by Ember Casey
No way in hell I’m getting on that horse.
“We’ll start with letting him get to know you,” Mr. Ingleton says. “Here—why don’t you try feeding him a carrot?”
He shoves a carrot into my hand before I can stop him.
“Uh, that’s okay,” I say.
He smiles. Mr. Ingleton is a tall, thin man with a slim mustache, and every movement of his lips makes that tiny mustache twitch.
“There’s no reason to be afraid,” he says. “Old Cinnamon here is a sweet boy.”
“I’m not afraid,” I snap, holding the carrot toward the horse. Almost immediately, the damn creature tries to bite off my fingers. I curse and drop the carrot as I jerk my hand away.
“Easy, there,” Mr. Ingleton says. Cinnamon has already grabbed the carrot I dropped, so the stable master hands me another one. “This time, hold your hand flat. Like this.”
He shows me, and I begrudgingly try again. But I keep my eyes trained on the horse’s, ready to react to any sudden movements. I won’t be outwitted by a damn horse.
“Good,” Mr. Ingleton says. “Now he likes you. Try stroking him like this.”
This is not the kind of ‘stroking’ I was hoping for today, I think glumly, glancing toward Sophia. She’s at the far end of the little corral, watching me. I wonder if she realizes her father is trying to kill me with a horse.
“Just like this,” Mr. Ingleton says, grabbing my hand and placing it on the horse. Cinnamon snorts and shifts his weight from foot to foot. He’s probably getting impatient and waiting for the murdering to start.
I pat the damn horse, reminding myself again of why I’m doing this. For Sophia. To prove to her father that I’m good enough for his daughter. I’m not going to let a horse beat me, and I’m not going to let that stuffy king have his way. He may be trying to scare me with this two-ton murderous beast, but I won’t be intimidated.
“Good, good,” Mr. Ingleton keeps saying. “I thought today we’d start with the basics—mounting and dismounting, proper posture in the saddle, and basic guiding. What do you say?”
Bring it on. “I’m ready when you are.”
Mr. Ingleton gestures toward the saddle. “Mounting is simple, though sometimes it takes a couple of tries at the beginning. You want to put your right foot in this stirrup here and then pull yourself up. Swing your left leg over the back of the horse.”
Sounds easy enough. I grab the saddle where he shows me and swing myself up into the saddle.
And it’s even easier than I thought. I mount without a hitch, and Mr. Ingleton claps his hands together.
“Good job, my boy,” he says. “Now let me show you how to sit.”
As he pokes and prods me, forcing my back into a rigid position, I look around. I definitely feel a lot higher than I thought I would. Good thing I’m not scared of heights. Still, it’ll hurt like hell if I fall off this damn thing. It would be way too easy to break my neck.
“Easy, there,” Mr. Ingleton says, patting my leg. “Don’t squeeze with your knees. You’re confusing Cinnamon.”
“What?” I wasn’t aware I was squeezing anything. I glance over toward Sophia. Her brother Andrew has joined her at the fence, and now both of them are watching me.
Just what I need—a bigger audience.
“Stop squeezing so hard,” Mr. Ingleton says. “Trust your seat. You won’t fall off. Put your weight down into your heels.”
I’ll show those snooty royals, I think, following the stable master’s directions. They think I’m some uncultured heathen or something, but what’s so hard about riding a damn horse?
Cinnamon jerks his head, shaking it side to side.
“Easy! Easy!” Mr. Ingleton says again. “Don’t grip the reins so hard. And be careful with your heels. You want to keep the weight down but you don’t want to accidentally kick—”
With a sudden jerk, Cinnamon leaps forward. I cling to the reins for dear life, and Mr. Ingleton has to leap back to keep from being trampled.
And Cinnamon runs.
“Pull back on the reins!” Mr. Ingleton shouts as I’m bounced around on the saddle, clinging to anything I can. “Pull back!”
I do. I jerk the reins hard, and Cinnamon reacts by stopping and rearing up on his hind legs, throwing me from the saddle.
