Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Stellan
Istand beside the gray gelding, petting him absently.
Standing in this riding ring takes me back to my childhood days.
The colors of the landscape, heather and green moss, dark colored earth and endless blue skies, all blending together seamlessly.
The air here is full of strangely comforting scents: fresh cedar chips, sweet horse feed, the baser scent of horse dung.
I swear, nothing here has changed since I was a little boy, first learning to ride. The world around me back at the palace never seems to slow down. But out here, in the ivy-covered stables only a twenty minute helicopter ride from the palace?
It’s just a whole different world. Time stands still. I think it’s because everyone has to dress in riding gear. I’m currently wearing dark riding pants, a loose white button up, and knee-high boots almost shiny enough to see myself in.
Stroking Karl’s muscular neck, I stare off into space and just… relax. Being who I am is not easy; everyone needs something from me, all the fucking time. Every minute of every day is jam-packed full of doing things to help other people.
I’m not complaining. But it’s not often I get to zone out. Just… let my mind drift.
When Margot clears her throat gently, I tense up. My time is up, it seems.
I turn, eyeing her. My eyes widen a little bit.
She’s wearing the khaki jodhpurs and chestnut riding boots that were brought along for her…
but on top, she wears a black t-shirt that reads The Smiths.
Her riding pants are skintight. And her t-shirt is loose and full of holes, one especially large that shows off her neon pink bra.
God, why haven’t I taken her riding before now?
She blushes under my inspection. “You are making me feel even more like an alien from another dimension than I did when I walked out of the changing room.”
I shrug. “I can’t help it if you look…” I pause, trying to think of how to word my thoughts diplomatically. “Eye catching.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “Cool it. Are we going riding or what?”
“Ja, ja. Look, the stable hand is bringing in the gentlest of our mares for you now.” I point over to the fence, where a stable hand leads in a sleek-looking black horse. “Okay?”
Her expression remains full of uncertainty, especially when she’s clambering on top of the horse. The stable hand helps her get into the saddle and then backs away, looking nervous. Not half as nervous as Margot looks, though…
Wide eyed, she clutches at the reins.
“You act as if you haven’t ever been on a horse before,” I chide her, mounting my horse.
Beneath her, the mare stands placidly. She looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head. “Of course I haven’t!”
I raise my eyebrows. “Wait, really?”
“No! You think I’m joking about it?” Her expression darkens.
I guide my mount over to Margot, glancing over at her upright posture. “Relax your grip on the reins. Hold them like this.”
I demonstrate, giving my horse a few inches of slack. She copies me, biting her lower lip. I reach over to her and correct her grip once, then smile. “There. Only pull back on the reins when you want the horse to slow or stop. And use your heels to encourage the horse to start moving. Like this.”
I use my heels to nudge Karl forward. Using exaggerated motions, I demonstrate how I guide my horse. Margot’s brow puckers, but she follows my movements. Soon, she guides the horse around the ring, successfully starting and stopping a few times.
“Come on.” I jerk my head to the horizon. “Let’s go out of the ring, into the wild. We’ll go on a really easy ride, okay?”
She looks at me with terrified eyes, but she doesn’t back down. She just swallows. “Okay.”
Margot is clearly afraid but she’s not going to let a little worry keep her from trying something new. God help me, but that’s the most attractive thing she’s done yet. I grin at her, nudging my horse toward the gate.
The stable hand opens the gate, standing aside to let both of us pass. I grin back at Margot as I ride. Her expression is really delightful, part suspicion, part fright, part determination. I lead her down a gentle hill, just as slow as the horses want to take it.
“Wouldn’t Hunter S. Thompson be proud of you right now?” I tease.
She glances over at me, a puzzled frown on her face. “Who?”
“You know, the guy who wrote Leaving Las Vegas. He invented gonzo journalism. He rode with biker gangs, ran for office, and did a ton of drugs.”
“Ah,” she says, chuckling. “Yeah, I recognize the name now. I feel like he’d take one look at me right now and die laughing. This isn’t exactly gonzo journalism.”
“No?” I ask, grinning. “I don’t know… You are obviously out of your element, but you’re keeping your shit together.”
She makes a face. “Maybe. We’ll see.” She looks out at the surrounding landscape, pursing her lips. “I have to say, it’s quite pretty out here. What is that sort of gray plant with purplish blossoms that is growing everywhere here? It just looks like there are endless fields of it.”
My lips twitch. “Heather.”
Margot looks at me, her slender brows rising. “Really? It’s awfully beautiful.”
I nod, adjusting in my saddle. “Ja. There is a famous Danish song about seeing the waves of heather underneath the rolling blue skies…” Eyeing her, I shrug. “During the summer, it is so nice here.”
She slides me a look. “What about during the winter?”
I wrinkle my nose. “The snow is very pretty. It can be breathtaking, in a brutal sort of way. But ja, the snow gets old after a few days.”
“Same thing in New York. Except it is much hotter there during the summer. There’s no air from July until nearly September. Stifling is the word, I think.”
Pulling gently on Karl’s reins, I drop back so that Margot and I can walk two abreast. She shoots me a hasty smile. “What? Am I doing something wrong?”
I shake my head. “No. I just want to be able to see your face while we’re talking.” I smirk. “You know that everything you are thinking is spelled out by your expressions, ja?”
She sends me a tiny scowl. “It is not.”
“Yes, it is.” I shrug. “When I was younger, maybe age seven or eight years old, I had acting classes. My instructor was a very old French man named Monsieur Bernard. And Monsieur Bernard would make us all dress up and stand in a line to be inspected.” I smile, huffing a laugh.
“Little kings and queens, he called us. Even Erik, though I think he knew that Erik was common. Monsieur Bernard always said that it is very important for the family of the king to learn to control their faces at all times.”
Margot looks a little surprised at that. “Really? That’s… interesting. Most parents would be afraid that their children might hide things from them, I would imagine.”
I look out at the horizon, squinting. “You don’t know my family, Margot. They are not like anyone else’s family.”
Her nose wrinkles a little. I fully expect her to ask when she will meet my father and mother, to say that it is an important part of her article or whatever. But she doesn’t.
“No,” she says, her full mouth flattening. “It would be weird to expect the royal family to function the same as everyone else, I guess.”
I study her, wondering what she’s thinking that makes her mouth turn down at the corners. “What about you?”
She looks up at me. “What?”
“You never answered my question yesterday. Did you grow up in New York City?”
“Ah.” She looks down at the reins in her hands. “Yeah. I was born and raised in Brooklyn. It was…” She laughs to herself under her breath. “It was basically the opposite of growing up here, I think. That’s what I’m gathering, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” I ask casually.
Her resulting smile is a little bitter. “I didn’t have anything as a kid. And I don’t mean I didn’t have a palace and a fleet of jets. I mean…” Her cheeks turn red. She pauses, then shakes her head. “I was just brought up differently, that’s all.”
I shrug. “Almost everyone grew up differently than I did.”
She tilts her head, cocking an eyebrow. “Have you ever thought about finding someone who was raised in the same way? I mean, I know you are being pressured to pick someone to marry…”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Nope. Not interested.”
“In talking about it, or doing it?”
I pin her with a stare. “Either. Now come on.”
Digging my heels into my horse, I take off like a shot. And Margot isn’t far behind, nudging her horse into a gallop and letting out a whoop of fear and excitement.
For just a moment, I let go of everything extraneous. Worries about my father’s health, heavy thoughts about becoming the ruler of Denmark, constant needling about choosing a wife.
Right now, in just this moment, Margot and I are just two people flying far and fast, all the rest of Copenhagen and it’s concerns be damned.