Thief Prince

by Cheree Alsop

  “Bad idea,” a boy hissed behind him.

  “You can't race with a princess,” a girl argued. She held the reins of a dainty white horse that pranced in the sand.

  “Don't worry,” I told them. “I'm not going to race. I just want to watch.”

  Several of them turned back to their horses, tightening saddles and checking their hooves. “Good thing,” I heard one of them say quietly to his companion. “I wouldn't want to face the wrath of the King when I beat his daughter.”

  My ears burned but I ignored the comment. As another race began, a loud whinny followed by an angry snort caught my attention. I turned to see a light brown horse with a dark dorsal stripe and a dark mane and tail kick up sand. He whinnied and reared; the two older boys who fought his lead rope jerked it hard enough to yank his neck painfully and bring him back to the ground in a cloud of sand. I walked toward them and stopped next to the tall rocks that surrounded the alcove.

  The young man who knew me glanced back from where he had joined the group of onlookers and saw me watching; he scooted over to make room. “Danl,” he said, offering me his hand.

  “Kit,” I told him even though he already knew that, but it felt funny not saying anything. I frowned slightly when the horse reared again and was brought with a crash back to the ground. “What are they doing to that poor horse?” I asked Danl quietly.

  “Breaking him.” By his tone it was obvious he didn't approve of the older boys' methods, either. “They've been at it since sunrise.”

  “Sunrise?” I looked closer. The horse definitely looked tired. Dirt-coated sweat streaked his sides and foam flecked his mouth. Each time the boys jerked him back down, he stood with his head held low and flanks heaving, but the second they stepped closer with a saddle, the horse reared back up again.

  “Stupid horse,” one of the boys shouted. He slapped its flank with the end of his rope. The animal kicked out and he barely jumped back in time to avoid its hoof. “Won't amount to anything this way.”

  I stepped forward on impulse. Danl grabbed my arm and I turned, surprised. At my look, he stuttered. “I just thought. . . well, that there's the Markam brothers and they don't take kindly to be’in told anything. I don't mean to presume,” he said apologetically, letting me go.

  I shook my head. I had heard of their father and his notoriously cruel way of training horses. They ran out of fear, not out of any respect of their riders or the joy of the race. Something about the spirit of the horse I watched called to me; I couldn't stand to see it broken the way the boys were trying to.

  An idea hit me. “I'll ride it,” I said. My heart leaped into my throat when I heard my own words.

  Several of the onlookers glanced back at me incredulously, then turned away again as if I was joking. The horse whinnied, driving me closer. “I'll ride your horse,” I said, my voice strong despite my suddenly watery knees. I had never broken a horse before, though I knew it should be done with kindness instead of cruelty. Father used the term gentle instead of break, and applied techniques that were surprising mild for someone with his known temper.

  I felt distinctly out of my element when the two boys holding the lead rope turned to me. “What did you say?” the older one demanded. His eyes narrowed suspiciously when he saw who had spoken.

  “I said I'd ride your horse if you let me,” I repeated with false confidence. The horse snorted and rolled his eyes when I took a step nearer.

  Both boys laughed incredulously. “Ride this beast?” the younger one said. He slapped the horse cruelly on the nose with the end of his rope. The horse reared and almost pulled them off their feet. They both yanked hard and brought it down again; it trembled and stood with its ears back.

  “Fine, Princess,” the older boy said, practically spitting out the title. “If it kills you, it's your own darn fault.”

  I nodded and stumbled back when they pushed past me, shoving the rope into my hands.

  “What are you doing?” Danl hissed behind me.

  “Improvising,” I replied. I eyed the horse warily. The animal snorted and backed up, puffs of sand rising from his hooves. He jerked me with him because I was determined not to let go of the rope. Some of the onlookers laughed behind me, but I ignored them.

  “Shhh,” I said quietly to the horse. I took a step closer so the rope had a little slack between us. “I'm a friend,” I said, thinking the words as I said them. I tried to project calmness and peace, though my heart pounded in my chest.

