Page 133 of My Dark Horse Prince

“Huh?”

“He was escorted out of here a few moments ago. If we wanted to really trash Brigita, we could tell them it’s her boyfriend and get her tossed out, too.”

But unlike her, I don’t want to disqualify anyone.

I want to outride them.

When I look around, I don’t see the old woman anywhere. It’s too bad. I have so many questions I want to ask, and I’m willing to earn the answers. But I wind up settling for just sliding off Charlemagne’s back. Instead of hugging or high-fiving Kris, I slide my arms around my big stallion’s neck, and I squeeze.

“We did it,” I say. “You did it. Thank you.”

“Just one more race to win,” Kris says. “You feel up to it?”

My leg is throbbing thanks to that horrible landing without my brace. My heart’s racing, thanks to that stupid stunt Danils pulled. I just saw a creepy old woman who said odd things about me and Grigoriy and disappeared into thin air. And my mother didn’t come to watch me compete.

“Sure,” I say. “Never been better.”

Because for me, this is about as good as it gets.

25

Sometimes the jump-off happens at the end of a long day, after riders have completed the event in batches, but not at a World Cup qualifier. It happens as soon as the course directors can modify the course, removing a handful of jumps to streamline it and make sure it’s a little different, and then give us the green light.

I think it’s normal to deal with some nerves during the waiting period, but as they announce our order, there’s a bit of a distraction. When they post the list, Kristiana looks poleaxed.

She walks toward me slowly, her feet dragging. “First.”

Most people are bummed about being first. I prefer to go first on the initial run, so my nerves don’t get away from me, but on the jump off, the benefit of knowing how hard to press corners to make up time outweighs even the detriment to my nerves. So when I wanted to go first, I went last. And now that I’d like to go last, I’m stuck going first.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I really just have to beat Brigita, right?” I can’t help laughing. Our fear, of course, is that although Grigoriy can jump like a deer, we haven’t been as focused on speed. Tight turns and maneuvering are great, but it’s hard to know how much he can shave on time, and for the jump-off, that’s much more important.

Kris reviews the paper that tells her exactly what we’re watching them do right now. “They’re pulling the third vertical out of that triple combination,” she says. “And they’re changing the second oxer to a vertical.”

She frowns. “And they’re pulling out one other vertical.” She flips through the papers again. “Is that really it? Nothing else?”

Which is why the time isn’t coming down by too much. I lean closer and pat Grigoriy’s neck. “It’s fine. We’ll keep those turns as tight as we can, and when we hit the big path before the rainbow jump and the stars, we’ll carry as big a stride as you can manage.”

He bobs his head.

“And then you just jump your heart out, and if you have to keep a pole from falling, well.” I shrug.

For all my insistence that he not use his powers before, now that we’re here and both his ownership and Blanka’s are on the line, maybe my ethics aren’t as rock-solid as I thought.

Charlemagne makes a snorty-whuffle-whinny sound that is quite strange, but I think it’s his way of laughing at me.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Just remember that I’m a woman, and we reserve the right to change our minds.”

After a few more nerve-jangling moments, they signal us that they’re ready. It’s only a two-star qualifier, here in Riga, but it’s still well attended. As we circle around to the lead-in for the course, I can’t help looking at the audience. There aren’t the sixty thousand spectators that Bordeaux France boasts, and it’s certainly no Barcelona. But I’m proud of Latvia and the several thousand people who have gathered to cheer us on.

We may be small, but we are mighty.

And I’m a proud Latvian equestrian. Before I start, I take the reins in one hand and fist pump with the other.

“Tevzemei un Brivibai!”

It’s unconventional at a dignified gathering like this, but other than Brigita, I’m surrounded by riders of other nationalities. We two are representing our entire country, and we both made it into the jump-off. Win or lose today, I’m still proud of myself and our country.

Apparently the crowd is too, because they go wild.

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