Page 83 of My Wild Horse King

He sighs. “Maybe.”

“He’s murdering dictators, but only so he can steal their countries. That’s sort of his MO. He justifies the bad things he does by doing them to bad people.”

“So he is a bad man,” Gustav says. “I’m just wondering how bad he really is.”

“Don’t wonder,” I say. “If you do, you might hesitate when it matters. He’s bad. Really, really bad.”

“But if stopping him makes you hate me, is it worth it?” Gustav’s last words haunt me. It must be the reason I toss and turn with disturbing dreams all night.

22

GUSTAV

Iremember almost nothing from the night I spend sharing a bed with Katerina. Her whimpers did wake me up at one point, and I recall running my hand over the back of her head in what I hoped was a comforting manner. “It’s alright,” I whispered. “Everything’s okay.”

I wasn’t at all sure it was true, but I hoped.

The next morning, when I wake up, I’m wrapped around her body like a pipe cleaner antenna twisted around a paper mâché butterfly. I want to spring away and claim I had nothing to do with it. The mattress—it must have sloped after all.

Instead, though, I flex a little bit in an attempt to stretch without waking her, because holding her feelssogood. It feels better than beating my cousin in chess. It feels better than graduating summa cum laude. It feels better than counting stacks of cash—better even than depositing them in the bank.

It feels like I’m home again.

I haven’t felt like that since my mom died.

She’s warm, and she’s small and soft and pliant, all at the same time. I never want to let her go. Which is insane. She’s a woman who was born in the early nineteen hundreds and can turn into ahorse, and if she ever gets her powers back, she could shock the ever-loving tar out of me for touching her at all, from what they say.

But in this moment, her face looks so delicate and so vulnerable, with tiny, almost translucent circles under her eyes. I can’t help seeing her eyes, alive and sparkling in bright, eye-catching green with tiny golden flecks. Her russet lashes rest on her pale cheek, dusted with just a handful of freckles.

I want to shift my arm and brush the edges of them with my fingers, but that would end this moment, so I don’t risk it. I simply exhale, my breath washing over her face like I’m claiming her, which is ridiculous.

She’s been in love with Alexei her entire life.

It’s not like she wants anything to do with me. I’m not regal, I’m not commanding, and I have no idea how to use any of these powers they’re all obsessed with me gaining control of. For all I know, even if we do find these journals, they’ll say absolutely nothing of value. With a maniac coming our way, probably bent on destroying me, I should steer very clear of Katerina. I should send her to Iceland.

Instead, I kept her here.

And depending on who I talk to, that maniac may be in love with her.

I think that’s my biggest motivator, honestly.

As I look at her, so innocent, lost in sleep, I can’t help wanting to protect her. No one ever has. Not her father, who should have, not the mother she never knew, and certainly not the great and vaunted Alexei, who used her like a social shield and cast her aside when it was no longer convenient. Not Leonid, who was her servant and then stole her powers and then quickly became her master, forcing her to do anything he wanted.

As much as I’ve worked to regain, she’s lost. Her home, her sense of belonging, and any ability to protect herself. She’s had to rely on the whims of others and her ability to please them to stay safe.

I hated trying to please others more than anything.

Trying to please Grandfather with every word and action, in the hopes that he would give me the keys to the kingdom. Even the company I built from the ground up is only really a success if he declares it to be. I’ve hated how every part of my life has been wrapped around gaining his admiration, his acceptance, and his approval.

I wish I was strong enough to protect Katerina as she deserves, but I can’t even keep myself safe. In disgust, I pull my arms back, retreating to my side of the bed.

Katerina’s eyes open almost immediately. “What time is it?”

I slide off the bed and stand, glancing at my phone on the nightstand. “Nearly seven a.m.”

“Oh, no,” she says. “We need to practice.”

“The rodeo isn’t until this afternoon,” I remind her.

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