by A C Wilds
“This is Red. He’s a companion horse to the prize horses. He is not a good horse at all, very green and hardly accepting of his halter. It takes forever to get him from pasture to stall. Only Greyson can handle him. We only keep him because he seems to keep the other horses calm. Let me show you the horses we will be riding today,” Cass states, while slowly turning and walking away.
I hesitate. I can’t stop staring at him. He seems unable to look away either. I feel like I am falling deep into his chocolate eyes. I can see he is judging me. I know he’s taking my mirth and trying to figure me out. I let him.
I reach out. Fingers extended in a cupped fashion. Not tense, but lovingly. I let him sniff my hand. His huff is warm and wet. His eyes track my movements, but he stands still, seemingly in the same trance I’m in. I open my palm and place it on his cheek. He doesn’t throw his head or back away. His hair is coarse and silky at the same time. The heat from his skin warms my hand and, at this moment, looking into his eyes, I know he is mine.
“I won’t ride any horse except Red,” I say, in almost a whisper. I don’t have it in me to argue or look away.
“You can’t. He won’t even let anyone put a saddle on him. He is completely useless. You’ll get hurt,” he says, almost like he cares about me.
“Let me be the judge of that. If you did your research correctly, you know problem horses are my thing. You know I can handle it. Unless of course, you didn’t do that good of a job at being my stalker,” I push, knowing this will get a reaction out of him. He starts to say something when Bartholomew walks down the hall. Seeing us, he stops and bows.
“Your Highness, Changer, what brings you to the stables this morning? Are you looking to go riding? I can have Stormborn, and another horse tacked up in around 20 minutes.” He eyes me like I’m nothing. Beneath him, bordering on contempt. He has another thing coming if he thinks for one minute I am going to put up with his shit.
“Want to tell me what you mean by Changer?” I ask, because there are so many other things I want to say, but this seems like the most non-threatening.
“Has no one told you your purpose?” he asks, eyeing the prince. He looks like he is scared for letting that word slip. I wonder what they do to Fae who disobey? Surely it isn’t as bad as what they do to the humans. Nora said no one was allowed to say anything, and it looks like Barty just fucked up big time.
“You were born to change the world,” Cassiel says, seemingly feeling he is the better choice at telling me that I’m some savior, which I most certainly am not. His guise must not be the same as the others, or he is openly defying his father, which I could get behind 100%.
“I think you have the wrong girl. I am not even special enough to change the menu at Manny’s, let alone the world.”
“There is no doubt that you are she, because it can only ever be a she, and not a he.”
“Ok Dr. Seuss. That still doesn’t prove that it is me.”
“There are other ways to prove it is you, but my father wants to be the one to show you. For now, let’s ride, and then I will take you to him.”
The need to ride overpowers my curiosity. It’s been too long. My heart and my mind wants a release. I need a way to process all this. Getting on Red and giving myself over to the course will help.
“Ok, later then.” Turning to Bart, I say, “Where is Red’s tack?”
“Why would you want tack for the companion horse? You can’t ride him,” he says, with that arrogant tone I have come to associate with all Fae.
“Let me be the judge of that. Now, where is it?”
“He doesn’t have any. We don’t waste resources on horses that don’t perform.”
“Show me to the tack room then, and I will fit him myself.” It won’t be perfect, but I am sure I can find a saddle to fit as closely as possible.
It seems there is going to be a lot I am not going to like around here. With an exasperated look, good ol’ Barty shows me into the tack room. Except it’s not a tack room. It’s a fucking megastore of equestrian equipment. There are rows and rows of gear, saddles, bridles, bits, and crops. There are things in here that cost more than I would make at the best competition. It’s a Wonderland. I instantly fall in love with all the neat rows and color-coded bins. In the back of the room, there are stations almost like those fancy wooden lockers pro athletes have in their dressing rooms. Each is labeled with a horse’s name. Inside is all their gear and grooming supplies. They even have custom shampoo and conditioner specifically for their coat’s need. I notice the names on the lockers are all weather-related. Stormborn, Lightning Cloud, Thunderstruck, Bolt, and Hurricane. They all seem to be named after adverse weather. There are only five lockers, but there are clearly over 20 horses in this barn.
