CHAPTER 4 #3
"That you're listening. That you respect her. That you're partners in this."
Betty nodded seriously, absorbing the instruction. When I stepped back, she maintained perfect posture and light contact with Celeste's mouth.
"Natural athlete," I observed.
"Hardly. I was always the last person picked for sports teams. I once got hit in the face with a volleyball. While playing soccer."
"This isn't about sports. This is about feeling, and you've got good instincts."
I led them around the arena at a walk, watching Betty's position and how quickly she adapted to the horse's movement. She had good balance and she wasn't fighting the motion, two things that many experienced riders struggled with.
"Can we go faster?" she asked after a few circuits.
"Eventually. Let's master this first."
"I feel like I'm mastering it."
"Confident, are we?"
"Optimistic," she corrected. "There's a difference."
I liked that distinction. Confidence could be dangerous in inexperienced riders, but optimism suggested she was willing to learn while still believing in her ability to improve.
"Tell me more about Solmarina," she said as we continued walking. "What's the royal family like there?"
Another opening to evaluate her political awareness. "What do you want to know?"
"Are they good rulers? Do the people respect them?"
"The Queen is very devoted to her duties. She's made some difficult decisions over the years, but generally they've been in the country's best interests."
"That's a diplomatic way of saying she's unpopular but effective."
I glanced up at her sharply. "What makes you say that?"
"The way you phrased it. 'Devoted to duties' and 'difficult decisions' usually means someone who prioritizes politics over people. Which isn't necessarily bad, but it doesn't tend to win popularity contests. I worked in customer service. I know diplomatic language when I hear it."
She was more perceptive than I'd given her credit for. "You're not wrong."
"What about the prince?"
Here we were again. "What about him?"
"Is he like his mother? All duty and difficult decisions?"
I considered how to answer that. How did I see myself? As someone shaped by duty but not defined by it? As someone who'd learned to find meaning within the constraints of royal life by sneaking off to the stables whenever possible?
"I think he's trying to find a balance," I said finally. "Between what's expected of him and what he actually wants."
"And what does he want?"
The question hung in the air between us, loaded with implications I wasn't sure she intended.
What did I want? A life that was more than ceremonial obligations and political marriages.
Time with my horses. Conversations like this one, where someone talked to me like I was a person rather than a title.
"I think he wants to matter," I said. "To do something meaningful instead of just going through the motions of being royal."
"That doesn't sound like too much to ask."
"You'd be surprised how difficult it can be to find meaning when your entire life is planned out for you."
"Is that what you think his life is like?"
"I think most royal lives are like that to some degree."
She was quiet for a moment, processing this. "That's kind of sad."
"Why?"
"Because everyone deserves the chance to choose their own path. Even princes."
The simple sincerity of her statement shocked me.
When was the last time someone had expressed genuine sympathy for the challenges of royal life?
Most people either envied the privilege or dismissed the difficulties entirely.
"Must be nice to live in a palace," they'd say, as if nice houses made up for having every aspect of your existence predetermined.
"You sound like you mean that."
"Of course I mean it. Just because someone has wealth and status doesn't mean their problems aren't real."
We'd completed several circuits of the arena by now, and Betty's position had improved dramatically. She was moving with Celeste instead of against her, her hands were steady, and she looked like she'd been riding for months rather than minutes.
"Ready to try trotting?" I asked.
"Is that the bouncy one?"
"That's the bouncy one."
"Will I fall off?"
"Not if you do what I tell you."
"That's reassuring. Very confidence-inspiring."
I explained the basics of posting, rising, and sitting with the horse's rhythm, and showed her how to maintain her balance when the gait changed. Then I asked Celeste for a trot.
Betty's first few steps were awkward, as expected, but she adapted quickly. Within moments she was posting smoothly, her face alight with exhilaration.
"This is incredible," she called out. "I had no idea it would feel like this."
"Like what?"
"Like flying. Like dancing. Like the horse and I are thinking the same thoughts."
I'd heard people describe riding in many ways, but never like that. Her obvious joy was infectious. I was grinning as I watched her navigate her first real riding experience, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd grinned like this at anything.
"You're a natural," I called to her.
"Am I really, or are you just being nice?"
"I don't do nice. Ask anyone. You're genuinely good at this."
She beamed at the compliment, and something about her unguarded happiness made me wish I could freeze this moment.
Here, in the arena, she wasn't a political necessity or a royal obligation.
She was just Betty, discovering something new and wonderful, and her delight was the most genuine thing I'd encountered in years.
When we finally slowed back to a walk, she was breathless and radiant, her cheeks flushed from exertion and exhilaration.
"That was amazing. When can we do it again?"
"Tomorrow, if you want."
