My Trojan Horse Majesty (The Russian Witch’s Curse #5)

19. Izzy

Chapter 19

Izzy

N ot even married, and already bound until death do we part.

“This is jacked,” I say. “I barely even know you.”

Leonid stands. “Do you?”

I frown. “What does that mean?”

“You barely know me?” He arches one eyebrow. “You’ve seen me naked.”

“Well, but, I mean.” I hate how flustered I am.

“You’ve ridden me,” he says. “And I liked it.”

“Are you making jokes right now?” I ask. “We came up here, in large part, to try and figure out how to break this strange bond—you can only use your powers when you’re touching me—and she said we can’t break it.” My eyes widen. “Unless you kill me.” All the fight goes out of me. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“If I had to be stuck to someone. . .” Leonid laughs. “At least I won’t be bored ever again.”

“Were you bored a lot? It’s boring, running Russia?”

“It was,” he says. “I was bored almost all the time before I met you.”

“You have to be at least a little distressed,” I say. “You didn’t choose me. I didn’t choose you. That insane lady, witch, thing, just. . .” I hold up my hands and smoosh them together. “She just smashed us together, and bam. Now we’re stuck forever.”

“I would thank her if she just came back.” Leonid pivots and nearly runs right into me. He grabs my hands. “Tell me you’re really upset that we’re bonded.”

“There are no good sides to this,” I say. “You lost power and control, not to mention freedom. Yes, I’m upset.”

“Well, I’m not.” He tilts his head. “That’s a strange feeling for me, believe it or not, but I’m not upset. Not even a little bit. I meant it earlier when I said I almost didn’t want to break the bond.”

I roll my eyes. “Alright, so you’re just trying to keep me happy so I won’t try and sneak off and knock you out.”

“No, that’s not it.” He shakes his head. “I’m actually grateful of the excuse to keep you near. And if someone threatens you, I’ll burn them and their entire family to the ground to keep you safe.” He leans closer. “And I won’t even feel guilty about it.”

“Burning the world down is bad , Leonid,” I say. “Please tell me you know that.”

He shrugs. “The world’s overrated, honestly. I’ve seen most of it, and none of it impressed me.”

“But a cowgirl from backwoods Utah did?” I arch an eyebrow. “I know when someone’s blowing smoke.”

He frowns. “Blowing what?”

“Let’s just get back down the mountain,” I say. “You have that governor thing.”

“Shift me, and I’ll give you a ride,” he says.

I freeze. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugs. “You liked me better as a horse, I think.”

“But you have a governor thing.”

“Which is why you’ll change me back when we get to the bottom of this trail. It’ll spare you the hike, and we can find out whether I can still use my magic when I’m in my horse form, as long as you’re touching me.”

“If it’s for research,” I say, “I guess it’s fine.”

He hands me the blue rock.

“You kept that?”

“Should I have thrown it away? I ripped a mountain apart to get it for you, and it got us the answers we wanted, even if it wasn’t in the way we planned.”

“Is blue beryl valuable?”

He shrugs. “How should I know?”

It’s valuable to me now, not that I’d admit that to him. I stick it in my pocket, and I drop a hand on his arm. “I—I want you to turn into a horse.”

It’s apparently that simple, though it may be less about the words and more about shaping my desire to change him. There’s a jolt, and then a weird kind of ear-popping sensation, and he blurs into Drago. He’s not right that I like the horse version of him better. . .or at least not exactly. As a horse, everything with him felt so uncomplicated. As a horse, there weren’t stories and magic and history. As a horse, he was a little maniacal, sure, but he wasn’t burning things down or reducing humans to ash.

I was just a girl, stealing a horse to bail out her criminal boyfriend.

“So maybe my life wasn’t quite so perfect before, either.” I huff.

Drago whinnies, like he agrees.

I realize the other advantage to this form is that he can’t really make any snide or disturbing comments. I think part of my objection to his human form is that he says a lot of things I shouldn’t really agree with, but somehow, I often do. As a horse, he’s so much less complicated. When he drops his shoulder, I know it’s time to climb onto his back. He’s so dang tall that it’s still hard, even with a lowered front end, but I manage to scramble on very inelegantly. It helps to know that he won’t spook at a bird whistling and kill me. “I do miss having a bridle,” I say. “I know I’m basically a passenger, but I’m used to having a bit to take hold of when a horse misbehaves.”

He snorts, and I know he’s laughing.

“Next time, I’m bringing one.”

He trots off, then, like the scree under his feet doesn’t bother him at all. Shifter-horses must have amazing feet.

That thought leads to others, questions he can’t answer this way at all. “Hey, can you colic? Like, if I didn’t shift you back, and you ate, like, a hamburger, would your stomach get all tied up? Or do you have a different digestive tract than a typical horse?”

He keeps trotting.

“What about paper bags? Do they sometimes suddenly scare you? Are they, like, bigger or billowy-er now that you have horse eyeballs?”

He slows down, whips his head around, and blows a bunch of air at my leg.