“Barty, where is the tack for the rest of the horses? There are only five lockers here,” I say, turning around to the short stuck-up Fae. He is shorter than the others with a swollen red nose and caterpillar eyebrows. His face is bloated, and his body is skinny, kind of like a Fae lollipop. He looks like he might burst at any moment. I don’t think he has ridden a horse in a very long time. He kind of looks like Gargamel from the Smurfs.
“Only prize steeds get lockers. The rest of the horses have their tack outside their stalls, and companion horses have only a halter for transport. Also, my name is Bartholomew, not Barty.” He says this last part with such disdain. He must not be used to being challenged. I’m just going to have to change that.
“I know what your name is, but you see, I have this thing with names. I don’t like them, so you will get a nickname of my choosing to make me feel…happier.”
“Listen here…” he begins, but Cassiel quickly puts up a hand and stops him.
“Bartholomew, that will be all for today. I can continue to show Azra around. You are dismissed,” Cassiel says, in that cool-as-fuck tone. With that, Barty turns on his heels and stomps off.
Getting Back in the Saddle
Azra
I find suitable tack for Red and head back over to his stall. The halter they use for him is hanging on a nail next to the gorgeous crimson steed. I reach for it and grab a lead in the other hand. Opening the stall door, I remember what Cassiel said. I don’t think he will give me a problem, but you never know with horses. They don’t have significant tells like dogs or cats. They are subtler with theirs, and sometimes it’s too late to react. I open the stall door and wait a bit. I want to let him acclimate to my presence. He seems calm and hasn’t turned away, so I think we can proceed. I place the lead in my left hand, lean over, and approach him from the same side. He watches my moves, calm and patient. He seems eager to please. He’s so damn beautiful that I feel a rush of excitement creep over me. It’s been too long. I coo to him and make calming noises.
“Good boy. How are you today? My name is Azra. You up for a ride today?” I say low, so only he and I can hear. Horses don’t like loud, obnoxious people, and that could be the reason why Barty doesn’t get along with him. He shuffles his hooves like he’s ready to go. My hands come up, and I walk over to him slowly. As I am about to touch him, he leans into me and closes the distance. His nose nuzzles into my hand, and a wave of calm comes over me — we both just breathe in each other’s scent for a bit. I place the halter over his head and clip it closed. The encounter took all of three minutes, and I am leading him to the stall door. The lead goes on next, and we walk out.
“That was amazing,” Cassiel says, with awe in this voice. “I have never seen him so calm and willing to please. You are quite the horse whisperer.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but he seems to want to get to know me,” I respond. I lead him over to the cross ties and begin to groom him. His coat is luxurious. He must eat well here. He leans into my movements and huffs at me every so often. You can tell he is enjoying being brushed. “How is it that you all can’t handle him? He’s such a good boy. Isn’t that right, Red?” I pat his neck to let him know he’s doing well.
“He is a different ho
rse now that you are here. I can’t believe I’m getting to witness this. I think he should be yours.”
“What? Can you even do that? Just give me a horse?”
“I can do anything I want. Prince remember?”
I get such a hit of emotion, my eyes begin to water. I have never owned a horse before. When I was young, we couldn’t afford it, and as I started to compete, it didn’t make sense to own one. I was always riding someone else’s. This is a dream come true. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
“You're most welcome. Finish up here and meet me in the arena. I’m going to make sure Stormborn is tacked.” He walks away down the corridor. I can’t say that it isn’t a great view. He has a fine-looking ass — not the time Az, not the time.
