Page 92 of My Dark Horse Prince

“Nice try,” Brigita says. “If you don’t want him, I can just take him back.”

“No,” I say. “I want him. And any others you want to bring so that you have an excuse to spy on my progress. Feel free to do that any time.”

Before she can react to me calling her out on her supposed generosity, a huge gust of wind rips past her, blowing her skirt almost up over her shoulders. Brigita frantically presses it down, but no matter which side she pulls, the other side goes flying up, almost as if. . .

“Grigoriy,” I hiss. “Knock it off.” Since I’m touching him, he has access to his powers, and I’m quite positive he’s messing with her.

The wind immediately dies, so I was right.

Horses can’t laugh, but I could swear his sides are shaking as if he’s huff-laughing at her frustration.

“I certainly didn’t come to check on your progress.” She rolls her eyes. “As if I even care.”

More wind gusts blow her back toward her truck and trailer, and she trots along, trying to keep her balance while somehow staying decent.

“This weather is the strangest thing,” Brigita shouts. “I hope your horse doesn’t spook and kill you. That would be a real tragedy.”

I don’t try to stop him from ushering her along. She’s far enough away this time that I can just laugh.

“That was childish.” Luckily, Buckwheat is as calm as can be, so Kris isn’t in danger. I notice that the corner of her mouth is twitching. “And pretty freaking hilarious.”

If Charlemagne sails over the tiny cross rails that afternoon with a lot more clearance than he did yesterday, well, I don’t blame him. Brigita may have come to spy, but all she did was strengthen our resolve. Maybe Kris will notice and give us larger jumps tomorrow.

As if she knows what I’m thinking, she adds an extra workout later in the same day, and we aren’t allowed to jump after it at all. When Aleksandr comes by to heal me up from my sore and aching muscles, Charlemagne follows him inside my apartment, tracking mud and debris right into my family room with his huge hooves.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “Why’s there a stallion making a mess in my house?”

Aleks shrugs. “He was grazing outside your window and followed me. I figured you knew.”

I glare, as if that will have any effect at all. “I told you to stay in the barn, or people will notice that you’re not quite normal.”

“Frankly, I think the grooms already know,” Aleksandr says. “They’ve been making a lot of jokes that he’s just like Obsidian and that Russian horses are crazy.” He shrugs. “It’s hard to disguise a Horse Lord as a regular horse to anyone who spends much time around them.”

My exasperation bubbles out. “He is a regular horse.”

“Speaking of.” Aleksandr pulls a thick white envelope out of his back pocket. “This came in today. My guy gets better and better with this stuff.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Charlemagne’s papers,” Aleks says. “Won’t you need them to register him for the World Cup?”

Duh. “Thanks.”

“I wonder whether he followed me inside because he’s sore, too,” Aleks says. “I kind of thought he might be, but it’s hard to ask.”

Charlemagne bumps Aleks’s shoulder.

I groan. “Fine. He can have his half hour right now.”

“You’re going to change him here, are you?” Aleks asks.

I nod.

“It’s just that, I think one of the grooms might have seen him walk in with me.” Aleks frowns.

Which is how it turns into a forty-minute ordeal. I have to walk him back to the barn, shift him, wait for him to change, and then walk him back to my apartment. But at least when other people are around for the thirty minutes Grigoriy spends as a human each day, I don’t feel nearly as nervous or uncomfortable as I would if we were alone. And, if I’d just changed him in my apartment, he wouldn’t have had any clothing that fit.

Once we’re back, Aleks works his magic, which really is astonishing, and then stands to leave. “It would be easier if you’d just move into that apartment above the old barn,” Aleks says. “Then you’d always be near him, in case either of you had a problem, and you wouldn’t need to go back and forth.”

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