Page 42 of Royally Drawn

Parker walked up. “What are we talking about?”

“Nothing, baby. Mind your own business,” Astrid said. “Girl things. You wouldn’t understand.”

Parker groaned before hugging me. “I am sorry we missed the running thing.”

I giggled. “Trot up or jog up, Parker. Now you get to see the fun bit, don’t worry.”

Horse Girl

KEIR

Cici was a notable favourite going into the dressage. A dressage queen—born to a literal queen—with a pedigree of nothing but horsewomen for miles, she had it all going for her. She’d been on the international stage for a decade. The British riders remained her primary competition—the home team and group with the deepest bench. I may not have knownwhenthings were happening, but I could grasp the broad strokes after growing up here.

Cici led coming out of the dressage, but waiting in the wings was a dark horse—one Princess Ingrid of Neandia—two princesses, both dressage queens, running into the balls-to-the-walls cross-country competition. And while I wish I could say I didn’t care, I was invested. Ingrid was a beautiful rider aboard her giant gelding. He was less monster and longer couch, but she made him look better than I thought possible.

“Yes, she’s good. Don’t trip over yourself,” Cici laughed as we watched Ingrid’s ride from Her Majesty’s box.

“What?” I tried to deny I was watching her like anything other than just another competitor.

“You were so surprised she’d even be riding yesterday. She’sremarkable—confident, strong, and has an amazing leg. I wish I had her Velcro skills. She could sit a bull.”

I tried not to think about her sittinganythingat present.

“I’d love to see that,” Duncan chuckled.

Upon hearing I was out here, Duncan came to support his cousin in her quest for her first Badminton win. That was what he was telling people anyway. I had a feeling it was because Ingrid was here.

“She’s ababy, Duncan. Be good,” my uncle said. “I heard you threw the poor girl overboard.”

“It sounds so intense when you say it like that. It was all in good fun.”

Betty turned around from the row in front of us. “Until she lost her top!”

“She lost her top?” Lucy Ferguson, the Queen’s best mate, asked.

“For the record, I doubt she’d like us discussing this,” I said, feeling strangely protective of Ingrid.

“She did,” Duncan snickered. “And then Lars and Keir jumped in to assist. They couldn’t. In her infinite wisdom, Leah threw her hat in the ring by throwinghertop to Ingrid.”

“Can we stop talking about this and focus on the work Ingrid is doing?” I asked. “She’s doing some… dance thing.”

“It’s a bloody passage!” Betty said, annoyed. “Good God, you’re useless!”

I threw Betty’s bright red ponytail over her head. “Okay, horse girl.”

She shook her head and slapped at me, not turning away from the competition. As much as she protested about adulthood, Betty would always and forever be my lovely, sweet, horse-crazy baby sister—our family mascot and one who brought us together when we frayed at the edges.

“She’s going to get top marks with that transition,” Aunt Kiersten mooned. “Better than yours, Cici.”

“He has the impulsion to make it easier,” Cici protested. “Warmbloods, you know?”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Warmbloods are superior in dressage,” Betty explained. They arebuilt for it. Over fences, they are bigger, rounder, and slower. And they tend to break down faster. That’s why Irish Sport Horses and Thoroughbreds make up most of this field. Kraken is a Trakehner, but he’s been a beast.”

“He does beautifully in the dressage,” Aunt Kiersten sighed as if she were about to die of happiness.

“And he’s an old gentleman over fences,” Cici said. “He’s taught Ingrid so much. She’s supercharged with Kraken. I was over the moon when Alexandra purchased him. She earned a proper mount. I watched her in a rodeo on a greenie two years ago. She may have been crying and swearing, but she never came off and kept riding. That horse had a dreadful habit of dumping riders.”

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