The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch
Chapter 13: Morgana Of Ashford

Chapter 13: Morgana Of Ashford

"I was going to say beautiful."

"That too."

They started walking again, slower now, and as they drew closer, Morgana realized they weren’t alone.

The road was filling with people.

Girls, mostly. Young women dressed in simple homespun, clutching small bags and bundles, their faces a mixture of excitement and fear.

Servants.

But there were others, too.

Carriages.

Dozens of them, rolling toward the palace gates in a slow, stately procession. They were gilded and polished, pulled by horses with braided manes and jingling harnesses. Through the windows, Morgana caught glimpses of silk and jewels, of faces painted and powdered, of girls who looked like they had never worked a day in their lives.

The noble daughters.

Rowan stared. "Look at them."

Morgana did.

One carriage passed close enough that she could see the girl inside clearly...blonde hair piled high, a gown of pale blue silk, rings on every finger. She glanced out the window, her gaze sweeping over the crowd of common girls, and her lip curled in disdain.

Then the carriage rolled on.

"Well," Rowan said flatly. "She seems lovely."

Morgana said nothing.

They joined the stream of people moving toward the gates, and as they drew closer, Morgana’s pulse began to race.

The gates were open.

Guards stood on either side...tall, armored, their faces hidden beneath helmets. They carried swords and pikes, and they watched the approaching crowd with cold, assessing eyes.

Beyond the gates, Morgana could see the palace courtyard, vast and cobblestoned, filled with more guards, more servants, more carriages.

And at the far end, rising like a monument, was the palace itself.

It was even more imposing up close. The stone was dark, almost black....and covered in carvings of dragons and flames and ancient symbols Morgana didn’t recognize. The windows were tall and narrow, like eyes watching.

It felt alive.

It felt hungry.

"Next!" a guard barked.

Morgana flinched.

The line was moving. The guards were processing people....checking names, directing them toward different areas of the courtyard.

Rowan grabbed Morgana’s hand. "Stay close."

They stepped forward together.

The guard who stopped them was tall and broad-shouldered, his expression bored. He looked them up and down, then gestured toward a table where a thin, severe-looking woman sat with a ledger.

"Names," the woman said without looking up.

"Morgana," Morgana said. "And Rowan."

The woman wrote something down. "Surnames?"

Morgana hesitated. "We don’t...we’re from the village. We don’t have..."

"Village names, then."

"Morgana of Ashford. Rowan of Ashford."

The woman made another note, then looked up. Her eyes were sharp and cold. "You’re here for the servant positions."

"Yes, ma’am."

"Can you read?"

"A little."

"Cook?"

"Yes."

"Sew?"

"Yes."

The woman’s mouth thinned. "You’ll do." She gestured toward the left side of the courtyard. "Servants that way. You’ll be processed and assigned quarters. Don’t wander. Don’t touch anything. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Understood?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Go."

Morgana and Rowan hurried toward the left side of the courtyard, weaving through the crowd.

The nobles were being directed toward the right, toward a grand staircase that led up to the palace’s main entrance. Servants in fine livery were greeting them, bowing, taking their bags.

The commoners, meanwhile, were being herded toward a smaller side entrance...narrow and plain, almost hidden in the shadow of the main building.

Rowan leaned close. "Did you see that? They’re not even bringing us through the same door."

"Of course not," Morgana murmured. "We’re not here for the selection. We’re here to serve."

"Still feels wrong."

"It is wrong."

***

They reached the side entrance, where another guard was waiting. He looked them over, then jerked his head toward the open door.

"Inside. Follow the corridor. Someone will meet you."

Morgana and Rowan stepped through the doorway.

The palace swallowed them whole.

The corridor was narrow and dimly lit, the walls bare stone. It smelled of damp and smoke and something faintly metallic.

Their footsteps echoed as they walked, joining the soft shuffle of the other girls ahead of them.

No one spoke.

The corridor twisted and turned, leading them deeper into the palace. Morgana tried to keep track of the route...left, then right, then down a short flight of stairs, but it was impossible. The palace was a maze.

Finally, the corridor opened into a large room.