Page 85 of My Dark Horse Prince

Kris stomps. “Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I’m delicate.”

“Don’t I know it.” He steps toward her possessively, and I’m worried he’s going to pounce on her in the parking lot.

“Can you two at least take me home before you start acting so disgusting again?”

“We should.” Aleks still isn’t looking at me. He’s fixated on Kris, like she’s the only thing that matters. “I’m sure Charlemagne is freaking out right now.” He laughs again. He seems to think it’s hilarious that I keep calling his friend a made-up name.

“Should I start referring to you as Obsidian Devil?” I ask. “Will that help you focus?”

“I think you should.” Kris isn’t looking at me either. She’s directing a disgustingly come-hither look at Aleks.

“Okay, that’s enough. I have some hard-core rehab to do, and I don’t have very long to do it.”

That seems to snap them out of it. Kris starts for the car. “You do need to get on that saddle every single day, for as long as you can manage.”

“Speaking of getting on every day,” I say. “I was hoping you might be willing to train me.”

Kris freezes, her hand on the handle of the car door. “Train you in show jumping?”

“I know you’ve never done that, per se,” I say, “but—”

She turns, one hand flying to her hip. “Not per se,” she says. “I haven’t done it ever. I only know racing.”

“I can’t afford anyone else,” I say. “And even if I could—”

“No one else will understand the Grigoriy thing,” Kris finishes. She sighs. “I’ve got to be the least qualified, least competent person for the task.”

“But I know all the rules,” I say. “I’ve won several of the World Cup qualifiers, and one of the Nation’s Cup competitions, all on Blanka, before my accident.”

“No, I know you have.” Kris shakes her head. “But you have to listen to a trainer. That’s the point. And if you know more than I do, I’m not sure how I can possibly be of much use.”

“You can see what I can’t about what I’m doing wrong. You’re smart. You’re talented at both riding and equine care. I can’t think of anyone better.”

“And your fiancé can magically remove her soreness each day,” Aleks says. “A buildup of lactic acid is the cause, and it’s something your body will heal on its own, so.” He wiggles his fingers.

He’s an expert on lactic acid now? “How much time does he spend researching things online?”

“Way, way too much.” Kris finally gets in the car. “I may need to install some parental limits on you, mister.”

They banter back and forth the whole way home, and I appreciate it. It gives me a little bit of time to think about how I’m going to face Grigoriy now that I’ve offered him up as the collateral on my bet. I have an out right now, if we claim I can’t get medical clearance. If we proceed, if we share the letter from the doctor saying I can ride, then I need him to be on board.

Kris hasn’t once mentioned the risk of losing Charlemagne if she beats me.

It can’t hurt that he’s so massive, so talented, and so smart, but why aren’t they worried about it?

“Are you concerned about me losing?” I ask.

“You won’t lose,” Aleks says. “Not on Grigoriy.”

“But if we do, Brigita gets Charlemagne,” I say.

Aleksandr laughs.

“Why is that funny?” I ask.

“I mean, presumably you could change him into a human a day or two after she takes him,” Kris says. “And then her horse is just. . .gone.”

“But if he’s ever a horse at our place,” I say.

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