.

And then came the hair.

Agnes herself took charge of this portion of the preparation. Her weathered fingers moved through Morgana’s damp hair, creating a braid that was both beautiful and practical. Small sapphire-colored ribbons were woven through the braid, catching the light, creating an effect that was elegant but not excessive.

As Agnes worked, she spoke softly, her voice carrying guidance:

”When you enter the tea room, child, remember this: you are the ward of three kings. That is not a title to be ashamed of. It is not a borrowed status that you must apologize for. It is truth. You belong there as much as any noble daughter.”

She continued braiding, her fingers never faltering.

”The noble daughters may have been born to titles and status, but status is not inherited entirely by blood. Status is also conferred by those who hold power. The kings have conferred status upon you by accepting you as their ward. Do not forget that. Do not diminish it by acting as though you are somehow less than them.”

She secured the final portion of the braid and stepped back to assess her work.

”There,” Agnes said with satisfaction. ”You are ready for the morning.”

***

Morgana sat at the small table by the window and ate the breakfast that had been prepared for her.

The servants moved around her, clearing the bathing chamber, folding the linens she had used.

The bread was fresh and warm, the butter soft and sweet. The cheese was sharp and complex. The fruit was fresh enough that Morgana could taste the morning in every bite. She ate slowly, mechanically, her mind still working through everything Agnes had told her.

The noble daughters wanted to manipulate her.

Lady Rose was a poison expert, a member of a family known for creating untraceable poisons.

The tea this afternoon was not an invitation but a trap.

And she had to attend, had to navigate it carefully, had to show that she was not afraid while remaining vigilant against every threat.

It was an exhausting prospect.

But as she ate, Morgana felt something hardening inside her. Not hardness in the sense of cruelty, but hardness in the sense of resolve. She had survived a conspiracy, survived being framed for theft, survived the trial that could have ended with her execution.

She could survive an afternoon tea with some noble daughters.

Agnes appeared beside her as she finished eating.

”I will return by midday to help you prepare for the meeting,” the old maid said. ”Rest until then if you can, child. You will need your strength for the afternoon.”

And then Agnes was gone, departing with the servants, leaving Morgana alone in her chamber with nothing but her thoughts and the weight of the day ahead.

***

Morgana sat for a long moment after Agnes left.

The chamber seemed larger with everyone gone, emptier in a way that emphasized her solitude. She moved back to the bed, pulled the covers over her legs, and leaned her head back against the wooden frame.

The thought of returning to sleep crossed her mind, but sleep felt impossible. Her body was too alert, her mind too active. She had too many questions, too many fears, too many things swirling through her consciousness.

She sat there, staring out the window at the palace grounds below, and felt the weight of everything pressing down on her.

Without conscious decision, she raised her hand.

Fire bloomed in her palm.

It was not the small, careful flame she had learned to create. It was larger, brighter, more alive than she had ever deliberately manifested before. The fire danced in her hand like a child let out to play after being confined for too long. It formed shapes ....a bird, a flower, a spiral of pure light. The colors ranged from gold to orange to deep crimson.

Morgana watched it, fascinated and terrified in equal measure.