Page 96 of My Dark Horse Prince

And my idiot horse takes off for the gate.

Which is closed.

Apparently he hasn’t gotten Kristiana’s memo that we can only jump small jumps, because when we get close, he sails over the fence surrounding the arena, which is much closer to four feet than two. He finally stops, his sides heaving, right next to my sister.

“What the heck kind of horse are you riding?” Adriana glares at Kristiana. “Did you forget about my sister’s leg? You can’t let her borrow a horse that’s less insane?”

“Excuse me,” Kris says, opening the gate slowly. “That’s her insane horse. You can take up the decision to ride him with her.”

Adriana’s eyes widen. “You’re broke. How did you afford a horse like that?” She narrows her eyes. “Crazy or not, he’s clearly worth a lot of money.”

I don’t like her appraising look.

He probably is worth quite a lot, but I can’t sell him so it hardly matters. Kris is pinning his bizarre behavior on me, but I don’t even really own him. I suppose I don’t blame her—it’s not like she should have to make up lies to tell my pain-in-the-rear sister.

“Look,” I say. “I’ll explain everything in a minute. Let me get him cooled down and put away, and I’ll meet you in the old barn.”

“Can you handle that alone?” Adriana’s looking at Charlemagne sideways, and I know that look. It’s the one that says she thinks a horse needs a good lunging and a lot of tough-love training. “He doesn’t look very broke to me.”

“Nothing you ride is broke,” I say.

She shrugs. “That’s part of the job. You don’t want racers to be too broke, but you do want the show jumpers to listen to you. Right?” She looks at me with her face kind of squinched up.

“Just leave it be. I’ll see you at the apartment in five minutes.”

“If you say so,” she says. “But this can’t wait, so hurry.”

My pulse picks up. “Can’t wait?”

“It’s Mom,” she says. “We need to get her out of there. Today.”

I’m a little preoccupied as I walk Charlemagne around and around, and then ask him to turn into the old barn. I can’t help wondering what’s wrong with Mom. There’s no way it isn’t Martinš’s fault. It has to be.

I really ought to hose Grigoriy off, but maybe if I change him, he can just shower himself. I yank the saddle off and put it away quickly, and then I point at the stall he goes into before I change him. The latch doesn’t work right and he can open it, so he never argues about going in there.

Once I’ve shifted him, I waste no time telling him what I need. “I’ll give you extra time today,” I say.

The pants that hang over the side of the stall disappear, so at least I know he’ll be decent when he emerges.

“Can you shower while I’m gone? I’m not sure what’s wrong with my mom, but I can’t—”

“I’m coming.” His gaze is intent as he walks out of the stall.

“No way,” I say. “This is a weird family thing and—”

“Your stepdad beat you.” His words are curt, the vowels clipped, the tone abrupt. “I overheard Kris telling Aleks. There’s no way you’re dealing with him alone.”

I grit my teeth. “I won’t be alone. Adriana will be with me, and—”

“No.” He stares me down.

“You’re the last person I would take with me.” I cross my arms. “You know why.”

“Because if someone tries to hurt you, I’ll kill them.”

A chill runs down my spine. Because for most people, that would be a figure of speech.

For Grigoriy, it’s not.

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