Page 118 of My Dark Horse Prince

I might have overreacted that day because of my past.

Because of Martinš.

I hate the thought of that man causing my life to take shape a certain way. The thought of him damaging my future or my relationships disgusts me. But if it weren’t for him, I’d probably have forgiven Grigoriy long ago for being high-handed in the way he saved my life from the villains who came to murder me.

“Wait,” I say. “I’m about to change him.” I clear my throat. “And I guess I should probably try apologizing or whatever.”

“Do you mean you should try forgiving him?” Kristiana asks, her eyes wide. “You said you’d think about it, but I didn’t think you meant you’d decide that fast.”

“Sure,” I say. “Forgiving him, too.”

Charlemagne tilts his big, beautiful, round-cheeked head and my heart stutters just a bit. If someone told me a year ago that I’d meet a man who was strong, brave, powerful, and kind, I would have laughed in their face. If they told me he’d propose, I’d probably laugh until I wet myself. But if they told me he’d also be able to shift into the most beautiful horse I’d ever seen? I’d have called them certifiable.

But here we are. He’s standing right in front of me. I’ve let my past get in between us for too long.

I point at the stall, a pair of jeans draped over the edge.

He circles around and stands still, just his head hanging over the edge of the stall wall. I place my hand on his neck and shift him.

“You can go shower first if you want,” I say, nervous now that he’s right here in front of me. Epiphanies are great, but when life gets real, it’s hard to follow through. This is the scene in all the rom-coms when the heroine chickens out.

Only, I’ve been a professional chicken for a long time. I try to steel my nerve. The second he’s clean, I’m going to—

“I have time.” Grigoriy shrugs. “Say what you’re going to say.”

“Okay, then, I guess we’ll do this now.” I sigh. “I. . .my uncle—who is also my stepdad.” None of this is coming out right.

“Martinš is a festering boil of a person,” Kristiana says. “He beat her mother for years, and then a decade ago, when Mirdza tried to intervene, he beat her half to death, shattering her leg. You already know how that’s ruined her life ever since.”

I blink.

“I heard most of that from Aleks.” Grigoriy circles around, walking barefoot out of the stall to stand right in front of me. “I’m sorry that I reminded you of him.” His lip curls even saying that, but I can tell he means it.

“It’s just that violence,” I say, “all violence, really.” I sigh. “It’s hard for me. I hate it all equally.”

“I’m sure being stabbed and tossed off a train wasn’t great either,” Grigoriy says. “I know that thinking about those men who did that to you was hard for me, and I didn’t even live it.”

I realize what he’s saying. I went through so much, all in quick succession. . .and he understands that it might have all been conflated. No wonder he’s been patient.

He’s a genius.

“I should explain something I never really elaborated on.” He tilts his head, and it looks much more natural coming from a human than from a horse. “In 1905, when I was sixteen, the Imperial forces in St. Petersburg were being swarmed by protestors. Their commander that day was young and scared. He had his guards open fire, killing a terrible number of unarmed protestors.”

Kristiana glances at me, her eyes wide. I can tell she’s wondering whether she should leave. It does feel like a pretty personal story, even though, so far, he’s telling it like he’d read a newspaper article.

“There was a large outcry, unsurprisingly, and another sequence of rebellions rapidly followed. The Czar reached out to my parents and asked them to talk to some of the insurgents. My father was quite a talented speaker, you see, and he handled a lot of negotiations for Nicholas as well.”

“I take it that plan went badly?”

“My parents were attacked, shoved into an enclosed building, and while they were still inside, Yakov Kurakin torched the place. I screamed and cried and begged and pleaded, but he couldn’t hear me. I had to watch as they burned alive.”

Oh my word.

“When you say you abhor violence, I hear what you’re saying. In my life, the only way to end the horror, the only way to protect myself and the people I care about, has been to become stronger than the people who want to inflict harm. If I’d been powerful enough that day, I could have blown the building down. I could have knocked Kurakin over. Or blown out the fire. But I knew nothing. I’d spent my time playing around instead of becoming strong.” His lip curls in disgust. “I started practicing that night, and I never stopped.”

Except now, he has no powers at all, not without touching me. Yet, he hangs back from me right now, standing several paces away, giving me my space. In the weeks since he woke from his strange sleep, he hasn’t once pressured me or badgered me to forgive him. He hasn’t even complained about being stuck as a horse almost every single day, all day.

“I’m sorry I’ve held you accountable all this time,” I say, “for a situation you didn’t create. I’m sorry that I’ve blamed you for the horror that came from it, even though it wasn’t you who made the world such an ugly place.”

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