The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch
Chapter 36: You Have Been Reassigned To The Stables

Chapter 36: You Have Been Reassigned To The Stables

"It’s disgusting," one of the girls said.

"It’s pathetic," another added.

"She probably thinks one of them will marry her," a third said, laughing. "As if a servant could ever...."

"Enough."

The voice came from across the hall.

Morgana’s head snapped up.

Draeven stood near the entrance, his expression thunderous.

The hall fell silent.

Isolde’s smile faltered.

Draeven’s gaze swept over the table, then landed on Morgana. His eyes burned....gold and molten and furious.

But he didn’t speak to her.

He turned and walked out.

The moment he was gone, the whispers started again....louder this time, more vicious.

Morgana stood frozen, her face burning, her chest aching.

Isolde leaned back in her chair, her smile returning. "You may go."

Morgana turned and fled.

***

She made it to the servants’ corridor before the tears came.

She pressed her back against the cold stone wall, her hands shaking, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Scheming peasant.

Trying to seduce her way into power.

Disgusting.

Pathetic.

The words echoed in her mind, cutting deeper than the scalding tea ever could.

She pressed her hands to her face, trying to breathe, trying to stop the tears.

But they wouldn’t stop.

"Morgana."

She looked up.

Mistress Calla stood a few feet away, her expression unreadable.

Morgana quickly wiped her eyes. "Mistress, I...."

"Come with me."

Calla turned and walked down the corridor without waiting for a response.

Morgana followed, her stomach sinking.

They stopped in a small, empty room, a storage closet, barely large enough for two people.

Calla closed the door and turned to face her.

"I’ve received complaints," she said flatly.

Morgana’s chest tightened. "Mistress...."

"Multiple complaints. From Lady Isolde. From other members of the court. All saying the same thing."

"It’s not true," Morgana said, her voice breaking. "I didn’t...I wasn’t trying to..."

"I don’t care what you were trying to do." Calla’s voice was cold. "What I care about is that you’ve become a distraction. And distractions are bad for this household."

"Mistress, please....."

"You’re being reassigned."

Morgana’s breath caught. "What?"

"Effective immediately. You’re being moved to the stables."

The words hit like a blow.

"The stables?" Morgana’s voice was barely a whisper.

"Yes. You’ll work with the horses. Mucking stalls, hauling feed, grooming. Far away from the nobles. Far away from the kings."

"Mistress, please. I need this position. I need the wages...."

"You’ll still be paid." Calla’s expression didn’t soften. "But you’ll no longer work in the palace proper. This is not a negotiation, Morgana. This is an order."

Morgana’s eyes burned. "For how long?"

"Until I decide otherwise." Calla opened the door. "Report to the stables at dawn. And Morgana?"

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Stay out of trouble. Or next time, you’ll be dismissed entirely."

Then she was gone.

Morgana stood alone in the small room, her world crumbling around her.

The stables.

She’d been demoted. Humiliated. Cast aside.

All because of Isolde’s lies.

All because the kings had looked at her.

And there was nothing, nothing....she could do about it.

***

The stables smelled of hay and leather and horse sweat.

Morgana stood in the entrance, staring at the long row of stalls, and tried not to cry.

This was her life now.

Not the palace with its grand halls and gilded corridors. Not the upper chambers with their soft linens and warm fires.

The stables.

A demotion. A punishment. A humiliation.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped inside.

The work was brutal.

Mucking stalls. Hauling buckets of feed that were almost too heavy to carry. Grooming horses that were twice her size and didn’t particularly care if they stepped on her feet.

By midday, her back ached. Her hands were blistered. Her dress was filthy.

And she was alone.

The other stable hands barely acknowledged her. Word had spread, apparently, even here. The servant girl who’d tried to seduce the kings. The scheming peasant who didn’t know her place.

They whispered when they thought she couldn’t hear.

They avoided her when she got too close.

Morgana kept her head down and worked.

It was all she could do.

By late afternoon, she was assigned to the far end of the stables, a quieter section where the more temperamental horses were kept.

"This one’s a bastard," one of the stable hands said, gesturing toward a large black stallion. "Bites. Kicks. Threw his last handler into the wall. You’ll want to be careful."

Morgana looked at the horse.

It was massive, sleek and muscled, with wild eyes and flared nostrils. It paced in its stall, agitated, its hooves striking the ground with sharp, angry thuds.

"What’s his name?" Morgana asked.

"Shadowmere. And he doesn’t like anyone."

The stable hand walked away, leaving her alone.

Morgana approached the stall slowly, her hands raised.

"Easy," she murmured. "I’m not going to hurt you."

The stallion’s ears flattened. It snorted, backing into the corner of the stall.

Morgana stopped a few feet away. "I know. You don’t want me here. I don’t want to be here either."

The horse stared at her, its dark eyes wary.

She took a breath and stepped closer.

The stallion reared, its hooves lashing out.

Morgana stumbled back, her heart racing.

Careful. Stay calm. Don’t....

Heat flared in her chest.

Sharp. Sudden.

Her magic surged, unbidden, and for a moment the air around her shimmered.

The stallion froze.

Its hooves hit the ground with a heavy thud, and it stood perfectly still, its head lowered, its ears pricked forward.

Watching her.

Morgana’s breath caught.

No. Not here. Not now.

She shoved the magic down, forcing it back into the tight, compressed space inside her chest where it lived.

The shimmer faded.

But the stallion didn’t move.

It just... stared.

Slowly, carefully, Morgana stepped closer.

The horse didn’t shy away.

She reached out, her hand trembling, and touched its nose.

The stallion’s eyes closed.

And it leaned into her touch.

Morgana’s throat tightened.

"What are you?" she whispered.

The horse huffed softly, its breath warm against her palm.

For the first time in days, Morgana felt something other than fear.

She felt... calm.