Page 81 of My Dark Horse Prince

She wants my horse.

The World Cup show jumping competition in Riga is barely more than two months away. She’s hoping to gain enough points there to qualify, and she needs Blanka to do it.

So pushing her other buttons, or threatening, or yelling and blustering—none of them will change her mind. She’s already got her hands around her end game, and she’s not going to let go unless something even better is within reach.

“How dare you bring a horse onto my property without my permission. Whose horse is that?”

“I want my horses back,” I say, ignoring her. “But you have law enforcement in your pocket, thanks to your boyfriend.” I cross my arms.

Kris and Aleks are walking closer. I hear them behind me, or rather, I hear Charlemagne’s huge hoof falls.

She shrugs. “You could buy the others back, but I’m afraid Blanka’s not for sale.”

I want to call her a string of names. I want to slap her across her greedy face. But none of those will solve my problem.

At least, not until something occurs to me.

“What if we had a little competition of our own?” I glance behind her to check, and sure enough, every single person in that lesson is listening, including her gossipy assistant. Even two grooms have stopped working and are leaning against the walls.

Perfect.

“What kind of competition could we possibly have?” She scoffs. “You can’t even ride. I’ve already beaten you in every possible way.”

“I had a surgery,” I say.

“Mirdza,” Kris says. “Why don’t you come with me to the trailer, and—”

“See? Even your friend thinks this is a bad idea,” Brigita says. “Maybe you should stop before you embarrass yourself more.”

“I’ll show you right now what I have in mind. I just need to borrow an oversize bridle.”

“Excuse me?” Brigita arches one eyebrow.

I look back at Charlemagne, desperately hoping that he’s got my back, even if Kris doesn’t. The doctor said I couldn’t ride, yes, but it was for the same reasons as before. Any quick, sharp spills could cause terrible damage. If I’m okay with the risk—and for Blanka, I am—then I can ride.

Right?

“I have a saddle and bridle in the trailer,” Kris says.

Tears spring into my eyes and I brush them away. “If you really think you’re such an amazing rider and I’m a joke, then you should be able to outjump me right now, on my horse.” I toss my head. “I’ll ride that one, who’s never been in a single show in his entire life.”

“You must be kidding,” Brigita says.

“I’m not.” I stare at her.

“I own her,” she says. “I’m not going to risk her like an idiot.”

“So you think she can outjump you?” Kris asks. “You think it’s a risk?”

“I have nothing to gain,” Brigita says.

“But surely there’s no way you could lose, either, right?” Kris’s expression is pure mocking, and I want to hug her.

“Who is that horse?” Alvina asks. “Where did you get him?”

“I found him in Russia,” I say. “Right before I had my surgery.”

“Can you even ride?” Alvina asks. “You just had surgery.”

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