Page 47 of The Prince of New York

“I don’t have a Jutland yet,” he complained. “Denmark won’t sell me one. This is completely unfair.”

One day, I might understand him, maybe. “And his registration confirms he’s really my horse?”

“That’s correct. It appears the registration was updated four weeks ago. They must have transported him by ship, as there’s no record of him taking a flight. Flights are usually marked with the registration to help better track animal imports.”

That explained why my mother would have been complaining about having to take care of the animal. If they’d transported him by ship, he would have been stuck in a stall the entire time, requiring a great deal of attention to remain sound. “Daphne, please tell Dr. Stanton he might be barn sour from a long overseas venture.”

It happened sometimes. Lengthy confinement could result in a horse refusing to leave their stalls to go out to pasture readily—or work to return to their stall.

“I’m impressed you know about barn souring,” His Royal Majesty of Montana commented.

“Saoirse barn soured whenever I left on trips and couldn’t handle his care. I usually was able to resolve it within a week of coming home, but if I was gone for more than two or three days at a time, he’d sour and refuse to work with anybody. His stall was his safe space. With my parents involved? I will not be surprised if Thunder is sour.”

“Daphne can handle working with a soured horse, so try not to worry about it. Daphne?”

“I’ll take care of it, and I’ll pass along recommendations in case he does prove to be sour. Since he has cleared his health checks, I’ll have them put him out into the corral for now so he can get used to having some space and stretch his legs.”

Terry lifted his hand and requested that someone arrange for the construction workers to set up a dedicated pasture for Thunder.

I foresaw the entirety of the palace grounds going to the horses by the time we were done. “Will it be okay to take him to California?”

“He’ll be safe on the palace grounds, and I’ll go ahead and warn California about the importance of your stud—and I’ll ask about collecting him. He hasn’t been collected yet, and his genetics are too important to leave to chance. Do you know about semen storage, Ian?”

“I have an account with a company in Texas. King Patrick collected Saoirse before gelding him.”

“Ah. Do you want a foal? If so, I can handle all the details and get a line on a recip and a donor mare.”

What on Earth was the king talking about? “A what and a what?”

“A recipient mare is a mare who carries babies for other mares. A donor mare will be the biological mother of your foal. It’s a bunch of paperwork and things you don’t have time to handle right now, and I’m an old hand at it. I know how much you loved your gelding, and having a little one under foot will be good for you. Some registries don’t allow it, but most people don’t care about that when they’re after a heart horse.”

Ah. His Royal Majesty of Montana wanted me to have a horse I felt was truly mine, from conception with no strings attached.

King Patrick of Texas had said as much when handing over the paperwork for Saoirse’s semen. “Terry, can you ask someone to get the paperwork from King Patrick? I have a copy in my safe, but it’s a biometric safe, and I wish you the best of luck getting into it.”

“I’ll handle Pat,” Montana’s king promised. “Do you want a filly or a colt? Or do you want however many viable embryos we get? With this method, we can pick the gender.”

The thought of allowing one of Saoirse’s little ones be discarded irritated me. “Is it possible to just try to breed all the viable embryos?”

“He’s a probable horse empath,” Daphne said, and the evil woman laughed at me. “He looked like you’d slapped him with that question. Ian, the technique isn’t faultless, and we run a chance of losing embryos. We can try to work with all the embryos, but if we do a bunch of collections or use frozen eggs, you might end up rolling in foals.”

“I’m sure I can find a place to board them,” I muttered.

“The palace has space for at least six of your horses,” Terry assured me. “Why not try for six embryos? That way, there are high chances of atleastone taking, and we won’t run out of stalls.”

“I’ll try for six. I’ll get on the phone with Denmark, see if I can get a line on some Jutland mares, and make the arrangements for collecting. I’ll have to ask him about the registry requirements, but frankly, with the issues the breed has been having, he probably sent Thunder over hoping I’d meddle. He would!”

After offering a goodbye, Montana’s king hung up. I bowed my head and sighed. “I’m sorry about all the trouble.”

Daphne patted my shoulder. “You’re not any trouble, Ian. My evil twerp of a cousin can’t help himself. Let those pesky monarchs amuse themselves. When foals show up, you can enjoy the good part. Just try not to fall in love with their mommies. Nothing sucks more than falling in love with a loaned recip mare and having to send her back home.” She reached forward and smacked Terry’s seat. “Order those bastards to get a move on. We’ve had enough time to scheme and cause problems. If they let us sit idle much longer, I might start getting ideas.”

“Heaven forbid,” Terry replied in a dry tone, although he did relay her suggestion that they should hit the road, else Her Royal Majesty of New York might burn the courthouse down.

Given time, she might.

Rather than mention that, I settled in for the drive, hoping traffic would show even a scrap of mercy on us.

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