  The horse stomped a hoof but didn't rear up when I took another step closer. I held out a hand palm up. “I'm safe,” I told him. His dark eyes glanced from me to the onlookers; his ears flattened when he saw the two boys. “Don't worry about them,” I breathed. “I won't let them hurt you.” His ears went forward and my heart leaped into my throat. I took another step, then stared when he took one toward me as well.

  I stretched out my hand, the rope lying forgotten between us. The horse touched my palm with his dark brown nose, the whiskers tickling my skin. He didn't send me images as Trae would have, but I felt an urge for the wind in his mane and sand under his hooves, the need to get away from fences and ropes and those who wished to hurt him.

  “Let's go,” I whispered softly.

  He whickered quietly and pawed at the sand, his head bobbing up and down.

  “I trust you,” I thought toward him. I ran my hand down his neck. The small audience had grown quiet; even the two boys held their tongues.

  The thought of trust was echoed back at me so strongly it made my head swim for a second. I put both hands against the horse to steady myself. “I guess the feeling's mutual,” I told him quietly with a small laugh.

  I hesitated slightly and glanced back at the young men and women, all of whom had now gathered to watch their Princess risk her life with the wild horse. Danl's eyes were wide and he shook his head as if to say I could back down if I wanted. I smiled at him and leaped onto the horse's bare back in one fluid motion.

  The horse stood stock still as if surprised at my daring. I ran my hands down his neck. “I'm Kit,” I breathed.

  An image rushed into my head of the wind blowing through the fields, making ocean waves of the oats and corn rows. I opened my mouth in surprise. “Breeze,” I guessed. He whickered again and pawed the ground; his head bobbed, and I knew we were on the same page.

  “Let's get out of here,” I said loud enough for the others to hear. I reached down and unclipped the lead rope that dangled uselessly on the ground. Before it touched the sand, Breeze leaped into a run faster than any horse I had ever ridden. I clutched at his mane and struggled to right myself, then leaned low across his neck with my hands tangled in his mane and my feet and knees gripping his sides.

  We galloped out of the alcove to the dismayed shouts of the two boys and whoops of the others. I felt a slight twinge of guilt until I reminded myself that I had left Fray, so they knew I would eventually return.

  The thrill of the ride filled me, partly from Breeze and partly from the release I felt as the wind tangled my hair and cleared my thoughts. We ran along the edge of the beach; water and sand flew up with each hoof beat. I sat up and let my body relax, swaying to the smooth gallop of the horse and gripping only with my knees and feet. The sun beat down on us, chasing the chill from the morning air. I leaned back and let it fall on my face as Breeze ran.

  I didn't lead him or change his course; I merely let him run to his heart's content, a colt born for the thrill of the gallop who had never been allowed to stretch his legs. When he slowed to a trot and then a leisurely walk, I slid off and walked beside him, my hand on his neck and the cold water biting at my toes.

  We headed south away from town farther along the beach than I had ever been. I enjoyed the cries of the gulls above and turned in time to see a sea hawk swoop down and catch a fish in its beak without breaking a beat of its wings. The warm air reminded me that the Antorans would be leaving their city in about two weeks. It was still cold up north, but soon the s
nows would clear enough for their journey.

  I shied from the thought and Breeze stopped walking. He turned his head and looked at me. “Sorry,” I told him. A thought occurred to me and I toyed with it. “I know someone who would really take to you,” I said, reaching up to untangle a burr from his mane. I showed him an image of Drade and the way his horses lived.

  Breeze snorted softly. He then showed me an image of a tiny stall barely big enough for him to turn around. The barn was dark but drafty and full of uncomfortable horses.

  I frowned. “I won't let you go back there,” I replied firmly. “My father will buy you. No one can refuse the King.” For once, I was happy with the sway Father had over his people through the laws of the land and the firm hand he held. I could see how it would be an advantage among the less-tractable Zalens, though I had also experienced examples of other types of respect that were more powerful than fear and awe.

  When the sun had reached its full height and began to descend toward the west, I turned reluctantly. “Time to go back.”

  Breeze showed me the stall again and shook his mane with his ears back.

  “I promise I wouldn't take you there. You have to trust me.” At his wary eyes, I touched his side. “You still have some energy left in there?”