And all I can think as I fly through the air is that the damn horse was a much better murderer than I ever imagined.
Sophia
Pax hits the ground with a thud, landing on his behind.
Andrew and I race over to him.
Pax looks a bit dazed, and I extend my hand. “Are you all right?”
“That horse…it tried to kill me.” He continues to sit on the ground, ignoring my offer of helping him up. “This is bullshit.”
“I sincerely doubt Cinnamon was trying to kill you.” Andrew frowns down at Pax. “He’s among the gentlest of the horses in the stable. If he bucked, it’s because you did something to him.”
“Fuck you,” Pax mumbles as he slowly rises to his feet. “You all have it out for me.”
“Perhaps he could try riding Apricot first?” I look up at my brother. “I know it isn’t ideal…”
Andrew lifts a brow, a smirk on his lips before he turns to Pax. “Yes, perhaps that might be best. Would you rather learn to ride horseback on my sister’s pony?”
Pax glares at my brother. “Why do I have to learn how to ride a stupid horse at all? It isn’t like this is useful.”
I try to take Pax’s hand again, but he swats it away. “Maybe you don’t, Pax. Maybe you could learn something else.” I turn to Andrew. “Chess? Father does love to have a rousing game—”
“It would take years to get him to a level to give Father even a reasonable challenge.” Andrew lets out a sigh. “Horseback riding is probably easiest. Though we could also try to teach him to fence. Father always enjoyed watching us spar. It might be worth a try—”
“You want me to learn to fence?” Pax looks between Andrew and me as he rubs his back. “Why? So you can embarrass me at that, too?” He shakes his head. “This is bullshit, and we all know it. It’s like you planned this shit out or something—every single thing I suck at to make me look like an idiot.”
“That isn’t true, Pax, and I’m sure you know it.” I frown at my husband. “We want you to have the best chance possible to impress Father. Even Andrew approves—”
“He wants to make me look stupid. So I run off in shame, right? Leave Sophia because learning this…this…life is impossible.”
“Clearly, it isn’t impossible. My siblings and I have all learned exactly what you’re learning.” Andrew’s tone is even, almost calm. “And if we’d have wanted to get you to run off in shame, we would have already done it by now.”
Pax glares at my brother, but says nothing.
“Did you not hear a thing that went on at dinner last night?” Andrew continues as though Pax isn’t trying to shoot daggers at him with his eyes. “My brothers and I all stood up for you. Why, Nicholas practically defied our father right to his face.” Andrew cocks his head. “Do you honestly believe that is a typical occurrence at our family dinners?”
“That didn’t happen.” Pax works his jaw. “If anyone had stood up for me last night, none of this would be happening.”
My brow furrows. Why is he acting like this? Andrew is right—Nicholas may has well have called our father a liar to his face, listing all those artists who were untrained. And all of my brothers tried to deflect attention from Pax. Every last one of them—even Andrew, who I would have guessed would have been the last to do so.
“Pax…” I touch his forearm, and he flinches away. “I love you.” I look over at Andrew, who gives me a nod of encouragement. “I don’t know how else to do this.”
“Perhaps you should talk to Eleanor.” Andrew pauses, frowning. “I wouldn’t say she entered the family under similar circumstances, but she was also given similar lessons to learn her role—”
“Really?” Pax
tilts his head, giving Andrew a plastic smile. “And what role is that? She’s a princess, isn’t she? I’m nothing, remember? Not even a fucking musician.”
“Perhaps we can arrange a concert at the Independence Celebration? After the State Dinner?” I look over at Andrew again, hopeful that he understands why this needs to happen. My father may not respect the work that Pax does, but perhaps he only needs to see him performing to understand how important it is to him. To see how talented he is.
“I’m sure we could arrange that.” Andrew looks first at me, then over at Pax. “Would your bandmates be willing to come to Montovia? Of course, they would be welcome to stay in the palace. It would be a small affair, of course. Much smaller than your band is used to. Our Independence Celebration is only a local affair.” He pauses for a moment. “Of course, if you wanted to wait for the Salt Festival, you would have a much larger audience.”
