Page 14 of Off-Limits To The Crown Prince

‘He was inclined in the past to be more reckless than is good for him. He’s fearless when sometimes he should be cautious.’ Alessio stroked his horse’s nose. ‘He’s settled since I’ve owned him. Is a champion in all ways.’

Alessio had been fearless too, once. She wondered what had happened to him and his showjumping. The reasons he’d stopped had been lost in the annals of history, the internet only briefly mentioning his riding. It was as though that part of him had been scrubbed away. But she remembered him. He’d left her breathless, even then. She had scoured the internet for videos of his events. Watching him over and over. Why give it all away when he was rising to the top of an elite field with everything ahead of him?

‘Would you compete again? With Apollo?’

‘I have a country to rule. There is no time for anything else.’ Alessio’s eyes were bleak and distant. He cleared his throat, nodded to the little grey. ‘We should ride. We don’t have much time, and a dinner tonight to ready ourselves for.’

The dinner. Of course. Though she wondered how much time he thought she needed to get ready, because it was hours away yet.

They mounted their horses with the assistance of the groom, and she settled herself into the saddle, the warmth of the animal’s body seeping into her. Familiar and heartbreaking in so many ways but exhilarating in others. The sensation washed over her again, here, up high. Of being capable of anything. That was how she’d felt once. As if life were full of promise rather than weighed down by reality.

How she wished she could be that sixteen-year-old girl again. To have the freedom and belief that everything would always be okay. To have the hope for life and love, rather than the inevitability that loss was always the risk when you loved another. She had taken years to contemplate dating, at Sue’s encouragement. She’d been introduced to someone who might not have made her heart race but seemed kind. Solid and safe. She had thought there was something there, allowed herself the tiniest shred of hope that there was a future worth waiting for. Only to have it crushed when he had said art took up too much of her time. He had wanted some fun, and that it was painting or him. As if she could stop something that was intrinsic to her being. And with his words, any hope had died too. It was an unacceptable risk now. The prickle in her eyes and sting in the back of her nose warned of tears. The grief bubbling close, especially here. Of what she’d lost, sure, but also of what might have been. She took a deep breath, steadied herself. Loosened her grip on the reins and tried to relax a bit.

This fortnight was a job. This moment, a simple ride on a sweet mare with a subject she was supposed to paint. Nothing more. And that subject looked incomparable astride his horse, Apollo prancing in anticipation of leaving the stables, Alessio’s control light, brilliant.

‘He’s impatient to get going,’ she said.

‘Always.’ Hannah wondered if he was talking about his horse or himself—both looked outside the stable doors as if they wanted to bolt and never return. ‘Are you ready?’

She nodded, the unsettled queasiness still rumbling around her stomach. Alessio walked them out of the stables and she rode beside him, the rhythm of it all familiar and as comforting as it was heartbreaking.

‘I’m surprised Stefano isn’t here with us.’

Alessio snorted and his horse flicked and twisted his ears, as attuned to his rider as his rider was to him. ‘You’d never see him on the back of a horse. I think he’s afraid of them, but he denies it. Are you comfortable riding faster than a walk? Apollo needs to move.’

She nodded and Alessio nudged his horse into a trot. She followed, settling into the rise and fall of it. She pulled in beside him, keeping up easily. He’d been right. She might be a little rusty, taking a while to learn her horse’s stride whereas once it would have almost been instinctive, but she hadn’t forgotten, even after all these years.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked. They curved along a path, the sound of the horses’ hooves thumping on the ground in a soothing rhythm. If she had her bearings right, they were riding out into the view she saw from her window each day.

‘Through the vines, out past the olive grove, then circling back. It should take about an hour and there’s space if you feel confident enough to let the horses gallop.’

She felt almost confident enough now, sitting up on her beautiful grey, feeling that familiar thrum of excitement, the desire to take off and be free. But she didn’t want Alessio asking questions about her experience. About why she had stopped riding too. It was so hard to hold back, when all she wanted to do was lose herself in the speed of her mount to feel as if she were flying again.

‘From the window of my room there’s an interesting little domed building amongst some trees. Can we go and see it?’

She didn’t miss the slight tightening of his hands on the reins. The way his horse became restive and tossed his head. Broke his even stride. Alessio murmured softly in Italian. Almost like an apology to Apollo for disturbing him. Then he glanced back at her.

‘The pavilion.Ovviamente. Of course.’

He led the way past some low fences, towards the grapevines burgeoning with fruit where a few people worked.

‘Do you ever jump these?’ She nodded to some little gates obstructing the gravel path to the stables. Alessio gave an almost smile. The merest tilt of his lips. Something distant and somehow...wistful.

He turned to her, and her fingers itched for the scratch of pencil on paper, to catch the question in his eyes, the curve of his mouth. The certainty in the way he held himself, that this was his rightful place and destiny. Whilst the idea of a blank canvas had terrified her before, she could see this. How she’d shape the paint to fit him, his body owning the canvas as he owned this land.

‘Sì.My horses are all able.’ The people in the vines ahead of them raised their hands and waved. He waved back. ‘I may need to speak to my vigneron later. About the harvest.’

‘Everything going well?’

‘It looks to be a good vintage. A perfect showpiece for our country’s wine industry, and what it can achieve.’ He said the words with steel-edged pride, as if it was a personal achievement.

They rode on into the shade of some glorious old olives, gnarled and ancient, the dappled sun warm on her skin, the scent of earth and horse everywhere. She’d forgotten the joy of this, the simple pleasures of riding in nature.

‘The countryside is beautiful here,’ she said. ‘I’m surprised Lasserno’s not more popular. There isn’t much advertising about its tourism.’

His shoulders stiffened. ‘It’s a hidden treasure but people think we’re a poor cousin of Italy, no matter the natural beauty and riches. We’ve been undervalued for too long, not enough made of our assets. Industries like winemaking have been left to crumble and waste away. I sought to change that the minute my father left the throne.’

‘Was he keen to retire?’

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