Storm Called

by Susan Copperfield

  “I just have one question.”

  “What is it?”

  “Can kings cook?”

  “As I’ll rebel if I can’t enjoy your cooking for the rest of my life, yes. Kings most certainly can cook.”

  As I wanted to catch a wild west Texas wind, I wouldn’t tell her she could just hire me to cook for her for the rest of her life. If she wanted to ignore the obvious, I’d let her. “I also come packaged with a little filly with health problems.”

  “Your little filly will be fine, and I wouldn’t dream of trying to separate you from your horse. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “You mean beyond winning the approval of a bunch of people who will hate me because I wasn’t born with the right magic?” I arched a brow and stared at her.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you or your magic. You’re fine just the way you are, and if anyone disagrees with me, I’ll zap them.”

  She would, too. “I still don’t have any qualifications to be a king, Jessica.”

  “You’re kidding, right? We live in a society where people think having the right magic makes somebody qualified to rule a kingdom. That’s bullshit. Magic doesn’t give someone intellect or wisdom. It just means they pack a bigger punch in the magic department. So what? You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re compassionate, and you have an ass I’d kill for when you wear a good pair of jeans. I suppose the only qualification we actually have is fertility, and I prefer a more natural discovery about my partner’s fertility, if you please. I’ll zap anyone who tries to test you for anything.”

  Unable to help myself, I laughed. “I appreciate that. I’ll fervently hope I have no problems of that nature, and I’m educated enough to realize the entire blame on a child’s gender rests fully on my shoulders.”

  “I want a girl first.” Jessica stomped her foot. “Just to spite my damned father. Are you okay with that, Pat?”

  “I’m not educated enough to know if there’s any way I can contribute to the gender of unborn children.”

  “Typically not,” she admitted. “But we can try, right?”

  I’d lost my mind, she’d lost her mind, and I decided since we’d both lost our minds, I’d just roll with the insanity. “Sure, Jessica. What are your recommendations?”

  “A lot of practice?”

  She looked—and sounded—so hopeful I struggled against my urge to laugh. “Shouldn’t the practice phase of things happen after marriage? I’m not sure about a lot of things dealing with royals and politics, but I’ve been around men in my caste enough to know they’ll treat you poorly.”

  “I’m woman enough to handle their idiot judgment, don’t you worry about that. If they don’t like it, I’ll zap them.”

  I was quickly coming to the conclusion Jessica’s first and last resort was to zap people who got in her way. “You deserve only the best, but if you’re serious and really want someone like me—”

  “No. Not someone like you. You.”

  I’d never realized how much a simple correction could change everything for me. “We might be more than a little insane for even considering this.”

  She grinned. “I know. That’s part of what makes it so beautiful. I miss you when you’re gone, which is most of the time. You treat me like I’m a person, not just some broodmare up for grabs.”

  I clenched my teeth at the thought of anyone treating Jessica like a broodmare. “Just for the record, if anyone calls you—or treats you—like a broodmare where I can hear them, I’m probably going to end up in prison.”

  “In good news, Texas abolished the death penalty with the exception of attempted regicide, so it’s a matter of a good defense attorney and bail. But I won’t lie, Pat. You’re going to end up in prison often if you let that get under your skin. In good news, I can teach you some non-violent methods of retribution that’ll send those assholes packing with their tails between their legs.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “Humiliation works the best, and nothing is more humiliating for them damned, stuffy elites than being outclassed by someone they perceive as beneath them. Outsmart them, outwit them, outride them. Prove their money can’t beat your hard work. You’ll make enemies, but that’s where I come in, because only a fool would test me. I’m tired of pretending I’m a perfect angel for my father’s court. When I take the throne, they’re going to learn a painful lesson about why they never should’ve underestimated me because I was born the wrong gender.”

  “You weren’t born the wrong gender.”

  “You’re the only one who thinks so.”

  “I’m going to have to hit a lot of people for treating you poorly, aren’t I?”

  “We just went over this, Pat. Humiliate.”

  “I’m not sure a little humiliation is the appropriate response to them treating you like that.”

  “It’s not a little humiliation. It’s a lot of humiliation, and I will enjoy every damned last minute you spend educating them on the errors of their ways.”

  I had a lot of work ahead of me. “Where should I start?”

  “With your filly, of course. The first step to ruling in Texas is holding your own in the saddle. You just leave the rest to me.”

  I foresaw disaster, but I’d do my best. She was worth it.

  Chapter Ten

  Between Morning Glory and Jessica, I worried for my sanity. My filly wanted more attention every day, and I didn’t have enough hours in the day to give her the time she deserved and dig deeper into a royal’s life trying to unravel the mystery that was Princess Jessica of Texas. The week flew by, and when Sunday rolled around, I made the time to go to the library to check out a few books that might be able to give me a better idea of what associating with royalty actually entailed.

  I began with the one government document I had access to: the yearly budget. I’d never understood why they bound and printed the budget and distributed one copy to all public libraries, but I appreciated having access to it.