“Fine, fewer questions while you can’t answer.” I think that’s why I was asking them all. I can ask whatever I want, and he can’t stop me. “Do you think you just like me. . .and I just like you. . .because of the bond or maybe the soul thing and not really because we just do ?”

He freezes, sliding a foot or so on the debris underfoot, and then he swivels his neck around again and tosses his head.

And neighs.

Loudly.

“I’m not turning you now. Get me down the mountain first.”

He throws his head again.

“Why do you think I asked you all that? You can’t tell me anything, so it’s a safe question.”

He throws his head straight out toward me, and he screams.

“Whoa.” Two hikers duck around the bend ahead of us. “They have horses on these trails?” The one with a knit cap on waves.

The other one, a tallish man, peers at us. “You don’t ride with a saddle?”

“It’s a trust exercise,” I say. “I’m training him to be a good horse.”

“How’s it going?” knit cap says. “I think I’d be scared to do that.”

I shrug. “He’s a stallion, and he’s not very well behaved. I’m thinking of having him gelded, but whenever I say that, he screams even louder.”

Drago screams then, and I can’t help laughing. “See?”

“I had no idea horses were so smart,” tallish man says. “That’s amazing.”

“This one’s a little unique,” I say. “He kind of tries to kill everyone but me.”

They shift over and give us a wide berth. Almost as soon as they’re past, Drago poops.

“Really?” I ask. “You are such a teenage boy, deep down.”

He snorts.

“We’re almost down the mountain. Let’s just go.” But with hikers coming now, I realize that he might need to shift back soonish. For some reason, it only occurs to me then that his clothes are missing. He didn’t take them off when he shifted, and they didn’t rip or tear or anything.

They just. . .disappeared.

What’s going to happen when he shifts back?

Shoot.

“Umm.” I slide off his back and head for a little copse of pine trees. “Follow me, you naughty stallion.” I toss my head this time.

Thankfully, he listens. Chalk one up as a win for the trust exercise.

“We don’t have clothes,” I hiss. “I hope you have a plan for this.” I wince. “Because those hikers showed up, and now I’m worried there might be more of them.”

He whinnies loudly.

“Yeah, I was wondering that, too.” I touch his shoulder, close my eyes, and say, “I want you to be a man now.” Same ear-popping feeling. Same whoosh, and then I slowly open my eyes.

He’s naked. Totally and completely naked. Again.

And his smile is smug .

“Why are you smiling? This is a disaster.”

He shrugs. “Embarrassment is for people who don’t look good.”

“You can be arrested for being naked in public here,” I hiss. “There’s no ‘he’s hot’ exception!”

“Diplomatic,” he says slowly, his voice low, “immunity.”

“Oh, my, gosh.” I stomp down the trail ahead of him and nearly run into someone. As I back up, casting around for Leonid, I realize it’s Boris.

He sighs. “I brought him clothes—they’re in the car. I’ll get them.”

“How did they know where you were?”

Leonid’s strolling down the hill behind me, not even wincing from the rocks under his feet. And I can’t deny—he does look good. Ugh. “I left my cell phone in the car. When I don’t answer it, and when it stops moving, they usually show up wherever I am. It’s very annoying.”

“Well, in this case, it’s handy. Because you need to get some clothes on!”

“You asked me a question, you know,” he says. “And you didn’t let me answer. That was rude.” He’s walking toward me, making eye contact, just chatting, like he’s not hanging brain.

“We can just talk about it later.” I cover my eyes with one hand, but I can’t help stealing just a little peek. I mean, he’s not wrong about. . . Okay, I think the soul bond’s wrecked my normal decency.

“It’s not the bond,” Leonid says. “The way I feel about you—it might be the soul thing, but it’s not the string that crazy witch tied between us. I like you because you’re bright. You’re innocent, even though you’re not dumb. You’re fiery, and you’re generous, and you’re considerate. I like all those things about you—but mostly, I don’t feel alone when you’re nearby for the first time in my entire life.”

I forget my other concerns, and I stare only at his face. “But that could be from the connection.” I blink. “Right?” Because I feel it too, whatever it is, the strange belief that he’s just what I need. That he’s like me, and that I can trust him.

“Here, boss.” Boris tosses a bag at him.

Leonid’s movements are always so graceful. He catches the bag, nods at me, and turns to dress.

I shouldn’t, but I can’t help watching him.

I look away the second he turns around, but his chuckling follows me the last two dozen steps to the car. I’m not sure how he knew I was watching, but he’s onto me.

“Are you ready to meet the governor?” I have no idea how Boris keeps a straight face.

“Of course,” Leonid says.

“Will the girl be coming?” Boris side-eyes me.

“The ‘girl’ will always be coming, but you won’t go anywhere else if you ever call her ‘the girl’ again,” Leonid says. “Isabel Brooks, or maybe later, Isabel Iv?—”

I cover his mouth with my hand, and he licks me.

He licks my palm.

And then he winks. “Fine, you can keep your name.”

