The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

The morning air was cool, carrying the scent of hay and earth and the particular musk of the horses. Morgana moved through the stables, her movements having become as much habit as conscious choice over the weeks she had worked here.

First came the mucking of stalls.

It was unglamorous work, physically demanding and repetitive. But Morgana didn’t mind. She took a certain pride in the cleanliness of each stall, in ensuring that the horses had fresh hay and clean spaces. She moved from stall to stall with a wooden fork and a bucket, clearing away the soiled bedding, replacing it with fresh straw, working methodically through each space.

The horses watched her as she worked. Some dozed, barely aware of her presence. Others watched with interest, knowing that her appearance often preceded the arrival of food or water or grooming. A few...the ones who had come to know her particularly well, nickered softly in greeting.

By the time the sun was beginning to touch the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep gold and orange, Morgana had finished the mucking. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a small smudge of dust across her skin, and moved to the water troughs.

These needed to be cleaned and refilled.

She worked methodically, draining the old water, scrubbing the troughs with a brush to remove any algae or debris, then refilling them with fresh water from the well. The work was simple, but it required attention. A horse would not drink from water that was stale or dirty. They were particular creatures, and Morgana respected that particularity.

As she worked, she fell into the rhythm of the labor. The repetition was soothing in a way that nothing else in the palace was. The physical exertion quieted her mind. The clear, measurable results...clean stalls, fresh water, organized equipment, provided a sense of accomplishment that the complicated games of the court never could.

***

By mid-morning, the initial work was complete.

Now came the feeding.

Morgana moved through the stables with buckets of grain, measuring out portions for each horse according to their needs and their habits. Some required more, some less. Some horses were prone to overeating and needed to be monitored. Others were naturally delicate eaters.

She knew each one.

She knew their personalities. She knew their preferences. She knew which horses were anxious in storms and which were fearless. She knew which ones responded better to gentle handling and which needed firmer direction. She knew which horses had old injuries that needed accommodation and which were simply stubborn about accepting new routines.

This knowledge...this deep, practical understanding of the horses in her care, was perhaps the only place in the palace where Morgana felt genuinely confident. Here, she was not a mysterious servant with unknown origins. She was not a girl caught between worlds. She was simply Morgana, the stable girl who understood horses and cared for them with genuine affection.

She moved to one of the larger stalls and found Shadowmere inside, the stallion who had first responded to her magic weeks ago, when she had calmed him through a moment of panic. He was a magnificent animal. His coat was dark grey, almost black, but with hints of silver that caught the light when he moved. He was tall and powerful, built for speed and agility, with an intelligence in his eyes that suggested he understood far more than horses typically did.

”Hello, my friend,” Morgana said softly, approaching with his grain bucket. ”I’ve brought you breakfast.”

Shadowmere’s ears pricked forward at the sound of her voice. He turned toward her, and when she entered his stall, he didn’t shy away. Instead, he lowered his head slightly, acknowledging her presence with a kind of respect that went beyond simple familiarity.

Morgana set the grain bucket in the feeding trough and ran her hand down the stallion’s neck, feeling the warm muscle beneath the silky coat. The connection between them was real. It was tangible. It was something that existed outside of words or explanations.

”You’re a good boy,” she murmured, continuing to stroke his neck even as he began to eat. ”The best of them, really. Don’t let any of the others know I said that.”

Shadowmere nickered softly, as if acknowledging the secret between them.

Morgana remained in the stall for a few more moments, simply being present with the horse, drawing comfort from his steady, undisturbed presence. Then she moved on to the other horses, continuing her work.

By the time the sun was reaching its midday height, she had fed all the horses and begun the work of grooming.

This was her favorite task.

She selected a brush and moved to Shadowmere’s stall first. The stallion submitted to her touch with the patience of an animal that had come to trust her completely. She began at his neck, using firm, rhythmic strokes to work through his coat, untangling any knots, removing dust and debris, bringing out the natural shine of his dark hair.

The work was meditative.

Stroke after stroke, her mind quieted. Her worries faded. There was only the horse, the brush, the sensation of the work. Only the present moment, which was safe and controllable and comprehensible.

She worked her way across his shoulders, down his sides, along his muscular flanks. The stallion stood patiently, occasionally shifting his weight but never moving away. It was as if he understood that this grooming was not just practical maintenance but a kind of communication between them. A way of saying things that words could not express.

By the time she finished with Shadowmere and moved on to grooming the other horses, the sun had moved significantly across the sky. Morgana worked without hurrying, giving each horse the attention and care that they deserved. And with each stroke of the brush, with each moment of connection, she felt a little more grounded, a little more like herself.

This was who she was. Not the mysterious girl at the center of a palace conspiracy. Not a creature of suppressed magic. But simply a girl who understood horses and could care for them with competence and affection.

At least, that’s what she told herself.