  It might give me some insight to how the government actually operated. I understood the basics, which boiled down to all royal edicts being approved by a congress elected by most people.

  It made everyone believe, at least a little, the royals would work

  My caste couldn’t vote, although the one directly above mine could. When growing up, I’d never understood why magic qualified someone to be able to vote. Neither of my parents had been able to explain it to me.

  I understood it now. It was a matter of numbers. If everyone in my caste could vote, we could make a difference in how the kingdom was represented. Magic grew stronger each year, with more and more people surpassing the minimum requirements to escape the lowest of the castes. By the end of my lifetime, I doubted there’d be enough people in the lower castes to support the higher castes. How would society function when there was no one at the bottom to support everyone else?

  The problem would become Jessica’s, and if things worked as she wanted, it’d become mine, too.

  The budget would eat up the majority of my spare time, and I already regretted my interest, wondering how I’d find time to read the entire thing. It led me to another question, too.

  Castes hadn’t always existed. I hadn’t learned much about the United States before the first wave of magic had swept over the world, but the little taught implied society had undergone major shifts.

  I scoured the library for history books about society in the United States prior to the second civil war and added it to my pile. It might help me understand how the elites would survive without an extensive lower caste bolstering them. I would have to rely on the internet for some of my research; none of the books in the library had information on the number of people escaping my caste for better waters during evaluations.

  I doubted my efforts would make much of a difference, but before I could give Jessica an answer of any sort, I needed a better idea of what I could offer her.

  Until I figured that out, I’d worry about it. Resear
ch would help. I could research some before bed every night and do most of my reading at work during the downtime. I’d push forward with the business education courses, too.

  A well-rounded education would serve me well.

  As always, reality had a way of screwing with me. How could a princess, a woman destined to become a queen, really want me?

  In addition to doing research, I needed to evaluate my actual worth. What did she see that I didn’t? That question would bother me for a long time. Was what she’d told me the simple and honest truth?

  If so, I could see the appeal, if I turned my head to the side and squinted.

  Any choice, even a bad one of a man from a lower caste, beat having no choice at all.

  For that reason alone, I would do my best to give her what she needed, even if it meant I lost sleep trying to make a few extra hours in the day. I couldn’t abandon her when she needed someone she could trust.

  My fears over how I’d fit into her world would bother me for a long time to come, but I could do one thing: I could welcome her to mine. It’d only take a nudge or two for my parents to welcome her.

  They might panic when they realized they had a Royal in their home. After they panicked, they’d try to be the perfect hosts. Their first move would be to recruit me to make an even better dinner, but as I’d be making Jessica’s favorite yams and chicken, I’d be safe in that department. I’d also repeat my cake adventure from the restaurant to make sure she could indulge in another sugar high.

  If her goal was to have someone who’d spoil her with food she actually liked, it was no wonder she wanted me around. I’d even be a gentleman and point out she could hire me to cook for her whenever she wanted. That would be the responsible thing to do.

  For once in my life, the last thing I wanted to do was the responsible thing. The longer I spent with her, the more certain I became: a woman like her came around only once in a man’s lifetime, and only a fool would throw such a chance away.

  Unfortunately for me, I was the kind of fool who would for the right cause. A single truth stood out over the rest.

  I wanted what was best for her.

  Morning Glory did not like me riding another horse, and she protested my lessons with squeals. When I didn’t do what she wanted, she shadowed my school horse, a patient bay gelding who tolerated my filly’s antics with admirable grace.

  His name, Bob, never failed to make me smile.

  She wanted me to ride her and only her, and it took both of us to convince her to cooperate with my lessons.

  As threatened, Branst put me through my paces behind the backs of my regular trainers, and I juggled progressing fast enough to please them versus nursing saddle sores and discovering how tiring riding a horse could be.

  To start me off and make sure I truly understood the relationship between man and horse, Branst started me with dressage riding in an English saddle, convinced if I could guide a horse through a dance, I could make one do anything I wanted.

  Every lesson, Morning Glory interrupted us as she tried to mimic my school horse’s movements in her earnest desire to prove she was up for the challenge of being my horse. Branst found the development promising; she’d heal faster and become stronger trying to match Bob.

  I adored Bob, as Bob wouldn’t perform unless I gave him perfection. I admired his tenacity and stubbornness. At first, I could barely convince him to walk, but every time I succeeded with him, the victory spurred me into doing better.

  When I wasn’t riding Bob, I rode Crimson Sunset, a strawberry roan who loved to jump. The first time she’d decided to take flight, she’d gone one way, I’d gone the other, and I developed a love for my helmet, which kept my brain in my skull where it belonged.

  “What do you do now, boy?” Branst demanded, cornering the mare and picking up her reins so she wouldn’t become tangled in them.

  “The correct answer is get back on and try again, but I think I want to just lie here for a few minutes,” I replied, debating if I had the energy and will to get my ass off the sand and back into the saddle. “What did I do wrong?”

