Page 14 of My Dark Horse Prince

“If I climb on, will you listen to me? Will you go where I want you to go?”

When he nods his head, it doesn’t even surprise me, which shows just how crazy I’ve become. I expect him to understand me and respond in a way that makes sense.

“You’re my knight in the form of a dark bay stallion?” I arch one eyebrow. “I should climb on your back and trust that you’ll give me a ride somewhere safe? Is that really what you’re saying?”

This is absolutely bonkers, but he neighs and tosses his head again. . .and I climb on. When I put all my weight on my bad leg to swing my good leg up and over, I nearly collapse into a heap, but after a few solid seconds of blinding pain, I finally manage to clamber onto his back.

He’s utterly still and calm for the entire ordeal.

“I think we should head that way.” I point down the tracks, in the direction I was shambling before.

And he starts to walk that direction, slowly, his head turning back to look at me several times.

“I’m fine,” I say.

And then he starts to trot.

My legs squeeze to grip, and pain shoots upward from my injured one. “Ow,” I grunt.

And he drops to a walk again and sighs loudly.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I hate slowing you down.”

He shakes his head then, back and forth, as if to tell me he’s not upset. Then he neighs. His walk speeds up a bit, and I don’t complain, so he holds that speed.

It’s at least three miles before we encounter an outbuilding. I’m excited at first, but as we approach, it’s clearly abandoned. Within another half mile, we start to see more and more. I try to angle him toward a small hut with smoke curling out of the chimney, but he won’t deviate from his path.

“I think people are there.” I tug on his mane. “See, there?”

He tosses his head and neighs.

“You think that’s a bad place?” I squint. There’s a clothesline and a very old, very ramshackle old truck parked out front. “They might have a phone.”

He tosses his head again, and speeds up until it’s almost uncomfortable for me.

“Seems like you have a plan.”

He snorts.

“If you’re sure.” He whinnies softly, so I let him be.

Not half a mile farther down the road, an enormous mansion with several outbuildings comes into view. It’s made of a bright, grey stone, and there are two large onion domes on the front towers, with a huge one in the center of the building, reminding me of the architecture I’ve seen in Moscow and Saint Petersburg on churches, mostly, but also on lavish buildings and homes.

Charlemagne angles right toward it.

“Whoa.” I tug on the dark horse’s mane until he stops. “A shack may have been a bad idea, but this is for sure a bad plan. There’s no way that whoever owns that will want me knocking on their door.”

But after listening to me, he snorts and starts forward again.

“Hey.” I yank harder. “Listen here. I didn’t insist that we approach that tiny house before, so you need to listen to me here. This is a bad plan. We can’t go there.” I point at the imposing iron gate we’ve nearly reached. “Those people do not want vagrants coming and asking for help.”

But he ignores me yet again, and picks up speed until he’s trotting for the gate.

“Hey.” I’m shouting now, and pulling on his mane. Fear spikes inside of me. What’s Charlemagne’s deal? Did his owner train him to bring people to him? Is he some kind of honeytrap? “I can’t go there.”

The kind of people who own massive estates like that are people like the man on the train. My ex, Danils. Others like him.

But it’s too late. By the time the stupid stallion finally stops, we’re standing mere feet from the wrought iron gate in front of the estate, and someone has seen us.

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