Chapter 26 #3
“Don’t.” Eliam’s voice was calm but firm. “Move with him, not against him.”
“I don’t know what that means!”
“Feel the rhythm.” He kept walking, leading Phaeon in a slow circle around the courtyard. “Let your hips follow the movement.”
She tried, but everything felt wrong. She was bouncing slightly with each step, her thighs already starting to ache from gripping the saddle too tightly.
“You’re fighting it,” Eliam observed. He stopped Phaeon and moved to her side, his hand finding her thigh again. “Relax here.” His touch was warm through the wool. “You’re going to exhaust yourself.”
“This is relaxed,” she lied.
His eyebrow arched. “Is it?” His hand moved to her calf, which was indeed rigid with tension. “And this?”
“Fine, I’m terrified. Happy?”
He squeezed her calf gently before returning his hand to her thigh. “Think of it like when I’m inside you.”
She nearly choked. "What?"
"You heard me." His voice dropped to that particular tone that made her breath catch. "You know how to move your hips in rhythm. How to anticipate motion and match it. How to let someone else guide the pace while you follow."
Her face burned. "That's not—"
“The same principle applies.” His hand pressed against her thigh, demonstrating the rhythm. “You don’t think about it when you’re in bed with me. This is no different.”
“It’s completely different. One involves a massive animal that could kill me.”
“And the other involves me,” he said with dark amusement. “I fail to see the distinction.”
Despite her terror, she found herself laughing. “You’re terrible.”
“But effective.” He adjusted her foot in the stirrup. “Weight in your heels, not your toes. Like when you’re bracing against the bed when I—”
“I get it!” she cut him off, face flaming.
“Do you?” His lips curved slightly. “Then show me. Move with him the way you move with me.”
He started walking, Phaeon following placidly. This time, Briar tried to focus on the motion instead of her fear. The horse’s gait was steady, predictable. She found herself starting to anticipate the movement, her hips beginning to follow the motion naturally.
“Better,” Eliam said, and there was approval in his voice that made her stomach flutter. “Now, you’re going to steer.”
“What? No, you’re steering. I’m just sitting here.”
“I’m leading. You’re going to steer.” He stepped away from Phaeon’s head, though he stayed close to her leg. “Use the reins. Gentle pressure in the direction you want to go.”
She pulled lightly on the left rein. Phaeon’s head turned, but he kept walking straight.
“With your legs too,” Eliam instructed. “Press with your right leg to go left.”
She tried again, adding leg pressure this time. Phaeon turned left in a wide arc. The success sent a little thrill through her.
“I did it!”
“You turned left. Congratulations.” But she could hear the amusement in his voice. “Now right.”
She tried the opposite, pulling the right rein while pressing with her left leg, and Phaeon obligingly turned right.
“Can you make him stop?” Eliam asked, stepping back further.
She pulled back on both reins. “Whoa?”
Phaeon stopped so abruptly she nearly pitched forward over his neck. Eliam’s hand shot out to steady her.
“Gently,” he said. “He’s well-trained. You don’t need to haul on his mouth.”
“You could have mentioned that before.”
“How else would you learn?” He moved back to Phaeon’s head. “We’re going to try a trot.”
“We’re absolutely not.”
“We are.” He was already adjusting her posture again, hands on her hips to position them correctly. “It’s actually easier once you find the rhythm.”
“Easier than walking?”
“Different. Post with the motion—rise and fall with his gait.”
Before she could protest further, he made that clicking sound again followed by a command she didn’t catch. Phaeon moved into a trot.
She immediately started bouncing hard in the saddle, her teeth clicking together with each jolt.
“Post!” Eliam called. “Up, down, up, down!”
She tried to rise with the motion, but her timing was completely off. She was coming down when she should be going up, the impacts jarring her spine. Her thighs burned with the effort of trying to grip and lift at the same time.
“I can’t—” she gasped.
Eliam’s hand found her knee, pressing in rhythm. “Up… down… up… down…”
She tried to follow his guidance, and suddenly—for just a moment—she found it. The rhythm clicked, and she was moving with Phaeon instead of against him.
Then she lost it again and bounced hard enough to bite her tongue.
“Ow!”
Eliam brought Phaeon back to a walk with a word. “You found it for a moment.”
“Before I lost it again.” She could taste blood in her mouth.
“That’s how learning works.” He stopped Phaeon completely and moved to help her dismount. “Swing your right leg over.”
She did, but when she tried to lower herself down, her legs had turned to jelly. She would have collapsed if Eliam hadn’t caught her, pulling her against his chest.
“My legs don’t work,” she said against his shoulder.
“They will.” His arms stayed around her, supporting her weight. “You used muscles you’ve never used before.”
“I may never walk again.”
“Dramatic.” But his hand rubbed her lower back where the muscles had seized. “You did well for a first lesson.”
“I barely managed a trot.”
“You stayed on.” He pulled back enough to look at her face. “That’s more than most manage their first time.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” His thumb brushed across her cheekbone. “You were determined. Even terrified, you kept trying.”
The warmth in her chest pulsed, responding to his approval, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks that had nothing to do with exertion.
“Tomorrow we’ll work on your seat,” he said, and there was something in his tone that made the innocent statement sound like anything but.
“My seat is fine,” she said, then realized what she’d said. “I mean—”
“I know what you meant.” His lips curved in that way that meant he was highly amused. “But your riding seat needs work. You’re too stiff.”
“Because I was terrified.”
“Among other reasons.” His hands shifted to her hips, thumbs pressing into the sore muscles there. “You’ll be sore tomorrow.”
“I’m sore now.”
“It will be worse tomorrow,” he promised. “But we’ll continue anyway. By the time we leave for the Wildwood, you’ll be competent enough to not fall off at a walk.”
“Such high praise.”
“Would you prefer I lie and say you’re a natural?”
“Maybe?”
“You’re terrible,” he said bluntly. “But you’re stubborn enough to get better.”
Despite everything, she found herself laughing. “That might be the worst compliment I’ve ever received.”
“It wasn’t a compliment. It was an observation.” His hands stayed on her hips, supporting her until her legs steadied. “Tomorrow, same time. Don’t be late.”
“What if I can’t walk by then?”
“Then I’ll carry you to the horse.” His tone suggested this wasn’t a joke. “You’re learning whether your legs cooperate or not.”
She groaned. “You’re a tyrant.”
“Yes.” He guided her toward the archway leading back inside, his hand firm on her lower back. “And tomorrow, you’ll be a slightly less terrible rider because of it.”
Phaeon nickered behind them, and Briar could have sworn it sounded like laughter.
“Even the horse thinks I’m hopeless,” she muttered.
“The horse has good instincts.” Eliam steered her through the doorway, out of the cold. “But he’ll tolerate you anyway.”
“How generous of him.”
“It is, actually. I was told that Phaeon doesn’t suffer fools.” He glanced down at her, and there was something almost like amusement in his expression. “You should be flattered he didn’t throw you.”
“There is always tomorrow,” she pointed out.
"True," he agreed. "And tomorrow's lesson will be worse."
And somehow, despite the threat in those words, despite her aching legs and the terror of being on horseback, she found herself looking forward to it. Even if it meant she’d probably end up face-first in the snow.