Page 94 of My Queendom for a Horse

“What are we doing?”

He turns his eyes heavenward. “Give me another moment.”

I shift a bit closer, and he clamps down on my fingers and digs his free hand into the sloppy dirt. It’s not exactly the best time to be out here, given the recent rain.

“There.” He heaves out a breath he’d been holding and stands, his hand totally covered in mud. He’s beaming, for some reason.

I drop my hand from his. “What am I looking at, exactly?”

“Stupid England and its incessant rain.” He walks toward the closest building and hunts around until he finds a spigot. Then he rinses his hand, revealing something amazing.

A glistening piece of amber.

“And it’s not just that.” There are two people walking a horse about twenty feet away, but once they’re past, he holds out his hand again, motioning for me to take it.

“It’s been much more than five minutes,” I say.

“I didn’t agree to that time limit,” he says.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I’m so mad I could punch him.

He frowns. “I mean, I did bob my head, but if I could have spoken, I’d have said I needed ten to fifteen at least.”

“Just do it.” I offer my hand.

He takes it immediately.

And I pretend I feel nothing when he touches me. No rush of adrenaline that makes my heart soar. No butterflies chasing one another around in my stomach. No sinking sensation deep down at the bottom of my belly that makes me want to drag him closer and kiss him. Hard.

None of that.

“Okay, now watch.”

Yes, I should watch. That will keep me from staring at his gorgeous mouth. At his—oh. He is doing something. I focus on the rough-hewn amber, marveling as he reshapes it effortlessly in front of me.

“Part of my power is that I can sense the inside of the stones and gems. So in addition to pulling them to me from most anywhere as long as it’s not too far away, I can also shape them, removing the imperfections and faceting the edges.”

He hands me a stunning, fiery reddish-orange stone, faceted and sparkling in the rare burst of sunlight. In the very center, there’s the fossil of a tiny butterfly, caught in the prime of its life and frozen in time forever.

“If we were anywhere but this sorry lump of rock they call Britain, I’d give you something decent.” He sighs. “But listen, I found those demantoid garnets on your land, and—”

I shake my head. “They’re yours. I’d never have found them. Don’t even think about feeling guilty. You even tried to talk to me about them, and I shut you down.”

“Kris.” His voice is different than I’m used to hearing. Gruffer, maybe? Rough around the edges.

I turn to meet his eyes. “What?”

“Sean likes you. I believe that he truly does, in his way. But he has parents who are very involved, and no matter what you do, no matter what you say or how you change, you’ll never be what they want you to be. They’ll always be there, making you feel bad about yourself.”

I shake my head. “Aleks, this is—”

“Come with me to Russia, zaychonuk,” he says. “I have no parents to tell you what to do, and from what I can tell, my old home is still palatial, but it’s a huge pile of moldering rock. You can remodel it however you want, or we can level it and build something new. I don’t care what colors or materials you pick, or how big it is, or how many stalls you put in the barn I’ll build for you.”

My throat closes off. My eyes well with tears. Even though I know this isn’t real, it still affects me.

He’s saying he’ll give me anything and everything I could ever want.

But I’d be like that butterfly. I know the real reason he wants me to leave with him—it’s not that he can’t look away from me like I can’t keep my eyes off of him.

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