CHAPTER 4
Archie
The Valdorian stables were impressive, though not quite up to Solmarina standards.
Not that I was keeping score. (I was absolutely keeping score.) Still, whoever designed them understood horses: high ceilings, proper ventilation, and stalls spacious enough for the kind of bloodstock that belonged in a royal facility.
I'd arrived an hour early to inspect the horses and choose appropriate mounts, playing my role as visiting riding instructor to the hilt.
The Grand Duchess had been surprisingly cooperative when I'd suggested this arrangement. "You want to evaluate her yourself," she'd said with that knowing smile that made me wonder exactly how transparent my motives were. "Very wise. Better to know what you're dealing with before the wedding."
What I was dealing with, according to the surveillance reports, was an American barista with zero equestrian experience and a tendency toward sarcasm.
Not exactly the profile of someone who could handle royal life, but I needed to see for myself before condemning my future to an incompatible marriage.
The sound of footsteps on cobblestone announced her arrival. I turned from the mare I'd been examining to see Princess Bettina of Valdoria walking into my temporary domain, and my first thought was that the surveillance photos hadn't done her justice.
She was prettier in person. Not in the polished, artificial way of most women I met, who seemed to have been assembled from a catalog of approved royal accessories.
Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, she wore jeans that actually fit her instead of whatever designer nonsense was currently fashionable, and she moved with a natural confidence that couldn't be taught at finishing school.
She was also looking around the stables like she'd never seen a horse in person before, which was probably accurate. Her expression suggested she was trying to decide if these enormous creatures were going to eat her.
"Princess Bettina?" I said, adopting the slightly deferential tone expected of palace staff. "I'm Peter. I'll be your riding instructor."
Peter. My middle name as an alias had seemed clever when I'd thought of it. Now it just felt like the beginning of a lie I wasn't sure I wanted to tell.
"Just Betty, please." She approached me with the cautious expression of someone entering unfamiliar territory. "And I should probably warn you up front that I've never actually been on a horse. Is that going to be a problem?"
Never been on a horse. I'd known this intellectually, but hearing her say it out loud made me realize exactly how far removed her life had been from anything resembling royal preparation.
She'd probably never had to memorize the correct order of precedence for seating at state dinners either. Lucky woman.
"Not a problem at all," I said. "Everyone starts somewhere. Have you been around horses before?"
"Does the petting zoo at the county fair count?"
I almost smiled at that. "We'll start with introductions then. This is Celeste." I gestured to the gentle bay mare I'd selected specifically for beginners. "She's got the patience of a saint and the manners of a diplomat. Unlike most diplomats, she actually means it."
Betty stepped closer to the stall, and I watched her face transform as Celeste stretched her neck toward her. The wariness melted away, replaced by something that looked like wonder. Pure, unguarded wonder. When was the last time I'd seen anyone react to anything with that kind of openness?
"She's beautiful," Betty said, reaching out tentatively to stroke the mare's nose. "God, she's so much bigger than I expected. The petting zoo ponies were definitely smaller. And less majestic."
"These horses have exquisite bloodlines."
"Every little girl goes through a horse phase, you know?
" She was running her fingers along Celeste's neck now, and the mare was practically purring under the attention.
"I must have read every horse book in the library.
Black Beauty, Misty of Chincoteague, The Black Stallion.
I used to dream about having a pony, but.
.." She shrugged. "My parents couldn't afford it, and we lived in suburbia anyway. Not exactly pony territory."
There was something in her voice. Not bitter, just matter-of-fact about the limitations of her childhood.
Most people would have mentioned the financial constraints with resentment or self-pity.
She stated it like a simple fact of life.
Like saying the sky was blue or that taxes were annoying.
And she didn’t seem to realize that if she hadn’t been kidnapped, she’d have had all the ponies she could ever want.
I was suddenly angry for the childhood that had been stolen from her.
"Well, you're in pony territory now," I said. "Ready to make up for lost time?"
