The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch
Chapter 14: My Name Is Mistress Calla

Chapter 14: My Name Is Mistress Calla

It was cold and utilitarian....long wooden tables, benches, stone floors. A fire burned in a massive hearth at one end, but it did little to warm the space.

A woman stood at the front of the room, hands clasped behind her back.

She was older, perhaps fifty, with iron-gray hair pulled into a tight bun and a face like carved granite. She wore a simple black dress with a white apron, and a ring of keys hung from her belt.

She looked like she had never smiled in her life.

"Silence," she said, her voice cutting through the nervous murmurs like a blade.

The room fell quiet instantly.

The woman’s eyes swept over them, cold and assessing.

"My name is Mistress Calla," she said. "I am the head of household staff. You will address me as Mistress, and you will obey me without question. Is that understood?"

A chorus of quiet "yes, Mistress" rose from the group.

Calla’s expression didn’t change.

"You are here to work," she continued. "Not to gossip. Not to dawdle. Not to cause trouble. You will rise before dawn. You will work until your tasks are complete. You will keep your heads down, your mouths shut, and your hands busy. If you prove useful, you will stay. If you prove a nuisance, you will be dismissed. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good." Calla gestured toward the tables. "Sit. You will be given your assignments and shown to your quarters. After that, you will begin work immediately."

The girls moved to the tables, sitting on the hard wooden benches.

Morgana and Rowan found seats near the back.

Rowan leaned close, her voice barely a whisper. "She’s terrifying."

"She’s supposed to be," Morgana murmured back.

Mistress Calla began calling names, assigning girls to different roles...kitchen staff, laundry, chamber maids, serving girls.

When she reached Morgana and Rowan, she paused, consulting her ledger.

"Morgana of Ashford. Rowan of Ashford."

They stood.

Calla’s eyes narrowed. "You’ll be assigned to the upper floors. Chambermaid duties. You’ll clean, tend fires, change linens, and serve meals when required. You’ll work together initially, but that may change depending on need."

Morgana’s stomach twisted. Upper floors. That meant closer to the nobles. Closer to the kings.

"Yes, Mistress," she said.

Calla nodded. "Sit."

They did.

The assignments continued, and when they were done, Calla gestured toward a side door.

"Follow me. I’ll show you to the servants’ quarters."

***

The servants’ quarters were cramped and spartan.

A long, narrow room lined with cots...twenty, maybe thirty of them, each with a thin blanket and a small trunk at the foot for belongings.

"Find a bed," Calla said. "Store your things. You have ten minutes, then you report to the kitchens for your first shift."

She turned and left without waiting for a response.

Morgana and Rowan found two cots near the back, side by side.

Rowan sat down on hers and bounced slightly. "Well. It’s not home."

Morgana set her bag on the trunk and looked around. The other girls were unpacking, talking quietly among themselves. Some looked excited. Some looked terrified.

Morgana felt both.

She opened her bag and carefully placed her spare shift in the trunk, along with the comb and the pressed flower.

She kept the vial of honey in her pocket.

Just in case.

"You ready?" Rowan asked, standing.

Morgana closed the trunk and straightened.

"No," she said honestly.

Rowan grinned. "Good. Let’s go anyway."

They made their way back through the winding corridors, following the other girls toward the kitchens.

***

The palace was enormous. Everywhere Morgana looked, there were hallways and staircases and doors leading to gods-knew-where. Servants moved quickly through the corridors, carrying trays and linens and buckets. Guards stood at intervals, watching.

It was overwhelming.

They were halfway down a long corridor when Morgana felt it.

A presence.

She slowed, her skin prickling.

Someone was watching her.

She glanced up and froze.

At the far end of the corridor, standing in the shadow of an archway, was a man.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Cloaked in dark fabric that seemed to swallow the light around him.

His face was partially hidden, but his eyes...

Gods.

They were gold.

Molten.

Burning.

He was staring directly at her.

Morgana’s breath caught.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them, her standing in the corridor, him watching from the shadows.

Then Rowan grabbed her arm.

"Morgana, come on! We’re going to be late!"

Morgana blinked and looked away.

When she looked back, he was gone.