  “I wouldn’t say you did something wrong. See, Crimson Sunset has a mind of her own, and she decided she wanted to buck. She does that. Remember how she tossed her head, snorted, and tensed?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “That was her warning you she was about to take flight. She might like to buck, but she’s a lady about it. Next time she takes flight, what are you going to do?”

  “Fall on my ass again.”

  “While honest, you’re going to try to keep your seat. Remember all that crap I keep telling you about keeping your heels down and gripping her with your legs?”

  “I do recall you telling me something of that nature.”

  “That’ll help keep you in the saddle. What will also help keep you in the saddle is learning how to jump her intentionally, which is what we’re going to do today.”

  “We are?”

  “We are, as soon as I grab you a new helmet. I couldn’t tell if you hit your head when you fell, and I don’t put a helmet I’m not confident in on a student’s head. I’ll have someone check it over and toss it if it’s no longer sound.”

  “As I like my head, thank you.”

  “Get your ass off the sand, boy, and get back in the saddle. This time, try not to fall and learn to listen to your horse.”

  Crimson Sunset snorted, and I hoped I’d survive my lessons long enough to show the elites even someone like me could ride a horse like them. I had the feeling I’d need all the luck I could get.

  My first real fall signaled an escalation of my riding lessons, and I wanted to protest them right along with Morning Glory. According to Branst, I did well. According to my legs, my ass, and the rest of my body, I had one foot in the grave and would be lucky to see the end of the next week.

  On Friday, as I didn’t have classes for a rare change, I limped into the stable, began all my duties to help take care of Morning Glory, and waited for the moment Branst retrieved me so we could resume my lessons.

  Instead of Branst, one of my trainers, Valerie, came to Morning Glory’s stall. She narrowed her eyes and looked me over. “You’ve been sneaking rides.”

  Busted. Aware all three of my instructors would catch me eventually, Branst had already concocted a good excuse for me to have been riding. “Branst had me help him exercise some of the horses in the stable so I could get used to riding other horses. We exercised Morning Glory at the same time.”

  She huffed, and I wasn’t sure she’d buy the excuse, but then she nodded. “I suppose it’d be foolish of me to expect a horse empath to refuse a chance to ride any horse possible. You’re moving like an old man. How many rides have you been sneaking?”

  As ‘whenever possible’ would annoy her, according to Branst, I would need to play a different card, one that wouldn’t earn me any sympathy but would explain why I ached so much. “I took a fall yesterday, and after Branst finished laughing at me, he said I needed to learn, first hand, why I should try to avoid falling. Then he ordered me back into the saddle, where I fell three more times before he decided to take mercy on me. Something about making sure I knew I really needed to get back into the saddle after a fall. Personally, I had figured that out after the first time I hit the sand. And yes, I got back on each time.”

  “Falls happen. Which horse did you fall on?”

  “Crimson Sunset.”

  “Well, that explains things. She gets pissy when she’s not jumping, so she’ll jump because she wants to be jumping rather than riding in circles. She hasn’t been on the training schedule lately, so that makes sense.”

  She hadn’t been on the training schedule because she’d been working with me when Bob needed a break from teaching a green rider, yet another secret I needed to keep for as long as possible.

  I wondered if royals needed to manage a ridiculous number of secrets. If so, my secret riding lessons would give me sufficient experience.

  “Is h
elping Branst exercise some of the horses a problem?”

  “Not at all, just stick with the walk and trot like we’ve been practicing in lessons. Branst can keep you from developing any bad habits. How has your filly been during her exercises?”

  “She gets offended I ride other horses,” I admitted. “And she tries to act like the school horses.”

  “That’s a good sign she’s properly bonded to you. Excellent. I want to make an appointment with your vet to see if we can start with a lightweight saddle to help build her strength. Have you put any thought into what sort of riding you’d like to do with her?”

  “What will she be able to do?”

  “Whatever you want. Until she’s a little older, we won’t be able to test her aptitude, but you can choose to go Western or English with her. I expect she’ll try to do her best no matter what. We can start testing what she excels at down the road, but I don’t recommend racing. She’s not a thoroughbred, so I doubt she’d be competitive. You’ll want to clear it with her vet, but jumping might be an option. Cutting would be fun for both of you.”

  “Cutting?”

  “Competitive sorting of cattle, essentially. It’s a rodeo sport.”

  “What are my other options?”

  “Barrel racing, although that’s more for the ladies. I don’t know how you’d do at roping the calves, but it might be an option, too. There’s always dressage, too. Some horses can do several different styles of riding. A lot of it depends on her. Once she’s stronger, we can experiment to see what she’s good at.”

  “That sounds good. I’d like to do something she enjoys.”

  “That’ll make things easier. I’ve lost count of how many times a rider has come to me asking to train a horse to do something the horse hated. Anyway, I’ll talk with your vet. If all is going well, I want to start using light weights to strengthen her within the next few weeks. You’ll be late into the saddle with her, but she won’t be as far behind as I thought when she first came back from her operation.”