Page 6 of My Dark Horse Prince

“Get off,” I say. “Get off the train before the ticket-taker comes and throws you in jail.”

The man’s head whips toward mine.

I want to cringe and cower and whimper. But instead, I channel every speck of Adriana in my body, and I grit my teeth, and I glare. “You don’t have a ticket, and you’re threatening a passenger. You need to go.”

A man two rows behind the mother and daughter stands up. “Leave.”

“Let her go.” Another man on the other side of the train car stands. He’s scowling.

“Sir?” An actual, honest-to-goodness ticket taker in a uniform steps through the connection and glances our way. “Is there a problem?”

The doors close, and I panic that we’ll be trapped in here with this man all the way to the next station. But the villain shakes his head, steps toward the exit, and presses the button. The door opens, and the bad man in black steps off.

Before the doors close, he turns to stare right at me.

He’s smiling, and that’s not a natural state for a villain like him. His smile isn’t full of warmth, or happiness, or generosity.

It’s a promise.

A promise I hope he’ll never have the chance to fulfill.

My blood runs cold in my veins, but when I sit down, the train starts to move, and we’re all on it.

He’s not.

I’m shaking. The clueless woman next to me drops a wrinkled hand over mine. “My dear, are you cold?” She unwraps her head scarf and offers it to me. I can’t very well explain that I’m trembling from fear to someone this oblivious, so I thank her.

And I take it.

It’s not much, but perhaps if the man shows up in my life again, the head scarf will confuse him. It’s not like I look very different than the other people around me.

“Where are you headed, dear?” the woman asks.

I don’t really want to tell her, of course. I never share anything I don’t specifically have to, not with anyone other than Adriana, Kristiana, or a few other trusted friends. “I’m visiting my best friend. She’s staying near Novgorod.”

“How lovely,” the woman says. “We’re lucky to be having such nice weather.”

I glance outside, becoming more and more positive that this woman is insane. It’s terribly cold and it’s been raining steadily for at least twenty-five miles. “I guess.”

The old woman cackles. “You think I’m nuts, probably.”

I shrug, but I can’t help my small smile. “This isn’t what I would call nice, but the early spring rain does help things start to grow.”

“You’re in Russia, girl. It’s not snowing, so it’s nice weather.”

About five minutes later, she falls asleep, snoring softly. I can finally shift in my seat to look behind me. The woman’s whisper-singing to her daughter, who’s nearly asleep. Now that I’ve noticed what she’s doing, I can make out the words to the song.

It’s gentle.

It’s kind.

It’s reassuring.

All the things that man was not.

This mother is caring for her daughter in a way mine never did. What I said—standing up for someone I don’t even know—was monumentally stupid, but I’m proud of it anyway. It worked, and other people on the train backed me up. The little girl escaped. That’s what really matters.

Once the daughter’s asleep, I hear a soft hiss and turn around.

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