I finish up grooming Red and start to put the saddle on. He is a perfect horse and lets me dress him with no issues. I don’t even get a pullback when I am placing the bit in his mouth. I take him off the cross ties and walk down to the arena. I’m just about to get there when Greyson comes out of one of the stalls. He is dressed in dirty jeans and a t-shirt. There is sweat covering his body, and I can’t say that I’m not attracted to him right now. There is something about a man who works with his hands. I must be losing my mind to be checking out more than one guy in one afternoon. I try to ignore him and walk past, but he stops me.
“What are you doing with Red? How did he get tacked up?” he questions, with just an underlying hint of anger in his voice.
“I dressed him. I don’t see the problem with it. And as of 20 minutes ago, he is my horse, so I can do whatever I want with him. Now move out of the way,” I say to his shocked face. He looks too good for me to ignore in the tight t-shirt that’s hugging the considerable muscle in his arms. I get a zing of excitement in my lady parts.
“Oh, I see now. You walk into this place, and 48 hours later you are riding a prize horse and claiming it’s yours. Typical Fae.”
“I’m not a Fae,” I say, because I really haven’t come to terms with all of this, and I truly don’t believe I belong here. “It’s not like that at all. I don’t know why Cass decided to give him to me, but he is too special to give up.” I’m starting to get pissed, because, fuck him. I’m here because of him, and he’s trying to make me feel bad for finding a little bit of happiness here.
“Sure you’re not. Then why was I ordered to bring you in? And how did you freeze time and blow me across the room the other day? Normal humans don’t do that. You need to stop lying to yourself.” He’s pissed, but his eyes are flaming with passion. It’s all very confusing.
“Whatever. Just let me pass. I don’t even know why I am talking to you.” Instead of moving away, he steps into my personal space. He looks deep into my eyes as if he is searching for something. He’s so close that if I raise on my toes, I could kiss him. My body is getting hot all over, and I want to so bad. I want to kiss this asshole of a man.
He steps out of the way then, and I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness that he moved away. It feels like he has already made up his mind about me. It seems this was the moment he decided I wasn’t worth it.
I walk past him quickly, with Red following behind me, and head for the arena. It’s a huge round covered course with twelve obstacles set up in various heights. The edges around it are cleared for warm-ups, and there is even a mini-course for inexperienced riders in the back. It’s so amazing.
I grab a mounting block and slowly approach Red from the left. I talk to him in subtle tones and make sure he knows where I am at all times. I test out his tolerance for having someone on his back by placing my left foot in the stirrup and stand upright for a few seconds. He seems fine with it and stands still for me. I don’t know what everyone is talking about. He’s been nothing but compliant. I take it one step further and swing my leg over. He moves a couple of steps forward adjusting to my weight. I can feel the corded muscles of his upper body through the saddle. His head is held at the perfect height, and he gives me time to adjust. I slowly squeeze his sides and ask him to move forward. Taking the reins in my hands and placing them almost touching my upper thighs, I hold them softly without too much tension, but just enough to let him know I’m in control. My thumbs are pointing up, and my back is straight. I shrug my shoulders and roll my neck to get better situated in the walk. He rides the rail around the arena perfectly. It’s like I don’t even have to tell him where to go. The slow roll of his front legs matches my micro hip rolls, and we begin to get into a rhythm. After two laps, I ask him to trot by squeezing his belly and clicking to advance. His movements enter the trot, and I begin to post. Up down, up down. One, Two, One, Two. Oh, how I have missed this. Riding a horse and having them move in harmony with your body is sublime.
“Good Boy, you are doing wonderfully.” I pat him on the neck as we roll into a walk again. That's when I notice Cass standing on the side of the arena holding what I assume is Stormborn. He is a magnificent horse. His mane is thick and hangs loosely down his neck. He is controlled in his stance, and his conformation is strong and muscled.
Cass is staring at me in awe like he’s never seen anyone do a basic trot. I squeeze Red forward, and we trot over to where he is standing. His expression is heavy. He seems to be confused about something.
