The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

They moved toward the door, and as they passed, servants and guards bowed, their heads lowering in automatic respect. Captain Rhen walked ahead of them, his broad shoulders creating a path through the palace corridors.

***

The throne room was not far from Draeven’s office. The kings’ chambers, the council rooms, the administrative spaces, all were positioned within the central structure of the palace, allowing quick access to the formal spaces when needed.

As they walked, Thorne’s mind was working through scenarios.

Carrick Greythorne. Isolde’s father. A man of significant political power and questionable ethics. He would not request audience with the kings unless he had something he believed was valuable or leverage he believed was significant.

The question was: what did he want?

And more troublingly, why had Rhen’s summons been so urgent? Why had Rhen said ”right now” in that particular tone that suggested everything had shifted?

***

The doors to the throne room were massive, ornate, carved with the royal insignia and the symbols of the kingdom’s ancient power. Guards stood on either side, their hands resting on sword hilts, their expressions neutral but alert.

As Draeven and Thorne approached, the guards opened the doors silently, allowing them entry.

The throne room itself was one of the most impressive chambers in the palace.

The stone floor was polished to a shine that reflected the candlelight burning in intricate sconces along the walls. The vaulted ceiling rose high above, decorated with paintings of ancient battles and royal triumphs. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting the kingdom’s history, the rise of the dragon kings, the establishment of the throne.

And at the far end of the chamber, positioned before the raised platform where the three royal thrones stood empty, was Lord Carrick Greythorne.

He was perhaps in his late fifties, with graying hair and the bearing of a man accustomed to power and respect. He wore fine clothes...silk and expensive fabrics, jewelry that suggested significant wealth. But there was also something calculating in his posture, something predatory in the way his eyes tracked the room.

Beside him stood a figure completely shrouded in a heavy cloak.

The fabric was dark, expensive, covering everything from head to foot. There was no visible face, no indication of who or what was beneath the cloth. Just the shape of a person, covered, hidden and looking mysterious.

The moment the kings entered, Draeven and Thorne both felt it.

A shift in the air. A disturbance in the space around them. Something that made the dragons beneath their skin respond with a startlement that suggested recognizing something important without being able to articulate what that something was.

Draeven continued walking, his expression controlled, his movements measured. He moved to the raised platform where the thrones stood and settled into the central seat with the calm of someone entirely in command of the situation.

But Thorne stopped.

His dark eyes had fixed on the cloaked figure, and for a moment, he simply stood there, staring. His body had gone very still. The air around him seemed to crackle with something unseen.

Draeven noticed. Draeven understood immediately that his brother had sensed something significant.

But the First King said nothing. Instead, he gestured for Thorne to take his seat.

Slowly, Thorne moved. But even as he settled into his throne, his dark eyes remained fixed on the cloaked figure, his mind clearly working through something, his dragon clearly responding to something.

Draeven’s golden eyes fixed on Carrick with the directness of royalty acknowledging a supplicant.

”Lord Carrick,” Draeven said, his voice carrying the formal tones of a king addressing a nobleman of significant standing. ”Welcome to the palace. I trust your journey was not too arduous.”

Carrick bowed, the gesture respectful but not deeply submissive. A noble acknowledging a superior, but one who did not feel entirely diminished by the hierarchy.

”Your Majesty,” Carrick said, his voice smooth and practiced. ”The journey was tolerable. And I appreciate your willingness to receive me at this hour. I am aware that I am arriving unscheduled, but the matter I wished to discuss seemed to demand immediacy.”

”And what matter would that be?” Draeven asked, his tone suggesting open curiosity but absolute authority.

Carrick straightened, and his next words carried the weight of someone making a carefully planned announcement.

”I have come to address the damage my daughter caused during her stay in your palace,” Carrick said, his voice carrying what might have been genuine regret or might have been excellent performance. ”I have come to offer compensation. And I have come to offer something far more valuable than mere gold or land deeds.”

Thorne leaned forward slightly in his throne, his dark eyes still fixed on the cloaked figure.

”Compensation,” Thorne said, his voice carrying a note of skepticism. ”Your daughter orchestrated a conspiracy that nearly succeeded in destroying members of the court. She created false evidence. She manipulated servants. She undermined the confidence of the throne itself. Do you truly believe that compensation is possible for such actions?”

”No,” Carrick said, and there was something almost respectful in his acknowledgment of Thorne’s point. ”I do not believe compensation can truly balance what my daughter did. But I do believe that responsibility must be acknowledged. I do believe that House Greythorne must demonstrate its commitment to making restitution.”

He moved slightly, his hand gesturing toward the cloaked figure beside him.

”And I believe that what I have brought to your palace today is far more valuable than any amount of gold or land that I could offer.”

Draeven’s expression remained unchanged, but his golden eyes showed interest.

”And what, precisely, have you brought?” the First King asked.

Carrick smiled slightly.

”A gift,” he said. ”A compensation. An answer to a question I believe has been occupying your minds for some time.”

He reached toward the cloaked figure and gestured for her to step forward.

For a moment, the girl.....for clearly, beneath the cloak, there was a young woman, she did not move at first. Then she stepped forward slowly, her movements cautious, as if she was uncertain of her footing or afraid of what was about to happen.

Carrick reached out and grasped the edge of the cloak.

”I present to you,” he said, and in his voice was the tone of a showman revealing something extraordinary, ”the answer to your greatest need.”

He pulled the cloak away.