"I definitely want." She patted Celeste's neck affectionately. "Thank you, girl. That was the best twenty minutes of my entire week. Possibly my entire year, given how the rest of it has gone."
I moved to Celeste's side as Betty swung her leg over to dismount.
She'd done this smoothly in my imagination, but reality had other plans.
Maybe she was distracted by our conversation, or maybe Celeste shifted at the wrong moment, but Betty's boot caught in the stirrup and she pitched forward, losing her balance completely.
My hands shot out instinctively, catching her around the waist as she tumbled off the horse. The momentum carried her directly into my chest, and I staggered back a step, pulling her against me to keep us both upright.
"Sorry, I," she started to say, but the words died as she looked up at me.
We were pressed together from chest to thigh, her hands flat against my shirt, mine still wrapped around her waist. I could feel every curve of her body, the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, the heat radiating through her thin cotton top.
"You okay?" I asked, though I made no move to let her go. Which was inappropriate. Definitely inappropriate. I should let her go.
"I think so." Her voice came out breathless, and not from the riding. "I don't know what happened there."
"First time nerves. It happens."
But what was happening between us right now had nothing to do with riding nerves. Her green eyes were wide, and I watched her gaze drop to my mouth before snapping back up to meet mine.
I should have stepped away. Should have put professional distance between us, made some joke about the importance of proper dismounting technique. Instead, I stood there like an idiot, studying the flush that had spread from her cheeks down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt.
"Peter," she said, and my fake name sounded different in her voice. Softer. Almost questioning.
"Yeah?"
"You can let go of me now."
"Right. Of course." But neither of us moved.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the arena windows, casting everything in golden light that made her skin look luminous.
Her hair had escaped its ponytail during our ride, and strands of it clung to her neck.
She smelled like sunshine and horse and something floral that might have been her shampoo.
I became acutely aware of how my hands spanned her waist, how small she felt in my arms, how perfectly she fit against my chest. This was a terrible idea. This was the worst possible idea.
"This is..." I started, then forgot what I was going to say because she'd just run her tongue across her lower lip.
"This is what?" she asked, tilting her head back to maintain eye contact.
"This is probably not appropriate instructor-student behavior."
"Probably not," she agreed, but she still didn't pull away. If anything, she seemed to lean into me more.
Her shirt had ridden up slightly during her tumble, and my thumb brushed against a strip of bare skin at her waist. The contact was barely there, but it made her breath hitch audibly.
"Your heart's racing," I observed, liking the rapid flutter of her pulse where my fingers rested along her ribcage.
"So is yours."
She was right. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could feel it through my shirt. This close, I could see the tiny freckles scattered across her nose, the way her eyes had more gold than green in them, the slight tremor in her hands where they pressed against my chest.
"We should..." I began.
"Should what?"
"Cool Celeste down properly. Get you cleaned up. You're..." I swallowed hard, trying to focus on something other than how good she felt in my arms. "Your shirt's damp. From the ride."
Smooth, Archie. Very smooth. "Your shirt's damp" was definitely the most romantic thing anyone had ever said in the history of human attraction.
"Is it?" She glanced down at herself, then back up at me, her cheeks even pinker than before. "I guess I worked up more of a sweat than I thought."
"Betty," I said, and her name came out rougher than I intended.
"Yeah?"
"I think I should let go of you now."
"You probably should."
But instead of releasing her, my hands tightened on her waist. She made a small sound that might have been surprise or encouragement. Her fingers curled into my shirt, holding on instead of pushing away.
Celeste chose that moment to nudge Betty's shoulder with her nose, nearly knocking her off balance again. The interruption broke whatever spell had been weaving between us, and I finally stepped back, my hands sliding away from her waist with obvious reluctance.
"Right," Betty said, smoothing down her shirt and avoiding my eyes. "Cooling down. Very important."
"Very important," I agreed, though my voice still sounded strained. "Celeste approves of proper cool-down procedures."
"Celeste has excellent timing."
"She really does."
We spent the next ten minutes walking Celeste in awkward silence, both of us hyperaware of every accidental brush of hands, every moment when we moved too close together. The air between us crackled with unfinished business and unspoken questions.
By the time we'd put Celeste away and said our goodbyes, the tension had settled into anticipation.
As I watched Betty walk back toward the palace, her stride less confident than usual, her hand unconsciously smoothing her hair, I realized my evaluation hadn't gone according to plan at all.
I was supposed to be determining whether she could handle royal life. Instead, I was wondering what it would be like to kiss her.
And judging by the way she'd looked at me and the way she'd seemed as reluctant as I was to let the moment end, I wasn't the only one having completely inappropriate thoughts.
This was going to be a problem.