“What are you doing? I thought we were riding. Get in here and warm up so I can kick your ass at this course,” I say teasingly. I feel too good to hate him right now. Red has me relaxed and in my element.
“I can’t believe what I am seeing is all. Red has never allowed a rider on him before. I thought for sure he was going to buck you off the minute you tried,” he says to me, in a voice of reverence. I don’t see what the big deal is, but apparently, he is making this into one.
“He’s a perfect gentleman on the course. He’s listening to commands and transitioning from walk to trot nicely. He even gave me his head and chuffed a couple of times. He is something.” I give Red another pat on the neck and lean in to hug him. He seems to melt into my touch, and his right ear is pointed back like he’s listening to my whole conversation.
Cass doesn’t know what to say next, so he hops up on Stormborn and begins to warm him up on the outside of the ring. I jump off of Red and lead him behind the gate as we watch the pair. They are beautiful together. Stormborn is as dark as a stormy sky, a dark blue-grey. His coat is gradient and ends in white socks on his hocks. His muscles move under Cass like a ship gliding over the water. Their synchronicity is some of the best I have ever seen. It is like Storm was born for Cass. He quickly gets him into a trot. You can see Storm giving his head by tucking it close to his chest. His back is high and his movements limber and fluid. I notice him softening the bit in his mouth and moving his tongue around. There is a foamy substance forming on his lips which means he is loose and relaxed enough to have a supple ride. Cass edges him on by a slight forward leg squeeze, and he quickly picks up his canter.
He does a few laps around the course and then takes his turns to begin the jumps. The twelve obstacles are all of varying heights and have different setups. Some are simple bars crossed to form a rectangle, others are bushes on either side with the crossed bars in the middle, and one even has a moat of water in the front. Storm takes the jumps gracefully, landing each one with a soft touch down of hooves on the dirt. Cass is breathtaking. He guides the jumps with the practice of a seasoned rider. His heels never once come up from the stirrups, and his back is perfectly straight and aligned in the saddle. They make quite the pair, like a graceful pair of dancers who are in perfect sync. When they are finished, Cass trots Storm around the course once and then walk over to us.
“What do you think? Have I impressed you yet?” Cass says playfully, and a little out of breath. His voice is husky and doing all sorts of things to my nether regions.
“I think you may have. You guys are wonderful together. It’s like you’ve had decades to practice,” I say, because it’s true. There is no way I would have beaten him in a competition. They are just that good.
I’m now a bit reluctant to ride in front of him now. It’s been two years for me, and I’ve known Red for less than an hour.
“We have, thirty-six to be exact.”
“I’m sorry, did you say thirty-six?” I say in astonishment, because that can’t be possible. I know that Cass is five hundred and something, but horses don’t usually live past thirty, and they aren’t trained to jump until they are at least seven due to possible injuries occurring before they finish growing. So how is this real?
“Fae horses are not like other horses. They are faster and stronger. Their instincts are far superior to normal horses. They have prolonged life, and when they bond with their owners, they share a life force. Stormborn will be alive for as long as I am. We are soul bonded. It is meant to help the rider in times of peril, or at least it was many years ago. Since we haven’t been in a war in over 2,000 years, it seems like an unnecessary trait,” he says with a shoulder shrug, like this is just everyday conversation about souls and bonds and shit.
“Wow. That’s…amazing. So does this mean since you gave me Red, we are going to have the same connection?” Oh please say yes, please say yes!
“Well, no. Just because you take ownership of him now, it doesn’t mean that he will choose you to be his soul bond. The horse always chooses the rider, and when it happens, you’ll know. It’s not something that can be predicted or forced.”
Damn it! I look at Red then. He is contently leaning his nose into my shoulder. His eyes hold a bit of mischief in them, and I wonder what he is thinking. Could it be possible that this might happen to me too? That would be so amazing. Like the most amazing thing that has ever happened…ever! I am doing a little girly dance in my mind as I realized that Cass is still talking.