“You want me to…perform?” Pax almost growls the words. “Seriously? At some hoity-toity affair where it’s probably all string quartets and opera singers?”
“It’s not…unheard of to have alternative music at the Independence Celebration.” Andrew’s expression turns almost uncomfortable. “I’m just trying to help. If horseback riding isn’t going to suit you, I just presume—”
“Stop assuming shit about me.” Pax continues to glare at my eldest brother. “I’ll learn to ride the fucking horse. And I’ll be the best fucking rider this country has ever seen. And if you want me to learn to fence, give me one of those sword things. I’ll learn how to stab people with it, or whatever the fuck it is you do with them. You want me to dance? I’ll be so fucking good at it that I’ll join one of those fucking ballroom dancing competition shows next year. And if you want me to play a fucking concert, give me a microphone. I’ll rock the shit out of your fucking celebration or whatever the fuck it is. If you want—”
“I think we get it, Pax.” I reach again for his arm, and this time he doesn’t pull away. “No one is suggesting you’re incompetent. I wish you’d see that.” I look over at Andrew, almost pleading with my eyes for help. I don’t know how to get through to Pax. I know on the surface it might seem like I’m setting him up for failure, but nothing could be further from the truth.
“On the contrary.” Andrew seems to understand what it is I’m thinking. “Like I said, we’re all on your side on this. I know it’s difficult to believe.”
“Damn right it is.” Pax glares between the two of us. “You know, to be honest…” His expression softens the slightest bit. “It’s almost like you went digging around in my past to try to figure out the things that would be the hardest, most horrible things for me to try to do. And those are what you want me to learn to try to get some old dude—who is never going to like me—to what? Tolerate my presence? It’s not worth it.”
Andrew’s jaw tightens. “Is my sister worth it to you?”
“Of course she is. But—”
“Has she told you what I did for the love of my life?” He cocks his head. “Because, man to man, if you aren’t willing to give up everything…” He glares at Pax for a moment. “And I do mean everything for my sister—”
“I already have given up everything, haven’t I?” He gives me a look of desperation before turning back to Andrew. “I left my country to come here. I’m doing all this shit…” He waves toward the stables. “I don’t know what more I can do.”
Andrew lifts a brow. “Then perhaps we were all mistaken.” He looks at Pax for another long moment. “Perhaps my brothers and I were wrong about you after all.”
Pax
I hate it that I’m forced to go along with what Ol’ Andy wants, but I’m also not about to let these royals think that they’ve won. Or that they’re better than me. And I definitely don’t want them thinking I’m not good enough for Sophia.
Okay, so maybe I’m bad at riding horses, but I have plenty of time to learn. In the meantime, I plan to crush it at my dance lessons. As I told Sophia, I already know I’ve got rhythm—I wouldn’t have made it very far as a musician if I didn’t—and I’ve picked up a few moves here and there. Unfortunately, I suspect that’s not quite the style of dancing I’m going to be learning today. But when it comes time for the first lesson and Sophia leads me into a small ballroom on the south side of the palace, I feel as prepared as I can be.
This time, my instructor is a woman. Frau Lange is a tall, mature woman in her sixties with a big mound of white hair and an angular nose. Her back is as straight as a board, and even though she carries a cane, its only purpose seems to be marking time and stabbing at me when my posture isn’t quite right.
“Back straight, shoulders back!” she commands me. This time, finally, I get to do my lesson with Sophia, and I stand awkwardly with one hand on her shoulder and the other on her lower back. This is not how we used to slow dance back in high school, but it could be worse. At least I get to hold Sophia.
“No, no, no,” Frau Lange says, shoving her cane between Sophia and me and swinging it back and forth. “More space! This isn’t your bedroom! People don’t want to see that!”
“We’re hardly touching,” I point out.
She glares at me from beneath thin, angular eyebrows. “No talking back! And maintain your distance! Her Highness is a princess and must show some modesty.”
