The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch
Chapter 30: His Majesty Has Requested Your Presence

Chapter 30: His Majesty Has Requested Your Presence

Morgana’s breath caught. "What does that mean?"

But Atheris had already closed his eyes, his breathing slowing into the deep rhythm of sleep, or the pretense of it.

She knew better than to push.

With a sigh, Morgana rose and made her way back toward the tunnel.

But as she stepped out into the predawn light, his words echoed in her mind.

When the time comes, you will have to choose.

And the choice will break you.

***

*FEW DAYS LATER*

Morgana was in the kitchens when the guard found her.

She was elbow-deep in a basin of soapy water, scrubbing pots alongside three other girls, when a shadow fell across the table.

She looked up.

A man stood there.....tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in the dark leather and crimson of the royal guard. His face was stern, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"Morgana of Ashford?"

Her stomach dropped.

"Yes, sir?"

"You’re to come with me."

The other girls fell silent, their eyes wide.

Morgana’s pulse spiked. "Sir, I....did I do something wrong?"

"His Majesty has requested your presence."

His Majesty.

Morgana’s hands trembled. She pulled them out of the water and dried them on her apron, her mind racing.

Which one?

Draeven? Kaelen? Thorne?

She didn’t ask.

She just followed.

The guard led her through the winding corridors of the palace, up staircases and past tapestries, until they reached the west tower.

Morgana’s chest tightened.

Draeven’s chambers.

She’d been here before. Just a few days ago. When he’d stared at her with those burning gold eyes and told her he’d seen her in the market.

When he’d looked at her like he could see straight through her carefully constructed walls.

The guard stopped in front of the heavy wooden door and knocked once.

"Enter," came the voice from within.

Low. Rough. Unmistakable.

The guard pushed open the door and gestured for Morgana to step inside.

She did, her heart hammering.

The door closed behind her.

Draeven stood by the window, his back to her, his hands clasped behind him.

He was dressed more simply than she’d seen him before—dark trousers, a white shirt unlaced at the throat, his dark hair loose around his shoulders.

He looked... tired.

"Your Majesty," Morgana said quietly, dropping into a curtsy.

"Don’t."

She froze.

"Don’t curtsy," he said, his voice flat. "Not when we’re alone."

Morgana straightened slowly, unsure what to do with her hands. "Yes, Your Majesty."

He turned to face her, and she saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the shadows beneath them, the tightness around his mouth.

"Do you know why I summoned you?" he asked.

"No, Your Majesty."

"Stop calling me that."

She blinked. "I... what should I call you?"

"Draeven." He crossed to a side table and poured himself a glass of wine. "When we’re alone, call me Draeven."

Morgana’s throat tightened. "I don’t think that’s appropriate, Your...."

"I don’t care what’s appropriate." He took a long drink, then set the glass down. "I’m tired of walls. Of formality. Of everyone around me treating me like I’m made of stone."

He looked at her, and there was something raw in his gaze.

Something human.

"Sit," he said, gesturing toward one of the chairs near the fire.

Morgana hesitated.

"Please," he added, softer this time.

She crossed to the chair and sat, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Draeven remained standing, leaning against the side table, his arms crossed.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then he broke the silence.

"How old are you?"

The question caught her off guard. "Eighteen, Your....Draeven."

He nodded. "And your family?"

"Just my mother."

"Your father?"

"Dead. When I was six."

His expression softened slightly. "I’m sorry."

Morgana didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.

"What was he like?" Draeven asked. "Your father."

She swallowed. "Kind. Quiet. He was a carpenter. Made furniture for the village." A small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. "He used to carve little animals for me. Horses. Birds. Once, he made me a dragon."

Draeven’s eyebrow rose. "A dragon?"

"I was obsessed with them as a child. The stories, the legends. He thought it was funny." Her smile faded. "I still have it. The carving. It’s the only thing I have left of him."

Draeven was quiet for a moment.

"And your mother?" he asked. "What’s she like?"

"Strong. Stubborn. Sick."

His gaze sharpened. "Sick?"

Morgana nodded. "A cough. It’s been getting worse for months. The herbalist says there’s nothing more she can do." Her voice tightened. "That’s why I came here. For the wages. For the medicine."

Draeven’s jaw tensed. "And have you sent money home yet?"

"No. I haven’t been paid."

"You will be. Soon." He paused. "And when you are, make sure it goes to your mother. I’ll see to it personally."

Morgana’s eyes widened. "You don’t have to..."

"I know I don’t have to." His voice was firm. "But I will."

She stared at him, searching his face for some hint of mockery, some sign that this was a game.

But there was nothing.

Just... sincerity.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Why what?"

"Why do you care? I’m just a servant. I’m nobody."

Draeven’s expression darkened. "You’re not nobody."

"Then what am I?"

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he pushed off the table and crossed to the window, staring out at the darkening sky.

"Do you know what it’s like," he said quietly, "to be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone?"

Morgana’s chest tightened. "Yes."

He glanced back at her, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Do you?"

"Every day."

He turned to face her fully, his gaze intense. "Then you understand."

She did.

Gods help her, she did.

"Everyone in this palace wants something from me," Draeven continued, his voice low. "The nobles want power. The council wants heirs. The women at that damned banquet want a crown." His fists clenched. "No one looks at me and sees a person. Just a title. A throne. A means to an end."

Morgana’s throat was tight. "I’m sorry."

"Don’t be." He moved closer, stopping a few feet away from her. "You’re the only one who doesn’t look at me like that."

Her breath caught. "What do you mean?"