Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Astrid
I tug at the hem of the riding jacket, tightly buttoned up, glancing down at my outfit. The jodhpurs fit perfectly, flaring at just the right place, and the jacket is snug and very proper looking. I can’t help feeling like a character from a Jilly Cooper novel.
“You look the part, Asti,” Anya says.
“But the horses here are so much bigger than Elkevikian horses! What if I chicken out?”
“Then you can come back here and relax until the Prince has had his ride,” she says simply.
“But what would he think of me?”
She levels me with her stare. “You’ll be fine, Asti. Now go.”
I meet up with Frederic in the living room. If he has any thoughts on my attire, he doesn’t mention it, probably because he’s dressed the same.
After a short drive, we then arrive at the stables.
The air smells of hay and leather. Our shoes click against the cobblestones as we follow the stable manager inside. Rows of stalls stretch out on either side of us, a few horses leaning their heads over the half-doors to inspect us.
And just like that, all my private concerns about continental horses come roaring to life. They are enormous. Easily twice the size of the sturdy little horses we have back in Elkevik.
How am I going to even get up on one of these beasts, let alone commandeer it?
“Here we are, sir, ma’am,” says Mr. Timbale, the stable manager as we come to a stop by a giant horse with a beautiful brown coat. “We have a beauty for you, sir. Chestnut is his name.”
Frederic immediately strokes her nose, and Chestnut gives an appreciative throaty rumble.
“And for you, ma’am, we have Silver,” Mr. Timbale says as he leads me to the adjoining stall.
Silver. That doesn’t sound so bad. Silver could be gentle, modest, possibly even compact.
Inside the stall, Silver is bent over her feed, chewing with slow concentration.
“Morning, Silver,” Mr. Timbale calls.
She lifts her head. Two vast gray eyes fix directly on me, framed by lashes long enough to be false. Although who ever heard of false lashes on a horse?
I swallow.
“Have you ridden before, ma’am?” Mr. Timbale asks.
“Only ponies,” I say quickly. “Well, not technically ponies. Our horses in Elkevik are about half the size of Silver.”
“Ah yes. They’re famous. Very popular with children, I understand. We’ll get Silver saddled up for you in a jiffy.”
“Great,” I say, pasting on a smile.
“Everything all right, Astrid?” Frederic’s voice carries across the stable.
“Oh, yes. Fine.”
He moves to my side at once. “Are you sure?”
Why can’t I mask my feelings better?
I glance at Silver, who shifts her weight and lets out a soft snort. “She’s just quite large, isn’t she?”
Frederic reaches out without hesitation and runs a hand along Silver’s nose. She leans into the touch, making a low, appreciative sound as she shifts her hooves, just as Chestnut did.
My fiancé, it would appear, is extremely good with horses.
“She seems like a lovely horse,” he says.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. It’s just that she’s so big.”
Mr. Timbale dispatches two stable hands to saddle the horses. They work with brisk efficiency, leather straps tightened, girths checked, reins adjusted. Before long, Chestnut and Silver are led out into the courtyard, their hooves clomping against the stone.
Frederic places his foot in the stirrup and swings himself up onto Chestnut in one smooth, effortless movement. He settles into the saddle as though he was born there, gathering the reins with quiet confidence.
He turns his horse to face me. When he sees me frozen by the side of the huge horse, he asks, “Everything all right?”
“Fine. Yes, fine,” I reply, feeling anything but.
He studies me for half a second longer than necessary. “My man, take this for me, will you?” he says to one of the stable hands, passing over Chestnut’s reins before dismounting in one single fluid motion.
How does he do that?
“Let me help you, Asti.”
“Thank you,” I say, very aware of how far away the saddle seems from the ground.
“Place your left foot here.” He steadies the stirrup while I do as he says. “Shall I give you a lift?”
“If you don’t mind.”
What happens next is so swift I barely have time to process it. Without hesitation, he places his hands at my waist, then lower, and hoists me upward.
By my bottom.
I let out a startled breath, swing my right leg over to find the opposite stirrup.
I marvel at what just happened. One moment I’m wobbling uncertainly at ground level, the next, I am seated securely atop a very large horse.
I look down at Frederic, slightly breathless. “Well, you made that easy.”
“You’re as light as a feather,” he replies, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest quirk. “That helps.”
It’s a small smile. Blink and you’d miss it.
I don’t.
Since arriving in Ledonia, I’ve become attuned to Frederic’s smiles. When once, they were few and far between, they’ve been appearing more frequently lately.
I refuse to read anything into it. A smile is just a smile, after all.
I watch as he once again mounts Chestnut with ease. He guides his horse around until he’s positioned neatly beside me.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
My heart is beating faster than I would prefer, but I nod. I may not have ridden a horse quite this size before, but I’ve ridden plenty. I’m not a complete novice.
I’ve got this.
I give the stable hand a small nod and he releases Silver’s reins. She shifts beneath me, powerful and warm, and I lean down to stroke her neck.
“We’re going to be good friends, you and me, Silver,” I murmur.
When I sit upright again, Frederic is watching me, his expression unreadable.
He probably thinks I’m ridiculous, needing to be hoisted up onto my horse and now talking to it like I did the dogs that day in the glass house.
I square my shoulders.
Our horses clomp across the courtyard, and we bid farewell to Mr. Timbale and his stable hands. The stable hands opened a gate to the adjoining field for us. Frederic leads the way, and I follow, guiding Silver carefully through.
I’ll admit, from where I am sitting, the view is rather excellent.
Frederic’s cropped riding jacket accentuates his broad shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist. His seat in the saddle is steady and controlled, every movement economical.
Even the way he rides, so confident and in control, has a certain appeal.