The smile she gave me was completely unguarded. "Absolutely."
I spent the next few minutes explaining basic safety and showing her how to approach horses properly.
She listened with the kind of focused attention that suggested she actually cared about getting it right, asking questions that were surprisingly intelligent for someone with no experience.
Most beginners just wanted to climb on immediately and gallop into the sunset. She wanted to understand.
"Why do you always approach from the side?" she asked as I demonstrated proper technique with another horse.
"Horses have blind spots directly in front and behind them. If you come at them from the side, they can see you clearly. Less chance of startling them."
"That makes sense. Do they spook easily?"
"Depends on the individual horse and how well they're trained. Celeste here is bomb-proof, but some horses will jump at their own shadow. Or a plastic bag. Plastic bags are terrifying."
She absorbed this information with the kind of seriousness that suggested she understood horses weren't just oversized pets.
Good. Too many people approached riding with romantic notions about befriending wild mustangs, completely ignoring the fact that horses were powerful animals that required respect.
And that wild mustangs would absolutely kick you in the face if given the opportunity.
"Let's get you familiar with basic grooming first," I said, leading Celeste out of her stall. "Part of being a good rider is understanding horses, and you can't understand them if you don't spend time on the ground with them."
I handed her a soft brush and showed her how to work with the grain of the coat. She took to it naturally, her movements becoming more confident as Celeste stood quietly under her attention.
"You're not from Valdoria, are you? Your accent is slightly different."
Observant. "Good ear. I'm from Solmarina actually."
"Really?" Her hand stilled for a moment. "What's it like there?"
"Beautiful. It's a chain of islands in the Mediterranean.
Lots of coastline, good sailing, excellent wine.
" I was describing my homeland with genuine affection rather than the diplomatic platitudes I usually offered strangers.
"The people are proud, maybe a little stubborn, but they're passionate about their country.
Also about arguing. We're very good at arguing. "
"And you came here to teach riding?"
"Among other things. I work with royal horses throughout Europe. Valdorian bloodstock is quite good, though they could use some improvements in their breeding program." I paused. "Don't tell the Grand Duchess I said that."
She glanced up from her grooming with a conspiratorial grin. "Your secret's safe with me."
"You sound like you know what you're talking about," she added.
"I should hope so. I've been working with horses my entire life."
"Lucky," she said, and there was genuine envy in her voice. "I always imagined that would be the perfect job. Working with animals, being outdoors, doing something that actually mattered instead of just serving overpriced coffee to people who treat you like furniture."
The bitterness in that last part was unmistakable. "Bad experience with customer service?"
"You could say that. My manager was a complete ass who seemed to think his job was making my life as miserable as possible.
" She moved to Celeste's other side, continuing her brushing with smooth, even strokes.
"But that's all behind me now. Now I get to learn how to be a princess instead.
Which involves fewer rude customers but significantly more curtsying. "
"How's that going?"
She laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound.
"About as well as you'd expect. Yesterday I was making lattes and worrying about rent.
Today I'm living in a palace and engaged to a prince I've never met.
It's a bit of an adjustment. Also, apparently I walk wrong.
Did you know there was a wrong way to walk? "
"There's a wrong way to do everything, according to palace protocol," I said, which was truer than she knew.
This was my opening. "What do you know about him? Your fiancé?"
She paused in her brushing, considering the question. "Not much." She shot me a sideways look. "You probably know more about him than I do, working in royal stables and all. Give me the real scoop."
"I might have heard a few things."
"So what's the real story? Is he a decent person, or am I marrying some entitled royal brat who thinks the world owes him everything?"
The directness of the question caught me off guard. Most people asked about titles and wealth and political connections. She wanted to know if I was a good human being. It was refreshing and slightly terrifying.
"From what I've observed," I said carefully, "he takes his responsibilities seriously. He's not the sort to abuse his position or treat people badly."