The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

The fabric fell away.

What it revealed made the very air in the throne room seem to shift.

The girl was perhaps eighteen or nineteen, pale-skinned in a way that suggested she spent little time in sunlight. Her hair was long, white-blonde, almost silver, falling to her waist in a thick cascade. Her eyes were a pale blue-gray, striking in their intensity, holding something ancient and knowing despite her young face.

She was devastatingly beautiful.

But more than that, there was something about her that seemed to vibrate at a frequency just beyond normal human perception. Her presence seemed to demand attention, to insist on recognition, to carry weight that went beyond simple physical beauty.

The moment the cloak fell away, Thorne gasped.

It was not a small sound. It was a sharp, involuntary intake of breath that echoed through the throne room. His dark eyes widened. His hands gripped the arms of his throne so tightly that the stone cracked slightly beneath his fingers.

His dragon was roaring.

It was the same sensation the kings had been experiencing for weeks when around Morgana....that pull, that recognition, that certainty that something significant was present. But it was wrong somehow. The frequency was off. The harmony was discordant.

NOCTYS, Thorne’s dragon, was responding. But not with the same certainty that GLACIUS had been responding to Morgana. This was recognition of something, but not recognition of the right thing.

Draeven observed his brother’s reaction without moving. His golden eyes took in Thorne’s shock, understood immediately what his brother was experiencing, and began calculating what it meant.

Thorne stood abruptly from his throne.

He descended the steps of the raised platform with measured movements and approached the girl directly.

She stood very still as he came toward her. She did not shrink back. She did not show fear. She simply stood there, her pale eyes fixed on his, and allowed herself to be examined.

Thorne looked at her...truly looked at her, taking in every detail. Her face. Her eyes. The way she held herself. The aura that seemed to surround her.

Then he looked back at Draeven.

In that look was a question, a confusion, a statement: This is something. But it is not what we thought it was. Something is wrong here.

Draeven’s expression remained perfectly controlled, but his golden eyes showed that he understood exactly what Thorne was communicating.

***

Carrick moved closer to where Thorne stood examining the girl.

The noble lord bowed slightly, a gesture of respect but also one that placed him in closer proximity to the king.

”Your Majesties,” Carrick said, his voice carrying the weight of a prepared announcement, ”I present to you the Mother of Dragons.”

The words hung in the air like stones dropped into still water, creating ripples that seemed to touch every part of the throne room.

Thorne’s entire body went rigid.

He looked back at Draeven, and this time the look was more than a question. It was a statement of absolute alarm. This is a lie. This is a trap. This is manipulation.

Draeven rose slowly from his throne.

His golden eyes fixed on Carrick with an intensity that made clear the First King understood exactly what was happening and recognized it for what it was: a calculated play, a strategic move, a test designed to reveal something about the kings’ knowledge and intentions.

Thorne turned back to look at the girl one more time.

She was still watching him with those pale, ancient eyes. There was intelligence there. There was power. There was something that suggested she was far more than she appeared to be.

But she was not.....could not be, what Carrick claimed.

***

Draeven’s voice, when he spoke, carried the absolute authority of a king making a decision that could not be questioned or contradicted.

”Captain Rhen,” the First King called out.

The guard captain, who had been standing near the doors of the throne room, immediately moved forward and bowed.

”Your Majesty,” Rhen acknowledged.

”Send word to my brother,” Draeven commanded. ”Tell Kaelen that I require his presence at the palace immediately.”

Captain Rhen bowed again.

”It will be done, Your Majesty. Shall I send a messenger or...”

”Send a dragon,” Draeven said simply. ”Send one of the guard who can shift. Have him find Kaelen in the sky if necessary. I want my brother back here within the hour.”

Rhen bowed and moved quickly from the throne room, understanding the gravity of the summons.

Draeven then turned his full attention back to Carrick.

”You may keep the girl in the palace,” Draeven said, his voice carrying a tone that suggested this was a courtesy, not a negotiation. ”We will... consider your gift. But I suspect we will need to discuss its authenticity with my third brother before we make any final determinations about its value.”

Carrick bowed, and if he was disappointed by Draeven’s response, he did not show it.

”Of course, Your Majesty,” Carrick said smoothly. ”I would expect nothing less. The truth of her identity can be verified in whatever manner you deem appropriate.”

Thorne had not moved from where he stood near the girl. His dark eyes remained fixed on her, his mind clearly working through calculations and strategic implications.

The girl had not reacted to any of this at all. She simply stood there, her pale eyes moving between the kings, seeming to understand something of significance was happening even if she did not fully comprehend its implications.

Thorne finally turned from the girl and climbed the steps back to his throne.

When he settled into it, his dark eyes met Draeven’s, and in that communication was everything: This is a test. Carrick knows something. He knows about Morgana. This girl is meant to distract us, to make us question, to test whether we truly understand what we have found.

Draeven nodded slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible.

***

Guards had been positioned around the throne room now, at Draeven’s subtle gesture.

Carrick stood with the girl, and neither of them moved. They were content to wait, content to occupy the space, content to let the weight of the revelation settle over the kings like a blanket.

Thorne was calculating. His dark eyes moved between the girl, Carrick, and back toward where Draeven stood. He was running through scenarios, understanding layers of strategy, recognizing the brilliance and audacity of what Carrick had done.

The noble lord had walked into the palace and essentially declared: I know what you are looking for. I know what you want. And I am testing whether you know as well.

If the kings rejected the girl, they revealed that they knew she was false. If they accepted her, they revealed they were willing to be manipulated. If they demanded verification, they revealed their uncertainty about what they actually needed.

It was chess played at the highest level.

And Carrick had made his opening move.

Draeven stood on the raised platform, his golden eyes fixed on the girl, his mind clearly working through implications and plans.

And then, in the distance, carried on the wind that blew through the palace’s high windows, there came a sound.

The sound of dragon wings.

Kaelen was returning.