  He reared up, then crashed back down hard enough to spray me with saltwater and sand. “Alright, alright,” I told him with my hands up. “You win. How about a run back to the cove?” He pranced when I swung on and waited for me to get settled before he took off again.

  The ride back felt shorter to both of us. The rocks of the cove quickly came into view and Breeze slowed. He acted as docile as a lapdog when he trotted into the sheltered beach. I noticed the crowd had grown. Several other young men and women waited, and by the looks on their faces, they hadn't believed that the Princess of Zalen had ridden off on the Markams' crazy horse. I noticed two of Father’s guards standing as inconspicuously as two well-muscled, heavily armed men in blue and gold could. I had seen guards several times over the last two weeks, but thought I had lost them that morning. Word got around quickly.

  With a sigh, I slid off Breeze and walked toward the waiting group. Fray whinnied a greeting and nuzzled my shirt with her soft black nose. Breeze walked strictly behind me, his breath hot on my neck.

  “Thanks for riding my horse,” the older Markam boy said with a hint of sarcasm. He glanced at the two guards who stood in the shadows of the rocks. “I'll take him now.”

  “I'm buying him from you,” I said firmly.

  “He's not for sale,” the younger boy snapped back angrily. “He's for racing.”

  “Then I'll be the one to race him,” I told them both. “He'll only run for me.”

  “Liar,” the older boy said. “If a girl can ride him, I can ride him.”

  A heavy hand rested on his shoulder and he turned to find one of the guards immediately behind him. “You just called the Princess a liar,” he said in a deep voice that echoed around the alcove despite the soft tone he used.

  “I-I didn't mean it,” the boy stammered.

  “It's alright,” I said. I took a step forward. At the guard's calculating look, I smiled wryly. “I'd like to see him try. If he's going to call someone a liar, he'd better be able to prove it.”

  The guard must have seen something in my face because he smiled slightly and stepped back to join his companion at the edge of the group. “F-fine,” the boy stuttered. He turned slightly and glared at me outside of the guards’ view.

  I merely gazed back, unaffected. “But if you can't ride him, I get to buy him from you.”

  “Fine by me,” he spat out. “Wouldn't want a stinkin' horse I can't ride, would I?”

  I turned and patted Breeze on the nose, giving him an image for the briefest second. He breathed softly into my hand and one ear flicked back. I stepped away to join the onlookers.

  “That was amazing,” Danl said.

  “Yeah,” a girl next to him agreed breathlessly. Her tawny hair was twisted into two braids that rested on each shoulder. She grinned at me.

  “I've never heard Blays stutter,” a younger boy with black hair that hung over his eyes said excitedly.

  “Awesome,” another girl grinned. She gave me a nod. “They need to learn a lesson in sportsmanship.”

  “And chivalry,” a tiny, red-haired girl piped in, making everyone laugh.

  Blays glared back at us, then turned his attention to the horse. As though he was a different animal entirely from the one I had seen when I first reached the alcove, Breeze didn't even flick an ear when the younger Markam boy hoisted his brother onto the horse's trim back. Blays sneered at us in triumph before Breeze reared and turned at the same time, dumping the young man into a heap on the sand. Blays sat stunned for a moment, then let out an angry yell. He jumped to his feet and ran at Breeze, his fists raised.

  I ran forward and shouted in my best commanding voice, “Don’t you dare touch him!” Andric would have been proud at the steel of my tone.

  Blays turned on me. “You think you can make me look stupid just because you're a princess?” he asked, closing the space between us.

  He threw a punch and I moved without thinking. I grabbed his right arm, ducked under it, and spun to the left in a move I had performed many times in Andric’s courtyard during practice. Blays ended up in another ungraceful heap in the sand.

  By that time, the guards had reached us both. The bigger guard set a hand on the boy's shoulder, impeding his efforts to get up. “If I were you,” the guard said dangerously, “I would stay there for a while.” The other guard took up position on my right hand side as if worried about another attack.

  I frowned. “I didn't want that to happen. It's your cruelty and temper that make you look stupid, not me.” Blays' ears turned red and I knew I had humiliated him. I tried to backtrack. “Let me buy the horse. He's no good to you, and my father could use another good runner.”

