Page 87 of My Dark Horse Prince

My leg may not work right, and it may still make my life harder, but I’m proud of who I am, and I can look myself in the mirror without guilt. Even if standing up for that poor woman was futile in the end, I’m still glad I did it.

I let Martinš turn me into a coward for far too long.

It’s time for Mirdza Strelkova to be brave again. I unbuckle my seatbelt, and march—as smoothly as I possibly can—toward the old barn where Charlemagne’s staying. I stumble once, okay, maybe twice, but I keep going. And finally, I reach the front.

But there’s no horse inside.

Where in the world is he?

A lot of my pep and resolve has fizzled by the time I find him, grazing on the lush green section of grass that no horses have access to in front of the back pasture. I can’t help rolling my eyes.

“Really?”

His head whips around.

“I let you out in the morning and all night. You have to escape from your stall in the afternoon, too?”

His ears swivel around, and I realize he’s hoping someone else is around to defend him.

“It’s just me, your Royal Prince. There’s no one else around to save you.” I put one hand on my hip. “The good news is, no one else caught you. How am I supposed to explain that you, of all the horses on the property, don’t need to be kept inside a fence?”

He snorts, and I know what he’s thinking. Obsidian isn’t ever tied or restrained.

“But Aleks can change himself into a man when he needs to,” I say. “So it’s not the same.”

He walks toward the barn, head down, almost chagrined-looking, for a horse.

“Wait.” I clear my throat. At least there are bushes here he can stand behind. Maybe I should just ask him out here. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”

He freezes, his entire body utterly still.

“Just for a minute.”

The thought of being face-to-face with Grigoriy, not Charlemagne, brings back all the memories. He’s slicing throats. He’s fighting with Yevginiy.

He’s ignoring me completely to destroy.

A shudder runs through my entire body, but I will it to stop. I won’t think about that, not right now. What I have to focus on is asking him to do me this favor. Asking for his help, in a form where I can be totally sure of his answer.

“I’m only changing you so I can talk to you—so I can make sure you’re willing to do this. Then I need to change you right back. Okay?”

He stares at me for a moment, and then he nods.

I point to a big bush that’s finally filling back out, thanks to the spring rains. “Go stand there. That should be enough to keep things mostly decent.”

He circles around and then arcs his head toward me, ears up.

I place one hand on his neck, trying not to think about what he’s about to be—a huge naked man with the power to knock over every tree and building in the area. A man who can and has murdered lots of people.

Another shudder.

I must focus. I have to do this. I’m the one asking a favor. I close my eyes and say, “I wish you were a man.”

And then he is.

I didn’t see it happen, because I’m looking away from him, but my hand’s suddenly against a very warm, very smooth neck.

I yank it back.

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