I swear, he’s cracked.

What does it say about me, that this is my soul match? Even thinking that sends a sort of a shiver up my spine. “I—I don’t hate it either,” I whisper. “Maybe she was right about the soul thing.”

Leonid’s smiling when we reach the other members of his staff. They’re all gathered near two dark SUVs, and they’re all wearing suits. I glance down at my blue sweater and dark jeans. “I’m going to wait in the car,” I say. “I’m definitely not dressed for a meeting with the governor.”

Leonid rolls his eyes. “You’re just fine. You’re the czar of Russia’s date.”

Date.

I’m his date. . .and his soul match. It’s a really weird thing to say out loud, but for some reason, I don’t hate it.

I mean, with Tim, everyone hated him. I tried not to care, but it made me question my judgment. And then, it turns out I was wrong. He was bad. . .for me, and also, just in general. But in this case, my judgment doesn’t matter, right? I mean, one of the four witches of the world who provide strength to all living things said we’re a match.

He’s too good-looking for me, he’s too rich for me, he’s too well-educated for me, and he’s definitely too powerful for me, but I’m his soul match, so it’s fine.

I’m actually surprised that when we reach the Utah State Capitol building, no one questions what I’m wearing. I’m standing in a sea of suits, wearing jeans and a sweater, and no one bats an eye. They do clip a microphone to my lapel, and the makeup lady keeps brushing things on my face last minute, but when the recording starts rolling, everyone’s smiling, including Leonid.

“You’ve been here, in the United States, now for several weeks,” the governor says. “And in every formal, official interview, visit, or chat, you’ve been alone.” He smiles. “And yet, here today, you’re sitting next to a very pretty blonde woman.”

Leonid reaches out and takes my hand.

The governor’s smile broadens. “Tell me, who is this?”

My horse-shifter soul match presses a kiss to my hand. “This is my girlfriend, Isabel Brooks. I’m head over heels, and I’m not embarrassed to say that.”

The governor and his wife both clap. His wife, Betty, squeals. “This is so exciting.”

“And how did the two of you meet?” Governor Kuykendall asks.

“It was accidental.” Leonid leans forward and drops his voice. “But if we’re being totally honest, I think we could call it fate. I was in a bit of a bind, and this lady totally saved me.” He’s looking right at me, his brilliantly green eyes shining.

“The two of you are quite the pair,” Betty says. “Do you think you’ll be spending more time in Utah now, thanks to her?”

Leonid shrugs. “I have a lot of work to do in Russia, and I’ve probably stayed here too long already, but I will just say that even though I haven’t known Isabel for very long, I can’t imagine not having her by my side.” He winks, and I know it’s a joke about how he passes out if I’m not near, but it also feels like he means it.

“Can we expect a visit to Tiffany’s?” Betty asks. “Or is it still too soon?”

“Tiffany’s?” Leonid asks. “Russia’s famous for its garnets, emeralds, alexandrite, and diamonds. I doubt I’d have much need to purchase a little blue box.”

“No?” Betty asks.

Leonid smiles. “The gems I choose for this woman won’t fit in a small box.”

She roars at that one. “But Isabel’s so petite. How will she lug that around on her finger?”

“She’s stronger than she looks,” Leonid says.

“And I’m five eleven,” I say. “I don’t think anyone, even Leo, has ever referred to me as petite.”

“Does she call you Leo?” the governor’s wife asks. “That’s so cute.”

“But no one else should try it, for the record,” Leonid says. “Only she calls me that.”

The interview moves along to other matters—foreign trade, his priorities at home, and his thoughts on tariffs and import taxes—and I can’t help thinking about what might happen to me if I don’t somehow break this bond. He’s the czar, and he’s ruling Russia. He needs me with him, but I don’t want to leave my family, not even for him.

I paste on a smile, but my mind’s whirring.

Once we’re finally done, I walk arm-in-arm with him until we’re finally leaving the capitol building through the back door. I can’t help breathing a big sigh of relief that the whole ordeal’s finally over, but this is an everyday occurrence for him. It must be terribly exhausting, and I can see why he might feel lonely. It was all so surface-level.

“Sir,” Mikhail says, “There are some people here to see?—”

Leonid shakes his head. “I’m not seeing anyone else today. That was more than enough for my first day back. Isabel and I have things to discuss.”

“They’re not here to see you,” Mikhail says. “Isabel’s parents are here to see her.”

“They’re here?” I ask. “In Salt Lake City?”

Mikhail nods.

Leonid swears under his breath. “Izzy, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Izzy.” Mom shoves past one of Leonid’s people and jogs in my direction. “Isabel Brooks, I forbid you to spend another second with that tyrannical despot.”

“It’s not like that,” I say. “You’re watching the wrong news channels. Come meet him, and?—”

“He threatened us, held us captive in our own home, and almost let Mandy die,” Mom says. “Don’t say another word to defend him. I know Leonid Ivanovich better than I wish, and I forbid you to talk to him for another single second.”