The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch
Chapter 22: We Need To Get Rid Of Her

Chapter 22: We Need To Get Rid Of Her

Morgana’s hands were shaking. "I’m fine."

"She threatened you..."

"I know."

"Morgana, this is bad. If she tells the other daughters, if they decide you’re a threat..."

"I know, Rowan." Morgana’s voice cracked. She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. "I know."

Rowan looked like she wanted to say more, but she just squeezed Morgana’s arm and fell silent.

They finished their rounds quickly, moving through the remaining chambers with mechanical efficiency.

But Morgana couldn’t stop thinking about Isolde’s words.

Stay away from him.

As if she had any control over where the king looked.

As if she’d asked for this.

***

It wasn’t until later, when the day’s work was done and Morgana and Rowan were walking back through the corridors toward the servants’ hall for supper, that Morgana saw her again.

Lady Isolde.

She was standing near one of the tall windows in the main corridor, speaking in low tones with another noble daughter...a dark-haired woman in a gown of deep green.

Morgana tried to walk past without being noticed, keeping her head down.

But as she passed, she heard it.

Isolde’s voice. Quiet. Cold.

"We need to get rid of her."

Morgana’s steps faltered.

The dark-haired woman murmured something too low to hear.

Isolde’s response was sharp. "I don’t care how. Just make sure she’s gone before the next banquet. I won’t have some filthy little servant stealing his attention."

Morgana’s blood ran cold.

She kept walking, faster now, her heart hammering in her chest.

Rowan grabbed her arm. "Did you hear...?"

"Yes."

"Morgana..."

"Not here." Morgana’s voice was tight. "Not now."

They hurried down the corridor, turned a corner, and finally...finally...reached the safety of the servants’ hall.

But even as Morgana sat down at the long table, even as she forced herself to eat the thin stew and hard bread, she couldn’t shake the words echoing in her mind.

We need to get rid of her.

She was in danger.

Real, immediate danger.

And she had no idea what to do about it.

***

*The Next Day*

Morgana was scrubbing the floor of the third-floor corridor when Mistress Calla found her.

She looked up at the sharp click of heels on stone and scrambled to her feet, wiping her wet hands on her apron.

Calla’s expression was unreadable.

"Morgana of Ashford."

"Yes, Mistress?"

"You’re being reassigned. Immediately."

Morgana’s stomach dropped. "Reassigned, Mistress?"

Had Isolde already complained? Had she told Mistress Calla to dismiss her? Was this it, was she being sent home already?

"King Draeven’s chambers require tending," Calla said briskly. "His usual maid has taken ill. You’ll go in her place."

Morgana’s blood turned to ice.

No.

"Mistress, I...."

"Is there a problem?" Calla’s eyes narrowed.

Morgana’s mind raced. She couldn’t refuse. Refusing a direct order would get her dismissed...or worse. But going to his chambers, being alone with the man who had stared at her through the entire banquet, the man Isolde had warned her to stay away from...

"No, Mistress," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Good. His chambers are in the west tower. Fourth floor. You’ll find linens and supplies in the storage room outside his door. Tend the fire, change the bedding, refill the water basins. Standard duties. And for gods’ sake, girl, don’t touch anything you’re not meant to."

"Yes, Mistress."

Calla’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, sharp and assessing. Then she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the stone.

Morgana stood frozen, her heart hammering.

The king’s chambers.

She was going to the king’s chambers.

Alone.

The west tower was quieter than the rest of the palace.

Morgana climbed the winding staircase slowly, her legs heavy with dread. The corridors here were narrower, more private. Fewer servants. Fewer guards.

Just silence.

She reached the fourth floor and found the storage room Calla had mentioned, a small closet stocked with fresh linens, firewood, and cleaning supplies. She gathered what she needed, her hands trembling, and moved down the corridor toward the heavy wooden door at the end.

The king’s chambers.

She stopped in front of it, staring at the dark wood, the iron handle.

He won’t be there, she told herself. Kings don’t sit around their chambers in the middle of the day. He’ll be in the throne room, or the council chamber, or...

She took a breath and knocked.

No answer.

Relief flooded through her.

She opened the door and stepped inside.

The chamber was enormous.

Far larger than any room she’d cleaned before. The ceilings soared overhead, supported by dark wooden beams. Tall windows lined one wall, letting in streams of pale afternoon light. A massive fireplace dominated the far side of the room, cold and dark.

And in the center...

A bed.

It was huge, draped in deep crimson and black, the posts carved into twisting shapes that looked almost like flames.

Morgana swallowed hard and set down her bundle of linens.

Just work. Just do your job and leave.

She moved quickly, efficiently. Stripped the bed. Laid fresh sheets. Beat the dust from the heavy curtains. Swept the hearth and began building a new fire.

The room was silent except for the soft sounds of her work, the rustle of fabric, the clink of the fire poker, the crackle of kindling catching flame.

She was so focused on her task that she didn’t hear the door open.

"You’re new."

Morgana gasped and spun around, nearly dropping the poker.

He was standing in the doorway.

King Draeven.

He was even more imposing up close than he had been at the banquet. Tall...easily over six feet, with broad shoulders and a presence that seemed to fill the entire room. His dark hair fell just past his shoulders, and his eyes...

Gods, his eyes.

They were gold. Molten and burning and fixed directly on her.

Morgana’s breath caught.

She dropped into a curtsy so quickly she nearly lost her balance. "Your Majesty. I’m sorry...I didn’t know...Mistress Calla sent me to..."

"Stand up."

His voice was low, rough, like gravel and smoke.

Morgana obeyed, rising slowly, her heart hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.