The Shapeshifter horses were no mystery to the royal palace. Sleek, proud creatures that could take on human form, they were bred and raised from birth within the palace grounds as symbols of wealth and power. The princess already had one a magnificent stallion, groomed to perfection and trained for royal parades.

But Lillian was nothing like the palace-bred shapeshifters.

She had been born in the wild, under the open sky, running with a free herd that knew nothing of human hands or stone walls. Her coat was pure white, almost shimmering, with a mane and tail that flowed like silk in the wind. Her eyes held the clear light of untamed meadows, and unlike the others, her scent was rare blue rose after rain, refreshing and elegant,

a fragrance that lingered faintly in the air wherever she passed.

It was that scent that betrayed her.

One spring day, she wandered away from her herd, chasing the glint of water between the trees. She roamed too far, her curiosity pulling her into strange woods where no familiar scent lingered. By the time she realized she was alone, the wind carried the faint tang of leather and steel.

Elsewhere in the forest, a party of knights searched for the perfect gift for the princess’s upcoming birthday. Jewels and gold had been offered before — but this year, the king desired something that would make the court gasp in awe.

The one who found her hadn’t been looking at all. He was riding ahead of the others, letting his horse pick its way between the shadows, when a glimmer caught his eye — a pale thread of hair drifting beneath the bushes, stirred by the night breeze. The moon was full, and when its silver light slid through the branches, it revealed her.

A mare unlike any he had ever seen.

Her coat gleamed like snow under moonlight, her mane and tail rippling as if stirred by invisible fingers. She stood grazing quietly, head lowered, her breath steaming faintly in the cool air.

The knight’s chest tightened. He held his breath, afraid to disturb her. But the faint, sharp sound of that breath was enough.

Her head shot up, ears swiveling, nostrils flaring as her rare fragrance drifted between them. For a heartbeat, they stared at one another — man and wild creature — until she spun and bolted, white mane flashing through the dark.

“Over here!” the knight roared, spurring his mount forward. Hoofbeats erupted all around as the others closed in, their natural horses trained for speed and pursuit.

She was fast — faster than any they’d seen — weaving between trees, the wind tossing her mane like a banner of white fire. But her scent lingered in the air, guiding them as surely as a trail of light.

The first rope missed. The second whipped past her flank by inches. But the third — thrown with a sharp, practiced snap — looped clean over her neck and yanked tight.

She screamed, a high, piercing neigh, jerking her head violently to tear free. Her hooves pounded the earth, mane lashing around her as she twisted and fought, the rope biting into her skin. But the circle of riders closed in, their ropes pulling from all sides, until her body trembled with exhaustion and the fight drained from her limbs.

They had her. And the knight who first saw her knew — this was no ordinary capture. This was the gift that would outshine every jewel in the palace.

The journey back to the capital was a blur of pounding hooves, jolting reins, and the constant tug of ropes. Lillian fought at every turn, tossing her head until the rope scraped against her neck, striking out with her hooves when a knight came too near.

By the time the imperial palace gates loomed ahead, her breath came in quick bursts and sweat clung to her coat, but her eyes still burned with the wildness they could not break.

The courtyard came alive as the knights led her in. Servants and courtiers leaned forward, whispers rising at the sight of her. A wild-born shapeshifter was rare enough — but one so young, her coat pure white and mane flowing like spun silver — was almost unheard of.

The Emperor stepped forward, his robes trailing across the marble. “What have you brought me?” he asked, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

The lead knight dismounted, bowing low. “A gift for Her Highness’s upcoming birthday, Your Majesty — a shapeshifter mare, no more than a year and two months old. Caught beyond the western forest.”

The Emperor’s brows lifted faintly, his gaze turning to the white mare straining against the ropes. “Wild-born?”

“Yes, sire. Untouched by human hands.”

A ripple of interest passed through the gathered onlookers.

Beside the Emperor, the princess shifted her weight ever so slightly, golden hair cascading over her shoulder in the sunlight. Her beauty was striking — fine-boned features framed by perfect waves of gold, lips curved in a soft smile that held neither malice nor haste. When she spoke, her voice was low and warm, like honey poured into glass.

“A wild one?”

she murmured, her eyes gliding lazily over Lillian.

“How… lovely.”

Her tone was sweet, almost indulgent, but her interest was tempered. She already had a stallion of her own — trained, obedient, flawless in every step yet she stepped forward just enough for Lillian to catch her presence.

The mare’s ears flicked forward. Her breathing eased, her wide, curious eyes studying the princess as if trying to understand her.

“She’ll do,” the Emperor said finally, his gaze shifting back to the knights.

The princess’s lips curved a fraction deeper before she turned, her gown whispering against the marble. Lillian kept her gaze fixed on her until she vanished

The moment the princess disappeared into the crowd, Lillian’s ears flicked back. The quiet curiosity in her gaze hardened into the stubborn fire of the wild.

The knights moved to lead her toward the stables, but the mare’s muscles bunched, her hooves scraping sharply against the marble. When one reached for her reins, she flung her head high, snapping the rope taut and nearly wrenching it from his hands.

“Careful! She’s got spirit,” one muttered, trying to reel her in.

Spirit was an understatement.

Every time they pulled, she yanked back twice as hard. When they tried to bring her into motion, she planted her hooves, refusing to move an inch until they gave her slack. A careless guard stepped too close, and she lashed out with a swift kick that sent him stumbling with a curse.

“She’s like a damn warhorse,” another growled.

Pride and instinct burned in every movement — not the skittish fear of a broken animal, but the fierce refusal of one who had only ever lived free. She would not be tied without a fight, and she certainly wouldn’t be ridden.

The lead knight’s jaw tightened as she reared, forelegs slicing through the air, her cry ringing sharp over the courtyard. The other palace shapeshifters might have stood quietly in gilded stalls — but this one… this one was wild to the bone.