I roll my eyes at Sophia as Frau Lange strides over to the old record player. Sophia assured me that the palace is hooked up with the finest sound system money can buy, but apparently that’s not the Frau’s style. The speakers crackle as the record begins to play.
“On my count, let’s begin,” Frau Lange says. “Remember—this one is a count of four. Lead her, but don’t force her. And back straight! One…two…three…and go!”
I move. My initial speculation was right—the styles Frau Lange has me practicing are nothing like those I’ve done before. But I manage to stay in step as I lead Sophia around the room.
“You know, you aren’t half bad at this,” Sophia says, smiling. “Looks like we’ve finally found your talent. Who knew you were a great ballroom dancer?”
“I prefer the term ‘rhythmically awesome’,” I say. “Please don’t ever call me a ballroom dancer. I’ll lose all my street cred.”
She laughs, and I spin her around, just as Frau Lange showed me.
I’ve got this. I’ve really got this.
My instructor seems to think so, too. When we make it back around the ballroom to her, she only pokes me twice with her cane, once in the center of my back and once under the chin, reminding me to keep my face up.
“Good, good,” she says, when the song ends. “Now let’s try the Montovian Waltz.”
This one is a little more complicated, but after a few tries, I seem to get it. Frau Lange changes out the record and asks us to go around the room again.
Sophia is still smiling at me as I sweep her across the floor.
“What did I tell you?” I say. “I’m not completely incompetent.”
“No, you just said that we’d specifically picked out lessons you couldn’t do.”
“I also said to bring it on. I’m not going to let any silly prince lessons beat me.” I twirl her back and forth, and then catch her in my arms again.
This time, when we move past the door, I see we have an audience. Andrew, apparently, has found better things to do this afternoon, but now Leo and Ol’ Nicky are standing there, watching us. Leo hoots and hollers at us as we pass, and Ol’ Nicky shoots him an exasperated look before turning his assessing gaze back to us.
“Do you really thing your brothers are looking out for me?” I ask Sophia. “That they’ll continue to defend me to your father?”
“I think they made their stance pretty clear last night,” she replies. “Just don’t fuck it up. And try not to antagonize Andrew or Nick.”
“I would never.”
She raises her eyebrow at me, and I grin.
“Okay, I would,” I reply. “But only if they deserved it. And they
usually do.”
“Just try.” She shakes her head. “William has offered to teach you fencing, you know. I think you might actually enjoy that.”
“Prancing around with a pointy stick? What’s not to love?” I’ve started to warm to the idea a bit since this morning.
The song ends, and we make our way back over to Frau Lange. Leo and Nicky have come to stand beside her.
“That was acceptable,” Frau Lange says. “But we don’t strive for ‘acceptable’ here. We strive for perfection. I expect to see both of you here again tomorrow for another lesson.”
“We can do that,” Sophia says. “Can’t we, Pax?”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug. Better this than horseback riding. My ass is still sore from falling off Cinnamon.
“In the meantime, our father would like to see you,” Ol’ Nicky says. “Both of you.”
The smile immediately falls off of Sophia’s face. “Why?”
“Don’t worry, he’s in a good mood,” Leo says. “Not that his good mood is much better than his bad mood—”
“What Leo is trying to say is that he doesn’t seem to be upset with either of you,” Nicky cuts in. “For now, anyway. I think he just wants to talk about the wedding. I believe he would like to get the official date on the schedule as soon as possible.”
Oh, that’s right. I’d completely forgotten that was part of the bargain. I’m not particularly excited about standing up in front of a bunch of strangers in a stuffy suit and dealing with all the frou-frou silliness involved in a royal wedding, but it’s a small price to pay, all things considered.
Sophia looks up at me. “Well, I guess we should go talk to him then.”
“Lead the way,” I say.
As we head toward her father’s office, though, the resistance in the pit of my stomach gets stronger and stronger, and it’s not just because I don’t care about the wedding. Nor is it because we have to deal with His Royal Snootiness again—not that I’m particularly looking forward to that. We’re halfway there before I realize what’s really bothering me.