Page 83 of My Dark Horse Prince

But it is definitely not my happy place.

“This is taking forever,” I say. “We should just go.” I can call Brigita and tell her I couldn’t get cleared. I can beg off. The thought of losing Blanka makes me panic, but it’s the smart thing to do. People don’t risk their entire lives over horses. They just don’t.

Kris scowls.

“It was a stupid bargain to strike,” I say. “I should use this to back out.”

“None of those students will ever leave her barn if you do,” Kris says. “Everyone will have heard about it by now. You’ll have to figure out a new career.”

Aleks laughs. “Besides. Grigoriy will destroy her.”

It’s good that he has faith in his friend, but I’m not entirely sure it’s not misplaced.

Kris was even more adamant than Brigita that I get cleared to ride before I climb on Charlemagne. Brigita wanted to save face, or possibly she didn’t want it to come back on her if I wasn’t really safe to ride, but Kris is genuinely worried.

The problem is, I’m pretty sure I already know what the docs are going to say. No one wants to take the risk that if my leg isn’t ready, they said I’d be fine.

“Doctors are going to want to protect themselves,” I say. “It’s their job. It’s not as bad here as it is in the United States, but what does it benefit them to clear me?”

“Maybe with Aleksandr’s help, your leg healed better than we thought it could,” Kristiana says. “Maybe there won’t be any risks, and then we can all sleep well at night while you practice.”

“You can already sleep well.” I look pointedly at Aleks. “You have a big, hot—”

She slaps me right as a nurse finally shows up. “We’re ready to take you back for your scans.”

I wasn’t nervous in Russia, where apparently the mafia was already actively looking for me, but for some reason, I’m terrified right now. As I’m sitting utterly still, I realize the reason.

I’m hopeful.

I hate admitting it, even to myself, but like Kris, I’m desperately hoping that the surgery went better than stupid Dr. Hubert thought. He was the best of the best at orthopedic surgery, even if he was a gross human being. What if he thought it wasn’t good enough, what if he thought it was a failure, but what if really, it’s mostly fine?

Besides, with magical assistance in my recovery, could the bones have fused better than they would have, healing the slow and miserable way? The doctor said something about bone edema and infection risk and space around the screws and blah blah blah. Without any of that, maybe my leg’s more stable than they thought it could be.

I’m trying to rein myself in, but it’s not working very well. I’m not admitting it to Kris, but part of me is happy to be here: desperately hoping yet again for a miracle.

Because I’m greedy.

I don’t just want to win Blanka back.

Watching her sailing over those jumps with Brigita on her back, my old dream to ride in the Olympics flared up again. My jealousy that Brigita can do with my angel horse what I never can was practically a tangible thing.

Because if I can’t ride her, am I even justified in taking her back from Brigita? As much as any I’ve ever seen, my horse loves to jump. She’s always been so talented, it’s almost cruel for me to keep her from achieving whatever she can, from living her best life.

I’m tired of being in the way of everyone else because of my limitations. So when the doctor finally shows up in the room where we’re waiting, I’m equal parts hope and desperation.

I hate every second of this agony.

Unlike Dr. Hubert, this guy sits down, sighs slowly, wheels a little closer to me on his tiny stool, adjusts his glasses, and then clears his throat.

“What’s the news?” Kris asks. “How did it heal up? Can she ride horses again?”

He flips his chart open and starts to look at something intently.

“Doctor,” Aleks says.

His head whips up. “You say your surgeon did this how long ago?”

I swallow. “Three months.” That’s how long he said my recovery should take, and with Aleks healing me, it seemed best to go with that.

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