Page 90 of My Dark Horse Prince

The guy with the nail in his foot knew that if there was a nail lodged in his foot, his whole life might change. He could be crippled for life, possibly, depending on the prognosis and the damage from the nail.

The second guy didn’t think anything about his life was going to change. He anticipated a very short-term impact and didn’t see any trajectory shift.

As I sit in that office, waiting for my brace fitting, I wonder about my own pain. Has it also been tied to my vision of the future and my ability to reach my dreams? Maybe that’s why my leg has hurt so badly all this time, and why it has barely bothered me since my surgery.

If any part of that is true, I vow not to let it stop me anymore.

I’ve given up enough of my life. I spent the past ten years living without taking any extra risks. I’ve been afraid of Martinš, afraid of pursuing my dreams, because the last time I took a risk, it led to a lot of pain and misery. How much of my pain has been of my own making? I’m not sure. But I’m not going to do that anymore.

“Mirdza Strelkova,” a woman in pink scrubs calls.

I stand as smoothly as I have in years and force a smile. “That’s me.”

She leads me to a small room and points at a stool instead of the squishy bed I’m usually told to sit on. “The doctor will be in momentarily to check the fit of the brace.”

It’s a bit more than momentarily, but he does come inside, carrying a rather unwieldy black brace that’s as long as my arm.

“Does it have to be that large?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes. “In order to stabilize something, you need a brace that runs from one solid thing to the other. For you, that’s below your knee to your hip.”

It’s not lovely to fasten in place, with more straps and buckles than punk rockers wear at a concert. But once it’s in place, appallingly ugly over my brand new jeans, the difference is amazing.

“Will this keep me from developing muscle?” I ask.

His eyebrows shoot up. “After a week of riding, you tell me.”

Seven days later, I have no thoughts of calling the doctor to do anything but say thank you. But my thighs are screaming their disapproval.

“Why’d you drop down?” Kris asks. “You’re supposed to hold two point for ten laps.”

“I can’t hold it that long,” I say. “I was pinching with my knees, and my leg was falling behind.”

“I know,” Kris says. “It’s pushing to exhaustion that’s going to improve your muscle tone the fastest.”

She’s trying to help, but it bloody well hurts. I slide forward, back into two point, but my horse stops.

“Charlemagne,” Kris says. “You can’t do that.”

He snorts.

This may be the first time in history that a trainer addresses a horse as often as the rider. “When I bought Obsidian Devil, he had been stuck as a horse for months. He knew how to be ridden. He understood the cues. He’d been broken, at least enough to ride in chases. But you don’t know any of that. While I appreciate you wanting to help, you need to let me tell Mirdza what to do, and then you need to learn to listen to her. Stop making up your own mind. It’s not your job.”

He stopped because I’m tired. It’s kind of sweet, but also, my issues are my issues, not his. I pat his neck. “It’s fine, boy. I can do it.”

He turns his head and eyes me as if he’s deciding for himself whether Kris is being smart or cruel. Something he sees must satisfy him, because he turns back toward the arena and starts to trot again.

He has a beautiful trot, but he’s such a big mover that it’s horrible to sit. It actually feels a bit like I’m riding Tigger, the bouncy tiger from my favorite children’s cartoon. In that regard, two point is at least easier on my backside.

It’s just my thighs, calves, and my lung capacity that are unhappy.

That, and my leg, which even with the brace aches so constantly that I’ve almost learned to ignore it.

Almost, but not quite.

It’s like someone’s stabbing me in the eye over and over without stopping. Except instead of my eye, it’s my leg. But according to Aleks, I’m not doing any real damage.

“Nerves are regrowing,” he explained last night, as if he was a doctor himself now. “It’s natural that as they do, they’ll fire a bit more than normal, especially since you’re putting them to work.”

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