Page 100 of My Dark Horse Prince

He keeps stroking my hair like nothing crazy is happening at all. “She’s a terrible mother.”

I laugh then, but it doesn’t sound happy at all. “I’m a crazy person.”

“You’re not crazy. You’re complex, and that’s one of the things I like the most about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he continues. “My life hasn’t been simple, either. My parents died in front of me when I was sixteen, and I couldn’t save them. I had to learn how to master my magic and step into my role of ruling our people from my uncle, who wasn’t magical. Shortly after I felt like I had a handle on things, I was cursed and stuck in an uneasy sleep-that-wasn’t-sleep for more than a hundred years.”

“That’s nothing like my life.”

“But you understand that things can be very black and white.”

“Everyone understands that,” I say.

“At the same time.”

“That’s just grey.”

“Not quite, no. Your mom’s terrible, and she isn’t terrible. The world is good, and it isn’t good. The light is bright, and it also creates shadows. Dark only exists because light also does. You probably appreciate your leg more because it doesn’t work quite right. You understand the complexities and confusions of the world that most girls never will.”

Before I can reply, there’s a loud crash from somewhere inside the apartment. I don’t even think. My hand just yanks the handle open, and I’m rushing inside, my heart galloping at a dead sprint as my legs desperately try to catch up. Grigoriy reaches the door before me, and as I push it open, he takes my hand.

I know why, and I should pull away.

But I don’t.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Why is she here?” Martinš asks.

“My mother’s moving in with me,” I say. “Didn’t you hear?”

He frowns. “That was a misunderstanding. She’s decided to stay.”

My heart sinks even though I knew this would happen.

Only, behind him, Adriana’s still gathering up Mom’s things as if she doesn’t know it’s not happening. And then Mom’s head pops out from behind the back door. She looks. . .resolved.

“Where are you going?” Martinš asks. “I told you. I already went to the store.”

“I’m moving in with Mirdza,” she says, her chin lifted. “She needs help, since she just had surgery.”

“She ran in here without crutches or a brace,” Martinš says. “She’s clearly fine.”

“You’re supposed to pretend to believe them,” Grigoriy says. “It’s the only way for you to keep a scrap of pride.” He’s staring at Martinš like he’s a particularly vile bug.

“Who are you?” Martinš spits on the floor. The floor that, if my mom doesn’t come with us, she’ll have to mop up later.

“Does it matter?” Grigoriy asks. “I doubt we’ll have much to do with one another after today.”

Martinš straightens up, his brows drawing together. “You’re standing in the doorway of my place. Tell me your name.”

“I’m your step-daughter’s fiancé, if you must know. I’m Grigoriy Khilkov, Prince of Dolgovo.”

Mom gasps.

“That sounds just as cool the second time,” Adriana says. “Especially since now I know it’s actually true.”

“A filthy Russian,” Martinš says.

“Wait, he’s a prince?” Mom asks.

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