Page 95 of My Dark Horse Prince

Sure, coming up with things to keep me busy and occupied so I can essentially ignore him entirely while also spending my half an hour a day with Grigoriy has been tiring. Sure, my body’s completely exhausted every single day. Kris keeps working us both harder and harder. And some days, when we work on flat work only, it’s also really boring.

I swear I’m doing two-point in my sleep.

But my leg’s getting stronger every day. My fear that something will go wrong and I’ll fall or snap the confetti bone shards into more ruins fades a little more with each passing day. Charlemagne’s learning his pacing, and I’m almost able to guide his strides and keep his speed consistent. With Kris’s help, we’re figuring it out.

It almost feels like I’m floating as we take off, circling around to approach the first blue vertical.

Blanka’s a wonderful horse, but even she can’t compare to the feeling I have when I’m on Charlemagne’s back. For the first time, I admit to myself that I’ll be disappointed when he finally gives up and leaves. Could that be the reason I haven’t tried very hard to break the curse and let him regain his powers?

If so, it’s a terribly selfish reason. I should try harder to release him.

And I will.

As soon as I’ve defeated Brigita and won Blanka back, I’ll focus on nothing else.

We sail over the blue jump, though Charlemagne picks up the wrong lead on the other side. He changes when I ask, though, and we approach the red one perfectly. . .and then we sail right over it. One short moment later, we’re coming up on the purple line, and even though he knows to moderate his speed, Charlemagne’s moving pretty fast.

Like me, he likes the jumps.

Sweat glistens on his neck.

As we sail over the first and then the second jumps in the line, my spirits soar. This is why I love it. I’d almost forgotten, after so many years on the ground.

My pulse beats in my ears as we spin around and head for the combination—a single, and then two oxers, only two strides between each one. He’s going too fast, and I balance up on my toes in a passive two-point and lean back a bit, pulling slightly with my reins too, for a half-halt.

He ignores me, of course, and plows right into the first jump. He’s going so fast that we barely fit one solid stride before the first oxer, clipping it on our way over. Luckily he slows a bit and we manage two, much more even, strides before the final oxer. When I turn back, I notice we dropped a pole in that middle jump. If we were at the Riga show, we’d have four faults right now.

On a two-and-a-half-foot jump.

“Alright.” Kris crosses her arms. “What did you do wrong?”

“Chose a steeplechase jockey for your trainer?” The loud and clear voice comes from the other side of the arena. Charlemagne spins around so quickly that I fall forward over his mane.

I certainly don’t look graceful when I glare at my sister, Adriana.

“And who should I be asking?” I arch one eyebrow. “My sister, who can’t jump worth a bean?”

“Oh, I can jump a bean,” she says. “I just don’t like anything that slows me down.”

She has always had a need for speed. More than anyone else I know, Adriana hates stopping, and she doesn’t even like to slow. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “Other than hassling me.”

“Didn’t John have a wife for a while who was a show jumper?”

Kris shudders. “Don’t mention Amelija. She might come back and haunt us.”

“Wait,” Adriana says. “Is she dead?”

“I wish,” Kris says.

“Okay, that’s. . .disturbing.” Adriana’s annoyed with Kris at the best of times, but right now, she looks downright frayed. “Can we talk?”

“You can go,” Kristiana says. “I’ll cool Charlemagne down.”

“Oh, good. The queen says it’s fine.” Adriana’s lips compress.

She’s lucky the queen hasn’t slapped her yet for being a brat. When I start to sling my leg over Charlemagne to dismount, the jerk dances to the side. “What the heck?”

Kris starts walking toward me.

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