Page 112 of My Dark Horse Prince

“I mean, I can’t really—”

A terrible screaming whinny comes from across the yard, and I realize that Charlemagne’s racing toward us, his tail shooting up and outward, his mane flowing out behind him, his nostrils flaring. He dead sprints until right before he reaches the car and barely manages to stop before plowing into us.

Danils throws the car into reverse and starts to back up.

“Wait,” I say. “It’s fine. That’s my horse.”

“That’s. . . What?!”

“He gets worried whenever I leave,” I say. “But honestly, it’s fine. He must have realized I was back.”

It takes a little more finagling, but finally Danils lets me go, pulling down the drive slowly with a lot of backward glances. The second I’m out of the car, Charlemagne latches onto my sleeve with his teeth and won’t release me.

“Just let me put these away, and then I’ll follow you to the barn to talk.”

He stamps his foot.

“No, I won’t go hide in my apartment. I’m just going to put these away, and I’ll join you, okay?”

He fumes, but he releases me.

My leg had a bit of a rest in the car, but not enough. It’s cramping when I finally get the groceries put away, and I hobble into my room for a moment to sit down. When I pull the blinds up, there’s a horse head pressed up against the glass.

I nearly fall over on my butt. “Charlemagne!” I slam my hand against the glass and he backs up. One inch.

“Oh, for the love. I’m coming, alright?”

Two minutes later, I hobble my way outside.

“My leg hurts, you jerk.” I slap his powerful chest.

He drops down to that weird horse-kneeling pose that he did on the very first morning in Russia, tossing his head.

I reluctantly climb onto his back because he’s agitated enough already. Since he’s the one insisting I do this debriefing, he may as well make it easier on me by giving me a ride.

But by the time we reach the barn, he doesn’t look any less upset. I slide off his back, but he’s still tossing his head, neighing, and nostril-flaring—generally being a big, fat baby.

“If you don’t cool off, I’m going to leave you a horse and just walk back to my apartment.” I put my hands on my hips.

It takes a moment, but he finally calms. He even sniffs pointedly once, which I take as a sign that he’ll be polite. I point at the stall where he hides when I shift him, for decency’s sake. Horses can apparently roll their eyes, which almost makes me laugh.

The very second he’s human, he yanks the pants hanging over the stall on and comes shooting around the corner. It’s hard for me to focus on what he’s saying when I’m staring at beautifully full and rounded pectoral muscles, which are currently bouncing as he trots toward me, and gleaming abdominal muscles, all shifting in perfectly sculpted lines.

“Mirdza!”

“What?” I force my eyes to his face.

“Are you even listening?

“Huh?”

“I humiliated that man, and then you just get in a car with him?”

“He heard we broke up,” I say. “He was just being friendly and offering me a ride when my arms were full of groceries. Actually, if you must know, he saved me.”

While Grigoriy splutters, I go back to ogling his shiny, beautiful muscles.

“When did we break up?”

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