The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

Later, with the candles lit low and the rest of the palace settling into night, Morgana and Rowan lay on the bed together.

It was the same bed where Morgana had slept since becoming a ward, the fine linens and soft pillows a far cry from the thin blankets of the servants’ quarters. But having Rowan there made it feel less like the bed of the elevated and more like the bed of a girl with her best friend.

”Do you remember,” Rowan said softly, ”when we used to sneak into the pantry at midnight and steal bread?”

Morgana smiled in the darkness.

”You were always so worried Calla would catch us,” she said.

”She nearly did once,” Rowan replied, her voice carrying the memory. ”We had to hide behind the flour sacks for an hour. Your heart was beating so fast I thought it would give us away.”

They lay in comfortable silence for a moment, the memories settling between them like old friends.

”You’re still Morgana,” Rowan said suddenly. ”You know that, right? All of this....the fine gown, the ward status, the favor from the kings, none of it changes who you are.”

Morgana felt something in her chest release at those words.

She had been so caught up in navigating her new position, in understanding the palace politics, in processing everything that was happening to her, that she had not fully realized how much she needed to hear that. How much she needed someone to tell her that beneath all of the elevation, she was still just Morgana.

”I know,” she said softly.

Rowan rolled onto her side to face Morgana in the candlelight.

”The kings,” she said carefully. ”Are they kind to you?”

Morgana considered the question.

”Yes,” she said after a moment. ”In their way. They’re complicated. Powerful. But they’ve been good to me.”

”Do they hurt you?” Rowan asked, her voice sharp with protective instinct.

”No,” Morgana said immediately. ”They’ve never hurt me.”

Rowan studied her friend’s face in the candlelight, as if trying to read whether Morgana was telling her the full truth or editing it for her friend’s comfort.

”What do they want from you?” Rowan asked finally.

Morgana hesitated.

”I don’t know yet,” she said honestly.

Rowan seemed to accept this, understanding that there were parts of Morgana’s story that Morgana was not ready to share, parts that were still unfolding, parts that Morgana herself did not fully understand.

”Then we’ll figure it out together,” Rowan said. ”When you’re ready to tell me, you will.”

***

The conversation slowed as the night deepened further.

Rowan’s words became more spaced, her responses slower, her eyes beginning to close despite her efforts to keep them open.

Morgana watched her friend drift toward sleep, the tension of the day catching up with her, the long walk from the kitchens to the royal wing finally taking its toll.

Rowan’s head sank deeper into the pillow, her breathing becoming steady and even, her body relaxing completely.

Morgana remained awake for a few moments longer, watching her friend sleep, understanding the gift that this was. To have someone she trusted completely in this strange new world. To have someone who knew her before the elevation, before the ward status, before any of this.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to rest.

The fear that had been living in her chest since she arrived at the palace loosened slightly. She still did not know what the future held. She still did not know what the kings truly wanted from her.

But tonight, she had her friend back.

Tonight, she was not alone.

Tonight, she could simply be Morgana, a girl with her best friend beside her, the weight of the palace and its politics held at bay for just a few hours.

***

*THE NEXT MORNING*

The morning was clear and cold when Cedric’s carriage rolled through the palace gates.

He had received the summons before dawn, a formal request from King Draeven, sealed with the royal sigil, delivered by a guard who made it clear this was not a casual invitation. The First King wanted to speak with him. Immediately.

Cedric had dressed carefully in his formal robes, the deep blue of his office, and had instructed his driver to move quickly through the capital’s winding streets. Whatever this was about, it was significant enough to warrant early morning urgency.

He understood, as he climbed the palace steps and was escorted through the halls by guards who knew his face, that something had changed. The Selection had been in motion for weeks. The noble daughters had been competing, positioning themselves, hoping to capture the kings’ attention. But something had changed the equation.

Something....or perhaps someone, had shifted the entire game.

Cedric’s mind moved through possibilities as he was guided toward Draeven’s private office.

A new letter from Greaves had arrived three days ago, and it brought more news about the girl, the very girl the kings have taken in as their ward....Morgana.

Was it coincidence that the Selection was ending now? Or was there a connection Cedric was only beginning to understand?

The guards stopped before a heavy wooden door bearing the royal insignia. One of them knocked, and Cedric heard Draeven’s voice from within: ”Enter.”

***

The office was warm, lit by a fire that crackled steadily in the hearth.

All three kings were present.

Draeven sat behind his massive desk, his golden eyes already fixed on Cedric as the lord entered. Kaelen stood near the window, his pale eyes turning to assess Cedric’s arrival. Thorne remained slightly back, his dark gaze observant, missing nothing.

Cedric bowed respectfully, the formal gesture acknowledging their authority.

”Your Majesties,” he said, straightening.

”Cedric,” Draeven replied. ”Thank you for coming so promptly.”

”I came as quickly as the summons allowed,” Cedric said, and Draeven gestured for him to sit.

The chair before the desk was positioned such that Cedric faced all three kings.

Cedric settled himself and waited.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Finally, Draeven spoke. ”The Selection is ended.”