Page 132 of My Dark Horse Prince

Even the bright purple stripes on the poles don’t phase Charlemagne, because he’s not an idiotic horse, whose instincts are telling him that everything wants to kill him.

No, my horse is only scared of pairs of men wearing all black.

That thought makes me chuckle as we approach the first combination, an ascending oxer followed by a triple square with a two-meter spread and a height of one sixty. I shift forward and hold my breath as Charlemagne clears it with room to spare.

Thank goodness for magical ponies.

I ask him for a bit more speed, getting a bit cocky as we circle around the Egyptian dog heads to approach the vertical with the most poles—four—all lined up underneath. It’s not that high, but it’s a strange angle, right after we circle the last combo.

We sail over it, and my nerves float downward. For the next few obstacles, I’m not even anxious. I’m having fun. It feels good.

And then we’re sailing up to the tenth vertical, which is a solo jump with flowers and a faux brick fence, but it’s an easy approach and we clear it without a problem. Next we head for stupid number eleven, which is followed by number twelve, the jump with the most dropped poles in the entire arena. For a split second, I wish that I’d told Grigoriy to use his powers.

If we hit a pole, keep it in place. Don’t let it fall. It would have been so easy to tell him that.

But I didn’t.

My stupid pride.

The eleventh pole has a wide blue rectangle underneath it, full of brightly colored blue water. Time seems to slow as we approach, our cadence perfect, our timing spot on. Charlemagne’s front hooves launch first, up, up, up and then over, his powerful back legs leaving a hair after, propelling us upward and out, like a rocket, really.

It feels like we’re flying, and I revel in it, my heart racing, my stomach flipping, and my body floating.

Only, there’s a huge crash in the audience just then, and I can’t help turning to see what it is. Someone has lit something on fire, it looks like trash, and people are fleeing away, dropping bags of food as they flee.

Charlemagne turns to look as well, and the ground’s racing up at us now, too quickly. He slams into the ground way too hard, which wrenches my leg, but I level out and grit my teeth against the pain.

That twelfth jump would have been hard even without a horrible approach, but as it is, I’m acutely worried.

In the audience up ahead, I see her.

The old woman.

Smiling.

Instead of freaking me out, it settles me.

I was alone that night, when I stood up for that little girl. She was like me, all alone, without a protector. But I’m not like that anymore. I’m strong. I’m healthy. And I have people at my side, ready to keep me safe.

Ready to lift me up and help me succeed.

So now, when I’m rattled and afraid, battered and nervous, I slide my hands forward and trust Grigoriy to make the jump on his own. He can do it even when I can’t.

And he does.

We sail over that horrible jump, and he hits the ground hard, and then we keep moving. I sail through the next few jumps on autopilot, thinking about the crash and the fire and the old woman. They were things that could have ruined anyone’s ride, but not me. Not anymore.

For years and years, I’ve lamented what I lost. For the past ten years, I’ve regretted that I would never again be able to ride like I did. I still can’t ride like I did over a decade ago.

Because I’m stronger now than I was.

When we finish and turn to look at the scoreboard, I see that we had the fastest time on the course. Tears well up in my eyes. For a moment, I thought we were doomed, but I had faith in Grigoriy, and I let him ride when I couldn’t, and it worked.

When the scoreboard leader list updates, we’re at the very top. Kristiana flies toward me, arms outstretched. “Look at you, speed demon!”

I shake my head. “I thought we were doomed.”

“That was your wonderful ex.” She chuckles. “He’s a real loser. Glad that date crashed and burned.”

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