The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

The morning light filtered through the high windows of Draeven’s office, illuminating the space in shades of gold and amber. It was a room designed to convey power...high ceilings, walls lined with shelves holding the official records of the kingdom, a massive oak desk that had belonged to kings for generations. The space was austere in its elegance, with no unnecessary decoration. Everything was functional. Everything spoke of authority and control.

Draeven sat behind that desk, his golden eyes fixed on the document before him, his expression focused and intent.

He had been working since before dawn.

There was always work. Always papers to sign, reports to review, decisions to make that affected the lives of thousands. The weight of kingship was not something that could be set aside. It was a constant pressure, a constant burden, an unrelenting demand on his attention and his time.

This morning, he was reviewing reports from the agricultural provinces, assessments of crop yields, evaluations of land management, recommendations for resource allocation. Important work, but tedious. The kind of administrative task that required his attention but not his full intellectual engagement.

Which meant his mind was free to wander to other concerns.

The transformation incident had shaken them, and his youngest brother had retreated into himself in a way that was becoming increasingly difficult to manage.

Then there were the noble daughters.

They had been at the palace for nearly two months now, and their presence had somehow managed to become more complicated rather than less. The initial excitement of the selection process had settled into a kind of cold calculation. The young women were no longer simply hoping to be chosen, they were now actively scheming, forming alliances, positioning themselves for advantage.

It was exhausting.

Draeven set down his pen and rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the day already pressing down on him despite the early hour.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

”Enter,” he called, not looking up from his desk.

The door opened, and Thorne stepped inside.

***

Thorne moved with his characteristic grace, but there was something different in his manner this morning. He seemed heavier somehow, as if he were carrying weight that his slim frame was not entirely designed to bear.

He crossed the office and collapsed into one of the chairs opposite Draeven’s desk without waiting for an invitation to sit. He simply fell into it as if his legs had suddenly given out.

Draeven looked up from his work, noting his brother’s state of dishevelment. Thorne’s dark hair was slightly mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it. His clothes were precise as always, but there was a weariness in his dark eyes that suggested he hadn’t slept well.

”What is it?” Draeven asked, setting down his pen. ”What could possibly be so important that it made you willingly leave your books, brother?”

Thorne was famous among the palace staff for his preference for the library. It was where he spent most of his time when he wasn’t attending to his official duties. The library was his sanctuary, his refuge, his escape from the complexities of palace politics.

Thorne’s dark eyes met his, and for a moment, he simply looked at his eldest brother. Then he sighed...a deep, exhausted sound that spoke volumes.

”One of my men gave me a report this morning,” Thorne said, his voice measured but carrying an undercurrent of frustration. ”Something is going on among the noble daughters. They’re planning something.”

Draeven’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in the air between them. Political maneuvering among the selection candidates was not unexpected, but the way Thorne was presenting this suggested it was more serious than typical jockeying for position.

”Are you certain?” Draeven asked. ”And more importantly, is your man reliable?”

”He is,” Thorne said without hesitation. ”He’s one of my Shadows. He hears things people don’t want others to hear. He moves through the palace like smoke. If he says something is happening, it’s happening.”

Draeven set down the document he’d been reviewing and leaned back in his chair, giving his full attention to his brother.

”Then we have a problem,” he said quietly.

”Yes,” Thorne agreed. ”We do. Because if they’re planning anything, it won’t be good for us. And the question becomes.....what are they planning? And for what purpose?”

Draeven rose from his chair and moved to the window, looking out over the palace grounds. From this height, he could see the stables in the distance, the training grounds beyond, the vast expanse of the kingdom’s heart.

”If they’re planning anything,” he said, his voice taking on the tone of someone speaking from experience, ”it will be led by Isolde.”

He spoke the name with a particular inflection...not anger, but a kind of weary recognition of a problem that had been present since the moment Lady Isolde had arrived at the palace.

”That one is a hell of a problem,” he continued.

Thorne nodded, understanding without needing further explanation. They had both observed Isolde’s behavior over the past weeks. The way she positioned herself. The way she manipulated the other noble daughters. The way she seemed to be constructing something....some plan, some scheme, some strategy that went beyond the typical machinations of young women seeking to marry a king.

”She has connections,” Thorne said. ”Her father is House Greythorne. Not as powerful as some of the greater houses, but influential enough. And she seems to think that influence extends into whatever she’s planning.”

”It does,” Draeven said darkly. ”Which makes her doubly dangerous. She’s not just a scheming noblewoman. She’s a scheming noblewoman with family resources and family support.”

He turned from the window to face his brother.

”Have you considered,” Thorne said carefully, ”that perhaps it’s time we end this selection madness? We could simply send them all home. All of them. Tell the Elders that none of the candidates have proven suitable, and wait for the next cycle.”