Frederic eases Chestnut back until he’s riding beside me. Goodbye view.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“I think I’m doing all right. Silver’s lovely.”
“Good.” He studies my posture. “You’re a natural.”
“I’ve ridden many horses,” I say. “We have a stable full at home.”
“Good,” he repeats, satisfied. Then his gaze sharpens slightly. “In that case, how about we increase the pace? I usually ride at quite a clip in the mornings. Are you up for it?”
There’s a spark in his eyes now.
I lift my chin. “Of course I am.”
I only hope that I am, in fact, telling the truth.
“Right then,” Frederic calls over his shoulder as he trots ahead. “Let’s kick this up a notch.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer.
With a subtle press of his heels, Chestnut surges forward. Horse and rider move as one as they dash across the open field.
“All right, Silver,” I say in a murmur. “Let’s catch them up.”
I press my heels in gently and we move from a walk to a brisk trot. Another nudge, and she responds beautifully, lifting into a canter. I rise slightly from the saddle, knees bent, finding the rhythm as we trail behind Frederic.
He glances back at me.
“I’m catching you!” I call.
In response, he merely urges Chestnut on. They lengthen their stride, racing ahead like a bolt of lightning toward the edge of the forest.
I may not have ridden a horse quite this size before, but Silver’s still a horse. Four legs. One tail. A heart eager to run.
And run we do.
The wind rushes past my ears as we fly across the field, the distance between us shrinking by degrees. For a few glorious seconds, it’s nothing but speed and sky and the steady thunder of hooves beneath me.
We reach the line of trees, and instinct takes over. I ease Silver back as we enter the thicket. Experience has taught me that unfamiliar woods deserve respect. Even a modest forest can conceal uneven ground, low branches, and unexpected turns.
We weave between trunks, dappled light flickering over us as we follow the path Frederic has taken.
Ahead, I see him slow, turning in the saddle to look back through the trees.
“Are you all right?” he calls again.
“I’m great!” I shout back.
“Can you catch me up?”
“Challenge accepted!”
I want to impress Frederic.
I press Silver forward. Her hooves strike the forest floor in quick, sure beats as we dart between trees and past low shrubs, following the narrow trail with Frederic leading the way.
Thankfully, we break through the final line of trees and emerge onto a rolling green hill. The land opens up around us, wide and sunlit.
Frederic is waiting at the crest, Chestnut’s sides rising and falling as he pants lightly from the run. There’s a broad, genuine smile on Frederic’s face.
“About time you arrived,” he says, his chocolate-brown eyes sparkling. Is it from the ride? The rush of fresh air? Or perhaps… something else?
“Was that another joke, Fred?” I ask as I guide Silver to a halt beside him.
“It might have been.”
“Shall we meander?”
“Of course.”
We ease our horses into a relaxed walk, cresting the hill together before descending the other side. The view steals the breath from my lungs. Mountains rising blue in the distance, a river glinting in the afternoon sun like a ribbon of silver, rolling green all around us.
“I can see why you ride every morning,” I say.
“It’s good exercise. But mostly it’s the space. The quiet.”
“You like your own company?”
“I do.”
“Ah,” I nod knowingly. “You’re an introvert. I could have told you that.”
He glances sideways at me. “My profession would suggest otherwise.”
“Your profession was designed for an extrovert.”
“That’s very perceptive of you.”
“It’s not perceptive. I’m an extrovert. I love meeting people, talking to them, being in the middle of it all. You’re more reserved.”
He arches a brow. “The Ice Prince, you mean?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I hate that expression. They don’t know you. They judge you without even bothering to look past the surface.”
He studies me, something thoughtful flickering in his gaze. “Why do you say that?”
“Because there’s more to you than meets the eye. I can tell that, and I’m only just getting to know you. It’s obvious you care about people. At least it is to me. You just don’t perform it the way others expect.”
He looks out across the landscape, his jaw tightening. His profile against the open sky is striking. It’s sharp and regal. He looks every inch the prince he was born to be. He looks the part effortlessly.
He may not always feel it on the inside. But from where I sit, watching him in the sunlight with the wind tugging at his hair and the kingdom stretching out below us, he cuts a very fine figure indeed.
“I wish I had your ease,” he says at last.
The admission catches me off guard. “Really? Why?”
“Because it comes so naturally to you. Speaking to people. Putting them at ease. For me, it’s an effort.
I watch you and you do it so easily. You make people feel as though they matter.
As though you’re already their friend.” He hesitates for the briefest second before looking me directly in the eyes. “I admire that in you.”
Warmth floods my chest so swiftly it almost startles me.
Frederic admires me.
How unexpectedly, wonderfully lovely.
“I can’t really take credit for it. As you say, it’s natural. But you do well, Fred. You just need to loosen up a little, that’s all.”
“I’m not known for being loose,” he replies.
I laugh. “No, I suppose not. You like your rules and your binders and your color-coded schedules.”
“They are extremely helpful in my busy life.”
“I’m sure they are. But people aren’t like that.” I gesture vaguely between us. “People aren’t binders.”
He gives me a look that suggests I may have drifted into ridiculousness.
“What I mean is that people want you to be curious about them. They want to tell their story. If you make space for them, they’ll fill it. You don’t have to perform. You just have to listen.”
He considers that, his gaze drifting to the river below. “Yes,” he says at last. “That makes sense. Shall we go?”
“Lead the way.”
We ride on in companionable silence for a few moments, the wind tugging gently at our jackets.
For someone who claims not to be good with people, he’s doing rather well with me right now.
He’s not the performing Prince Frederic I see in public, nor even the quiet, rigid, rule follower with his binders and protocol in private.
This is a new Frederic. And I find I like this version of him.