Page 53 of My High Horse Czar

I only buy a handful of things—enough to tide me over for a few days—and I’m waiting when they finally finish. When they approach the register, I’m shocked.

Aleksandr wears a lot of black, grey, and dark blue. Grigoriy wears warm, earthy tones. They both look like the things they wear could work in the office, but would be a decent fit for meeting clients in the field. Business casual, their style could be called, or maybe rugged outdoorsman occasionally.

But the clothing Alexei’s carrying. . . “What on earth are you thinking?”

Alexei freezes. “What?”

“Is he wanting to look like the rightful ruler of the country or a pimp?” The brightest, loudest prints I’ve ever seen are piled up on top of ripped, acid-washed jeans that a teenage drug dealer would have trouble pulling off. “No.” I shake my head. “No way. Put all that down.”

“Where did they even find that in the store?” Kris asks.

“I have no idea.”

“I thought you said he could wear galoshes,” Aleks says. “Alexei is a much more vibrant person than either of us. He likes bright colors and—”

I intentionally bump into Aleksandr’s shoulder as I walk past. “So it’s your fault.”

“He picked those,” Grigoriy says.

“I do like bright colors,” Alexei says.

I sigh, and point at the dressing room. “I think you’re probably a men’s large.” I stare at his shoulders. “Right?” I turn toward Kris and Mirdza.

They both shrug.

“You two are even worse than the men.”

They’re talking amongst themselves while I stalk to the back of the men’s section. “They’re closing out summer styles,” I say. “And the front of the store is full of things you can’t even wear right now.”

“Okay,” Alexei says.

“But we can get a good deal on some of the clearance stuff.”

Alexei blinks. “That’s where I found those things.”

I scrunch my nose. “The thing about buying clearance is that you need to be discerning.”

“Why?”

“The reason it’s on clearance, if there are a lot of them especially, is usually that it wasn’t something people really wanted. There’s always a reason for that.”

His brow furrows.

“Sometimes you get lucky, and something that looks great on you is still on sale. Occasionally, someone returns something in just your size, and it winds up here.”

“Returns?”

“You know what?” I ask. “We’re getting a little advanced.”

His eyes widen. “Are you saying that other humans came here, put these clothes on, wore them, and then they brought them back for other, unsuspecting people, to purchase?” The look of horror on his face would be hard for anyone not to laugh at.

“Yes,” I say. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

He shudders.

His Royal Highness can explode flowers, or people, into small bits, but the idea of wearing clothing that has touched another human being first reduces him to quivering. It makes me grin. “Alright, well, if you feel up to it.” I pluck a blue polo shirt and a couple of bold colored plain t-shirts off the rack. “Let’s try these on to get a baseline idea of what works on you and what doesn’t.”

He follows me back to the dressing room. I duck inside to hang his clothes on the rack, but before I can leave, he shuts the door.

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