Page 283 of Dragon Slayer

Ah, yes. They had an escort. Sergeant Ramirez waited a few paces away, arms folded, expression one of tense, studied disinterest. She was dressed to ride as well, her ensemble entirely black, a gun strapped to her hip.

“What’s she doing here?” Val asked.

Mia huffed an annoyed breath and said, “Babysitter.”

“Sergeant Ramirez will be escorting us,” Vlad said, and Val wondered if Ramirez knew how dangerous that tone was. “Apparently, she’s the only military person here who can sit a horse and manage to stay on.”

“I rode jumpers in high school,” the woman said icily. “I can sit a horse just fine.”

Vlad smiled – but it wasn’t a smile at all, just a brief flash of fangs. “We shall see. Come.” And all of them followed him like the prince he still was.

~*~

The stable was made of the same pale stone as the manor. The interior had been designed in the European style, with big box stalls paneled in tongue-and-groove and iron grillwork, U-shaped openings through which the horses could hang their heads and see who was walking up the brickwork aisle.

And the heads that hung over the doors weren’t the tame cattle or plow horses she’d been expecting, but sleek warmbloods with trimmed manes and shiny coats. And someone had consulted with the staff about proper care of them; Mia spotted brand new plastic water buckets, slowly-spinning upscale fans overhead, and even saw a few bales of alfalfa peeking out of a cracked-open feed room door.

“Like I said,” Ramirez said, and Mia sent her a sharp look. “I rode jumpers in high school.”

“You don’t have to be so defensive about it, though.”

The other woman strode on down the aisle without reaction.

“How unpleasant,” Val said, lightly, and Mia tightened her arm where it was looped through his. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he’d been shaky on the walk down from the manor. She was glad to have him in out of the sun; now it was time to find him a horse that wouldn’t try to buck him off. He could have been the best horseman in the world, but he hadn’t ridden in centuries, and there was no way his watery muscles could hold him on in the event of a bucking bronco incident.

“When Vlad says ‘jump,’ they really say ‘how high,’ don’t they?” she said, towing Val along the stall fronts, determined to push all thoughts of her father and his experiments and staff out of her mind. This morning was, so far, a kind of perfect she hadn’t dreamed of when Val first appeared in her living room, and she wasn’t going to waste it fretting.

He chuckled, and brought his hand up to cover the back of hers. His skin was soft save a distinct callus in the center of his palm; from holding the bars, she thought. Maybe even calling through them for food, or help, or mercy. She shuddered, and he gave her hand a squeeze in acknowledgement, tone determinedly cheerful when he said, “Everyone always has, ever since he was a boy. All save his tutors – whether it was people Father hired, or the mullahs, those men weren’t all that impressed.”

Mia snuck a glance at the prince and found him pushing back the door to a stall that held a tall, rangy black horse with a fat blaze down its face. The horse greeted Vlad with a few whuffed breaths and a gentle touch of his nose. Vlad cupped its jaw and murmured something low, haltering it with the ease of someone who, though royalty, was well familiar with saddling his own animals. It was a small checkmark in his favor.

She turned her attention back to Val. “See someone you like?”

“Maybe. Just up there.”

The next stall held a lovely dappled gray mare with big, square knees and a thick neck. A sturdy hunter, from the looks of her, with massive hooves…and gentle, liquid brown eyes. She watched them approach with calm attentiveness.

Val lifted his free hand and offered his palm for her to sniff. “Hello, lovely.”

She stepped up closer, thrusting her head fully over the stall door, so she could sniff Val’s shoulder and face.

Val’s resultant smile was beatific.

Mia thought of Brando seeing him, of her horse’s quiet, curious regard of him. A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed it down. “You’re a natural, aren’t you?” she murmured.

“There’s only a few things I’m good at,” Val murmured, gaze far away. “This is by far the best of them.”

~*~

Behind the stable lay a patch of flat ground, freshly-mown, glittering with dew drops. They started there, just to let Val get reacquainted with his “horse legs,” as Mia put it with a smile.

He couldn’t bring himself to believe this was anything besides a dream until he was seated in the saddle, reins drawn between careful fingers. He closed his eyes a moment, breathed in the scents of saddle soap and clean horses. Felt the mare’s steady breaths, her ribs expanding against his calves. Her skin rippled beneath the touch of a fly, and he opened his eyes and squeezed her gently forward.

As a boy, he’d favored fleet-footed Arabs, but as a man and a warrior, he’d ridden the heavy destriers better suited to carrying an armored soldier. That’s what this girl reminded him of, with her solid, swaying gait, sure of herself and unhurried. They’d found a stall chart in the tack room, and apparently her name was Gin Fizz – a Trakehner, which Mia had informed him was a very kind and eager-to-please German breed.

So far so good. She lengthened her walking stride with the softest pressure from his heels, stretching her neck politely down and forward, testing his grip on the reins. She steered into a circle with a thought, following his shifting weight as he turned his head. He was shaking, and he couldn’t decide if he was already weakening, or if it was simple joy. He was riding again.Riding.

He urged Gin into a trot, and she obliged immediately, her gait huge and swinging. Sitting was hopeless, given the current state of his core muscles, and he bounced in the saddle. But he laughed, bright peals that echoed off the surrounding tree trunks. This was perfect.

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