The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

The corridors of the palace seemed very quiet after the sitting room.

Morgana walked with Lia at her side, the girl’s presence a constant reminder that this afternoon would be reported to whoever had placed her in the palace.

They reached a point where Morgana could dismiss Lia.

”You may return to your duties now, Lia,” Morgana said, and the words were neither warm nor cold. They were simply an acknowledgment that Lia’s role for the afternoon had ended.

Lia bowed, the gesture respectful, the expression on her face giving nothing away about what she had witnessed or what she would report.

”Thank you, my lady,” she said softly. ”I hope the tea was pleasant.”

”It was very educational,” Morgana replied, which was true in ways that Lia probably did not understand.

Lia departed, and Morgana watched her go, understanding exactly what would happen next. Word would spread about the tea meeting. Whoever had sent Lia would hear that she had refused every offer the noble daughters throw at her feets.

And she wasn’t afraid of that information spreading.

Because there was nothing shameful in what she had done. There was nothing wrong with refusing to be manipulated.

Her chambers were quiet when she returned.

The servants had already prepared everything for the evening. Water had been set out for washing. Fresh linens had been laid on the bed. The room was perfect, as always, prepared for the ward of the throne.

Morgana moved to the window seat and sat, looking out at the palace grounds below. The afternoon was beginning to fade into evening. Soon, the kings would return, and she would have dinner with them. She would tell them about the tea meeting if they asked. Or she would not mention it, if that was what their silence suggested.

***

The light was fading from the sky now.

But Morgana remained at the window seat, watching the transition from afternoon to evening. The palace grounds below were shifting into shadow, the torches along the walls beginning to be lit by servants moving with purpose and routine. She was lost in thought, reflecting on the tea meeting, on the noble daughters’ offers and manipulations.

She had handled it well.

The realization sat comfortably in her mind, a small foundation of pride in her own capability.

She was beginning to understand that she was stronger than she had believed, more intelligent in the ways of palace politics than she had given herself credit for. The magic in her blood was one kind of power, but this...the ability to think clearly, to understand manipulation, to refuse without becoming an enemy....this was another kind of power entirely.

The door to her chamber burst open with sudden force.

Agnes appeared in the doorway, breathless, her aged face flushed with the exertion of moving quickly through the palace. Her eyes found Morgana immediately, and there was urgency in every line of her body.

”The kings have just arrived,” Agnes said, her voice shaking ”They have requested for you to be brought to them at once.”

Morgana’s entire body went alert.

She stood immediately, turning from the window, understanding that this was not a casual request. The kings did not ”request” their ward to be brought to them unless something significant had prompted the summons.

Agnes was already moving toward her, reaching out, her weathered hands taking Morgana’s arm gently but firmly.

”Come, child,” Agnes said. ”We must hurry. They do not make requests like this lightly.”

The old maid’s voice carried something that might have been concern or might have been understanding of a deeper significance that Morgana did not yet comprehend.

They moved quickly from the window seat toward the mirror.

Agnes’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, already assessing what needed to be done.

She began issuing orders without pause, her voice cutting through the chamber with the authority of someone who had directed palace servants for decades.

”Bring the blue silk,” she commanded. ”The one she wore for the first breakfast. It suits her. And the silver jewelry....the delicate pieces, not the ornate ones.”

Two servants appeared in the doorway, they moved into the chamber with the grace of those trained to execute their duties quickly and without question.

Morgana found herself being undressed with swift efficiency, the afternoon gown being removed, her body quickly washed with warm water and scented oils. There was no time for the elaborate bathing of this morning, no time for the leisurely preparation. This was practical, purposeful, designed to transform her appearance while maintaining her dignity and grace.

The blue silk gown was brought forward.

It was one of the finer dresses she had worn since becoming a ward, not the elaborate cream of the afternoon, but something that showed status with understated elegance. The fabric clung to her in all the right ways, the color bringing out the depths of her eyes. The servants worked quickly, adjusting the fit, ensuring that every seam lay perfectly, every fold of fabric hung with intention.

Agnes directed the arrangement of her hair with the precision of someone who understood exactly what message needed to be conveyed.

”The braid,” she said. ”The one that shows her face clearly. The kings need to see her. Arrange it so nothing obscures her features.”

The servants worked, their fingers moving through her damp hair, creating a braid that was elegant but not fussy, beautiful but not excessive. The same sapphire ribbons from this morning were woven through again, but this time with a slightly different arrangement that made them look fresh, intentional.

Agnes stepped back to assess her work.

Her aged eyes moved over Morgana from head to foot, taking in every detail, ensuring that nothing had been overlooked. She adjusted a curl here, smoothed a fold of fabric there, checked that the jewelry hung perfectly and that her overall appearance conveyed both status and the genuine care the kings took in her presentation.

Finally, Agnes nodded with satisfaction.

”There,” the old maid said. ”You will do, child.”