  “How much will you pay for him?” Blays grumbled.

  “You know the horse is hers if she so much as asks,” Danl reminded him from the crowd.

  I shook my head. “I won't take anything that doesn't belong to me. My father won't either. I'll buy him fair and square and give you double what he's worth.”

  Blays' eyes widened at that and his hateful expression disappeared. I realized then that his fear wasn't so much from the guards, humiliation, or the horse; it was fear of what his father would say if he came home without the animal. A hefty purse would make things easier on him.

  “So it's settled,” I said. It was a statement, not a question.

  The guards backed off and Blays rose to his feet. “He's an expensive horse,” he said stubbornly; his younger brother hurried to his side.

  “I figured he would be,” I replied levelly.

  I turned to one of the guards and was relieved to see him pull a purse with Father's crest on it from his belt. I never carried money with me, so I was glad Father had sent them prepared.

  With the exchange of gold for the horse, both of the Markam boys' attitudes lightened. I stayed with the group for the rest of the day. Boys and girls raced several horses up and down the beach, but Breeze, Fray, and I merely watched. Regardless of what they said to persuade me, I knew it wasn't a good idea for a princess to race against her countrymen. The conversation I’d had with Andric about sword fighting came to mind, but I shied away from it.

  I rode Fray home to give Breeze a chance to get used to his new surroundings; he followed like a well-mannered steed. The guards rode home on either side of me. I was glad they had been there and told them so before we parted ways near their barracks.

  “You handed the situation well,” the smaller man said.

  “We were there for backup, just in case,” the bigger guard stated with a twinkle in his eyes. “But I'm glad to see that our princess can take care of herself.”

  “It didn't go like I planned, but I'm just glad Breeze found a new home.” I patted him on the neck. F
ray snorted and butted me with her nose for some attention of her own. I laughed and rubbed her forehead.

  “Breeze, huh?” the first guard asked. He nodded. “It fits him. He's a beauty.”

  I frowned slightly. “I don't know how I'll explain it to Father. I wasn't prepared to bring a horse home.”

  The big guard chuckled in deep bass tones. “The King knows good horseflesh when he sees it. He'll understand.”

  “I hope so,” I sighed. Four stable boys appeared at the door, staring at the new horse. I patted Breeze's side. “He'll go with you without any problems,” I told them. “Please see to it that he has a big stall that opens to one of the corrals so he can run.”

  “Yes, Princess,” one of the boys replied. He gave a curt bow and put a hand on Breeze's halter. The horse followed him without any problems, and Fray was led close behind. Both guards watched the horses for a moment with thoughtful expressions on their faces. I bid them a goodnight and walked slowly back to the castle.

  Chapter 27

  I slept better that night, crying only when I dreamed of Andric and woke to find that he wasn't there. Father didn't bring up the horse at all when I went down for breakfast. He and Mother exchanged anxious glances at my ongoing lack of appetite, but they didn't say anything. Rory was absent, having departed on an early morning ride to see the city before the sun came up. I could tell Mother was glad he felt good enough for such a journey, but worried he would strain his returning health.

  After a quiet breakfast, I rode down to the beach to find the alcove empty, and when I reached the docks I knew why. Masts had been spread across the white beach and were dutifully scrubbed with sand to rid them of old plant life and caked salt from the end of last season. Sailors swabbed decks and scurried up and down the ropes as black dots in the distance, heedless of the expanse of water lapping far below their tenuous purchase. I sighed and Breeze turned away. So much for making friends.

  I rode down the beach until we were out of sight of the sails, then slid off Breeze's back and sat on the sand. It was chilly, but the sand was warming with the rising sun. I knew without thinking that it wasn't friendship that had driven me to the cove again. It was for a diversion. Every day that dawned warmer brought a reminder that the Antorans would be departing soon. My heart ached and I wished I knew what day they had picked, but I was still unable to write anything. Though I had sat for more than an hour late the night before wanting to write to Andric and tell him of Breeze, the words eluded me, creating only a swirling mass of memories that haunted the place behind my closed eyes.