The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch
Chapter 19: So I’ll Ask Again. Why Are You Here?

Chapter 19: So I’ll Ask Again. Why Are You Here?

She clenched her fists, trying to shove it down, but it was harder than usual. The exhaustion, the fear, the overwhelming pressure of the day, it was all too much.

The lantern flame surged again.

Morgana stumbled back, her heart hammering.

Control it. Control it.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe slowly, deeply, the way her mother had taught her.

In. Out. In. Out.

The heat began to fade. Slowly. Reluctantly.

She opened her eyes.

The flame had settled back to normal.

Morgana exhaled shakily and sank onto a nearby stone bench, her legs finally giving out.

That was too close.

Far too close.

She buried her face in her hands, her whole body trembling.

She couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t keep suppressing it, hiding it, pretending it wasn’t there. Sooner or later, it would break free.

And then...

Footsteps.

Morgana’s head snapped up.

Someone was coming.

She heard the soft crunch of boots on gravel, the rustle of fabric.

Someone else was in the garden.

Her pulse spiked. She looked around frantically for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere, just open paths and low hedges that wouldn’t conceal her.

The footsteps grew closer.

Morgana’s heart hammered in her chest.

The footsteps were close now....steady, unhurried, moving along the gravel path toward her clearing.

She rose from the bench, her mind racing. If it was a guard, she was finished. Past curfew, out of the servants’ quarters, wandering the palace gardens like she had any right to be here...

The figure stepped into the moonlight.

Not a guard.

He was tall, dressed simply in dark trousers and a plain linen shirt beneath a long coat. His hair was dark, falling just past his shoulders, and in his hands he carried a book....leather-bound, worn at the edges.

He stopped when he saw her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Morgana’s breath caught. She couldn’t see his face clearly in the shadows, but she could feel his gaze on her....steady, assessing, curious.

"I’m sorry, my lord," she said quickly, dropping into a curtsy. "I didn’t mean to....I was just...."

"You’re out past curfew."

His voice was quiet. Calm. Not angry, but... observant.

Morgana swallowed. "Yes, my lord. I know. I’m sorry. I’ll go back...."

"I didn’t say you had to leave."

She looked up, startled.

He stepped closer, and the moonlight caught his face.

He was younger than she’d expected, perhaps in his late twenties, though something about him felt older. His features were sharp and elegant, his jaw strong, his eyes dark and piercing. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her...not cruel, but knowing, as if he could see straight through her carefully constructed walls.

"You’re one of the new girls," he said. Not a question.

"Yes, my lord." Morgana kept her gaze down, her hands clasped in front of her. "I started two days ago."

"And yet here you are. Wandering the gardens alone in the middle of the night."

"I couldn’t sleep, my lord."

"So you decided to break curfew."

Her stomach twisted. "I’m sorry. It won’t happen again."

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "What’s your name?"

"Morgana, my lord."

"Morgana." He repeated it slowly, as if tasting the syllables. "And where are you from, Morgana?"

"Ashford, my lord. A village east of here."

"I know it." He glanced down at the book in his hands, then back at her. "Small. Quiet. Far from the palace."

"Yes, my lord."

"So why come here?"

The question caught her off guard. "My lord?"

"Why take a position at the palace?" He gestured vaguely toward the towering stone walls behind them. "It’s dangerous work. Long hours. Little pay. And you’re far from home."

Morgana hesitated. She couldn’t tell him the truth, that she needed the money for her mother’s medicine, that she was desperate, that she had no other choice.

"The wages are good, my lord," she said carefully.

His mouth curved slightly. Almost a smile. "That’s a lie."

Her breath hitched. "My lord..."

"The wages are adequate," he corrected, his tone mild. "But they’re not worth the risk. Not for most people." He took a step closer. "So I’ll ask again. Why are you here?"