Page 128 of My Dark Horse Prince

“What kind of report?” I ask.

“That you’re wearing a brace underneath your pants.”

The outline of my stupid brace is clear. There’s no way I could deny it.

“Yes,” I say. “I am.”

He shakes his head. “It’s against regulations. You’re not allowed to—”

“It’s required by her physician,” Kristiana says. “It’s not to enhance her performance. It’s to stabilize her leg.”

“And if you were participating in the Special Olympics, that would be fine,” he says. “But this is not that.” His lips compress.

“What are you saying?” Kris asks, frowning.

“She takes that off, or she forfeits.”

When I glance up at Danils, he’s smiling.

I should have known they’d report me.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I can change. I’ll ride without it.”

The official marches off.

“No way.” Kris is shaking her head. “We’ll fight it. Once they understand—”

“There’s not enough time,” I say. “And I’m Latvian, and this is Riga, or did you forget? We’re already the crappiest World Cup qualifier in Europe. They won’t risk anyone saying that one of their riders had an unfair advantage.”

Kris’s entire face contorts. “No.”

But Charlemagne stares at me steadily. And then he bobs his head up and down.

I toss his reins to Kris. “Grigoriy says it’s fine. It’s two to one.” It takes me so long to change that I’m panicking. I know they’ll post the route and rider order while I’m gone, and that’ll leave me scrambling to memorize it in my head.

What if I’m first? How will I know the route well enough?

My leg actually feels better when I return, but I know that’s deceptive. It’s easier to move, but there’s no protection from the tremendous force of every single landing. No way to keep my leg from twisting if we land wrong at all.

It’s stupid, riding without the brace.

And I plan to do it anyway.

The paper’s fluttering a bit in the light wind. Charlemagne whinnies when he sees me. I lift my hand and move as quickly as I reasonably can to reach them. Before Kris has time to start yelling at me, I snap a photo of the route and order and turn away.

I worry that Kris is going to waste all my preparation time to argue with me, but she doesn’t. She gives me some quick instruction and suggestions, and then she closes her mouth. Bless her, I’m lucky to have a friend like Kris.

I’m reviewing the pattern and looking at the ring and then checking the pattern again, trying to make my plan, when Charlemagne freezes, and then snorts. Loudly.

When I ignore him, he paws the ground and tosses his head.

Oh, for the love. “What?”

He tosses his head again, this time more pointedly. I follow his head toss until I notice two people sitting in the audience, both wearing unrelieved black.

“Okay. There are two men there. Should I be worried any time I see two men, sitting near one another?” I arch one eyebrow. “Do they look like your old friends?”

He whinnies so loudly that his nostrils expand and billow.

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