Page 43 of The Prince of New York

Stallions who couldn’t learn their manners didn’t stay stallions for long.

I stared at Daphne with wide eyes. “Am I hallucinating again?”

“You are not hallucinating,” she replied, offering a smile. “I feel like I should be asking the same question, but I pinched myself three times, and nothing changed. I even closed my eyes, shook my head, and tried to find anything unrealistic about the situation. I’m pretty sure what just happened is real.” She peered into the trailer, eyeing the other stalls. “There are a lot of boxes here, and they elevated them so there was no chance of piss ruining them. Their accomplice must know enough about hauling horses to understand they aren’t exactly tidy animals during transit.”

“Want to drive the stolen truck?” I asked, and I grinned at her. “I’ll take shotgun.”

“I’ll even help you find out who stole it, get it cleaned up, and return it. I’ll blame my cousin. I’m sure he’ll love it, especially when I tell him that gem about your parents wanting to marry him off to Rachel. Worse, had he not met Mackenzie, I could see him agreeing to such a proposal. She’s just as well liked as you are. Sorry, Ian, you’re not the twerp’s type.”

“I view that as a good thing.” I gave Thunder another round of petting, dared to give the animal a kiss on his nose, and made certain he was secure before closing the back doors into the trailer. “I wonder if they’ll let me take him to California.”

“The palace grounds has a stable, and I bet if we warn them today, they can set up a quarantine pasture near where they keep the palace horses. He won’t have a lot of space, but you’d be able to visit him daily and take him on walks around the grounds. But isn’t Dr. Stanton here?”

“She is.”

“She can verify if he’s sick with anything. Her talent works on horses, too. She doesn’t do treatment plans, but she can identify all the major illnesses we quarantine for and certify him as healthy.” Daphne patted my shoulder and shoved me in the direction of the passenger side. “Melt something metal at the palace. We can’t leave this poor baby waiting too long. He’s had a rough day.”

“He’s been suffering for more than a day, assuming he has had to deal with those assholes,” I muttered.

“I’m not going to disagree with that. I’m sure your baby boy will be all right. Is this your first rodeo with a stallion? I remember you had a horse, but I can’t remember if he was gelded.”

“Saoirse was a gelding. Had he been a stallion, my parents would have abused breeding him for profit, I’m sure.”

Unbeknownst to my parents, King Patrick of Texas had figured out a way to get around that issue, too. One day, if I wanted a piece of my old horse, I could. All it would take was a little science, a fertile mare of the same breed, and putting in a request for the frozen semen.

Daphne huffed and puffed her irritation over the reality of the situation. “Jutlands are a rare horse breed, so you’ll want to participate in a breeding program, assuming we can source any mares. You’re literally the only Jutland owner in the Royal States right now. It’s a dying breed. City life doesn’t suit them, and the beer companies over in Denmark only need so many animals. Add in that your boy is a black rather than the typical chestnut, and I’m not surprised. Black Jutlands are rare.”

If Daphne said a horse was rare, I believed her. I climbed into the truck, waiting for her to get behind the wheel. “But why would they give me a rare horse, Daphne?”

“I don’t know. I suspect it’s because of their accomplice. Thunder is probably an attempt to open negotiations with another kingdom, and because he’s being gifted to you from your asshole parents, you’re able to initiate contact or not as you see fit.” She frowned. “It’s actually political brilliance. By giving you the horse without any strings attached, you can approach the negotiating table able to maneuver as you see fit. Whomever sent you him, likely from Denmark or somewhere in Europe, is worried about the terrorist group—and feels you’re one of their best bets to resolve it.” She scowled, drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, and shot a glare in Terry’s direction, who stood between us and his SUV, waving his fist. She lifted her hand to her ear and said, “Bite me, asshole! I have kidnapped this prince fair and square, and you can have him back at the palace, assuming we are met by Dr. Stanton to confirm Thunder is healthy. I’ll make up for driving and having two heirs running wild without an agent in the truck through arranging for Thunder to be transported to California. You can’t separate the sad little prince from his horse, Terry. He’ll cry. I am not up for dealing with Ian crying because we hurt his feelings.”

“My feelings are already hurt. After we drop Thunder off, we need to meet my sister at the courthouse,” I muttered.

“And yes, Ian is aware we’ll be dropping Thunder off, where he’ll deal with his intake and review while we go to the courthouse. I’ve decided I’m accompanying him to the courthouse. If that bastard who hurt his woman is there, I will deal with him personally!”

She would, and it would be a bloody mess accompanied by the stench of scorched blood, hair, and flesh. “Let’s try to avoid that if at all possible. I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

Daphne grinned at me. “It’ll be fine, Terry. It’s not that far, and I can handle the truck. Ian could have handled it, too. He’s one of the more manly princes. Working the junkyard was good for his skills, and you know it. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Fine, hold on.” Rolling her eyes, she lowered her hand from her ear. “Ian, please tell me where some of the metal you need to work on is at. Terry will have some agents load the SUVs so you can do some work at the palace tonight.”

I could understand why Terry would worry, and to prevent the RPS agent from dealing with a meltdown, I told her where to get the items I wanted to scrap and where I kept my molds. “I want to work through roughly eight hundred pounds of material tonight, so they can use my scale where the stuff is at to pick out the right weight of components. Just throw everything into a box and warn them to wear gloves. The edges are quite sharp. I’ll also need my gloves, which are with the molds.”

“You got it,” she replied before relaying everything to Terry. “There. The RPS will take care of moving things to the palace, and Dr. Stanton can monitor your talent usage directly, which will please all those worry warts. With that out of the way, are you all right? I saw you put some serious thought into frying them when you realized they really were there.”

“Had I been that obvious?”

“You went ice cold. They might not have realized how close to death they came, but Terry was worried, especially as they’d gone out of the way to make their approach as peaceful as possible. You’ll need therapy, but you made the right calls. Good job. They’re unfortunately right about the situation: they’re worth far more alive than dead. If there’s a new terrorist group out to worsen the caste situation, we need to stop them.”

“And I’m their ideal target,” I muttered. “It seems odd that they’re not willing to kill non-royal bonds to free up the royals.”

“There are too many lethal empathy bonds among royalty now. They’ll probably want to keep some lower caste breeders around for talents like yours, one step below incompatible with life.” Daphne shot me a look, the kind that made me worry she understood more than I wanted her to. “I can’t tell if you’re just damned humble or you have no idea you’re a single misstep from a rather explosive death—and not like your brother was. You’d make your brother look like a candle compared to your MOAB.”

“Seriously, Daphne? Couldn’t you have used a bonfire?”

“No. Your talent is beyond any mere bonfire. You could light up this entire junkyard and melt it to slag if you wanted, and you’d have the whole place destroyed in a minute or less. My twerp of a cousin asked me to review the footage from North Dakota and try my hand at talent evaluations on your ability. Give it to me straight. Could you do what Rachel did in California?”

“I could do it without a single singe and in a fraction of the time,” I confessed.

“That’s what I thought. You would have if she hadn’t beaten you there.”

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