The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

He was carrying a summons from one of the most powerful men in the kingdom to a girl who had been a servant weeks ago. He was carrying a message that, once delivered, would change something in the palace’s delicate balance. He was serving his king in a task that would be impossible to undo once it began.

But that was his function. That was what loyalty meant.

He reached Morgana’s door and knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, as if someone had been close enough to answer the summons without delay.

Rowan stood in the doorway.

She was wearing the simple servant’s dress she had been assigned since becoming Morgana’s maid. Her auburn curls were pulled back in a practical braid, the kind of arrangement that kept hair from her face during work. There was a faint flush to her cheeks, the kind that suggested she and Morgana had been talking, laughing, perhaps remembering their friendship before all of this had happened.

There was an ease about her that indicated she was already settling into her new role, already understanding the rhythms of service in the royal wing, already becoming less a servant summoned against her will and more someone who had chosen this position because it kept her close to her best friend.

When she saw Lysander, her expression shifted into the careful politeness required of servants approaching unknown official business.

”Yes?” she said, her voice carrying the careful courtesy of someone still learning her place. ”How can I help you?”

Lysander bowed slightly, a gesture of respect that suggested both his rank and his courtesy.

”I bring news from His Highness, King Kaelen,” he said, using the formal titles that marked this as official business. ”Is your lady in?”

Rowan’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of the king’s name.

”Yes, of course,” she said, and turned back into the chamber. ”My lady! There’s a messenger from King Kaelen.”

For a moment, there was silence from inside the chambers.

Then Morgana’s voice emerged: ”Who is it, Rowan?”

”A servant from the King. He’s brought a message.”

Lysander could hear the shift in the background, the sound of Morgana moving, preparing herself to receive an official visitor. Then she appeared at the doorway, stepping into the space Rowan had vacated.

She was wearing a simple gown of pale blue, the kind of dress that was appropriate for the evening but not formal enough for court appearances. Her hair had been arranged that morning but was more relaxed now, the careful braiding beginning to loosen into something more natural.

When Morgana’s eyes found Lysander, something shifted in her expression.

It was not shock. She had clearly anticipated that the kings might send for her. But there was a recognition of significance, an understanding that this moment marked a change in how things would proceed from here forward.

Lysander bowed, the gesture respectful and formal.

”My lady,” he said, his voice carrying the formality required of addressing someone of her elevated status.

He had seen Morgana only a few times since she had arrived at the palace. He had heard the servants’ gossip. He understood that the kings considered her something important, something worth protecting, something worth ending the Selection for. But standing in front of her, looking at her face, Lysander understood for the first time why the kings were willing to risk the council’s anger and the noble houses’ fury.

There was something in her eyes. Something that suggested depths, mystery, power that went beyond her servant origins.

”I bring word from King Kaelen,” Lysander said, speaking the message he had been given with the respect it deserved. ”His Royal Highness would like that you join him in his chambers this evening.”

The words hung in the air between them.

It was not phrased as a request. Lysander had chosen his words carefully, maintaining the courtesy due to her elevated status while making clear the essential command underneath.

This was not an invitation. This was a summons.

***

Morgana was silent for a moment.

Lysander could see the moment she understood what the summons meant. Could see the understanding settle over her that the careful distance the kings had maintained during the Selection, the strategic restraint they had exercised while other noble daughters were present, all of that was changing now.

The evening of the Selection’s ending, and Kaelen was calling for her.

In his private chambers.

When nothing stood between them but time and darkness.

Morgana took a breath.

When she spoke, her voice was steady, composed, showing none of the flutter of emotion that might have existed beneath the surface.

”Tell His Highness I will be there,” she said.

The words were simple. Direct. An acceptance that carried its own kind of power, not the power of the kings commanding, but the power of her choosing to comply, of her understanding what the summons meant and accepting it anyway.

Lysander bowed, understanding that this was the moment everything shifted.

”Very good, my lady,” he said quietly. ”He’s been... waiting for you.”

The implication hung in those words, waiting for the Selection to end, waiting for the opportunity, waiting for the moment when propriety no longer demanded restraint.

Lysander turned and moved back down the corridor, retracing his steps toward the kings’ chambers, his task complete, his role as messenger finished.

Behind him, he left Morgana and Rowan standing in the doorway, two friends looking at each other with the understanding that everything was about to change.

***

For a long moment after Lysander had disappeared down the corridor, neither Morgana nor Rowan spoke.

They simply looked at each other, standing in the doorway of Morgana’s chambers, with the evening deepening around them.

Rowan’s expression was carefully neutral, but Morgana could read her best friend well enough to understand the questions beneath the silence. Are you afraid? Do you want to go? What happens now?

Morgana did not answer those questions aloud. Instead, she simply turned and walked back into the chamber, moving toward the small mirror that hung on the wall of her sitting room.

Rowan followed her, closing the door behind them.

The candles were lit in the chamber, casting warm light across the fine furniture, the expensive tapestries, the trappings of her elevated status. It looked like a chamber fit for a ward, for someone of importance, for someone the kings had deemed worthy of protection.

In the mirror, Morgana examined her reflection.

Her hair was loosening from its braid. Her gown was simple but fine. She looked like herself...not elevated beyond recognition, not transformed into something unrecognizable, but herself with the advantages of the palace’s resources and the kings’ attention.

”You’re going to go,” Rowan said quietly. It was not a question.

”Yes,” Morgana replied.

”He’s dangerous,” Rowan said, still careful, still protective of her friend even as she understood that the kings were not enemies, were not threats to Morgana in the way that might create danger.

”Yes,” Morgana said again.

Rowan moved closer and reached out to begin loosening Morgana’s hair from the braid, her hands moving through the auburn locks with familiar ease.

”Then be careful,” Rowan said softly. ”Whatever happens tonight, remember that you are still Morgana. You are still yourself. You have power in this too, not just him.”

Morgana met her friend’s eyes in the mirror and nodded slowly.

She understood what Rowan was saying. She understood that whatever was about to happen in Kaelen’s chambers, it would not be simple. It would not be without consequence. It would not be something she could simply endure or survive.

It would demand something from her. It would require her to be present, to be aware, to be more than just a girl being summoned by a king.

Rowan finished loosening her hair and stepped back.

The two friends stood in the candlelit chamber, with the evening pressing in around them, understanding that a threshold was about to be crossed. Understanding that the story they had been living was about to accelerate into something faster, more dangerous, more essential.

Everything had changed with the Selection’s ending.

And now, with a simple summons, everything was about to change again.