by A C Wilds
“I figured we could eat breakfast in the gardens before heading to the stables,” he says, walking out the door and over to a fountain that has a ledge around it, perfect for sitting.
The morning sun is starting to warm up the day. The gardens are meticulously manicured with flowers in bloom and sculpted trees. It reminds me of the Queen of Hearts’ rose garden in Alice in Wonderland. Too perfect, too beautiful, and full of red roses.
Cassiel pulls out two breakfast sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. After setting that down, he takes out a thermos and pours strong scented coffee in two mugs. He adds a splash of milk to his own and creamer to mine.
“How do you know what I like to have for breakfast?” I ask, as he has chosen all of my favorite things, down to the creamer that I put in my coffee.
“I know everything about you. Your likes and dislikes, what your schedule is. I even know you received a bright pink bike for your tenth birthday,” he says calmly, like he is talking about the weather.
“You do realize the more you talk, the more I think you are one of the creepiest, insane, stalkerish men I have ever met?” I tell him plainly, because this is starting to get out of control. I’m also lying, because if I’m honest, he’s not creepy at all.
“I think you're too judgmental. I wanted to know everything about you, so I did some research.” It seems like I hurt him a bit. He looks away from me, and I almost feel bad for him.
“That’s not how you get to know someone. It’s an invasion of their privacy. What if I didn’t want you to know about the bike or how I take my coffee? I’m going to assume you don’t have a lot of friends, and you don’t leave here much.”
He snaps his head back toward me and stares for a full minute trying to figure out what to say. His jaw is set, and he’s grinding his teeth. I can tell he is frustrated, but this is my life. In the last two days I have been drugged, kidnapped, and thrown into a world I have no idea about. I found out the Fae are real and that they sometimes are angels. Or not? I’m so confused.
“No, I don’t. I have never left the palace grounds,” he says, with a sadness I haven’t seen before. It almost looks genuine. Maybe this isn’t the life that he would choose if he could. Maybe he is just as much of a prisoner as I am.
“That explains a lot. You need to broaden your horizons, so to speak. You people do some fucked up shit here. It’s not ok to have slaves and treat people like dirt. Everyone deserves to be equal, and not kept against their will. What you are doing is wrong.”
I glance at him for a second before turning away again. People like him can’t be persuaded so easily. It’s ingrained in who they are. To be pompous. To think they are superior. I want for him to be different, and to not be ok with the status quo in this place, but I don’t know if he can be. We don’t always get what we want.
We eat in silence. There is nothing left to say. It’s not uncomfortable, but more pensive. We are both seemingly lost in our own thoughts. I hope I get to ride today. Ever since the glance I had yesterday at the barn, I have been foaming at the mouth thinking about coming back here. I know it’s fucked up to want to do anything fun here, but horses are my weakness.
I get up from the fountain and clean up my area as best as possible. “Ok, show me the way to the stables. I am excited to see the whole thing this time.”
Cass gets up looking at me like he’s surprised. He is genuinely handsome, with his strong chin and straight nose. His blond hair is perfectly combed, and his grey eyes sort of match my own. It’s weird, because I have never seen anyone with my color eyes before.
“This way,” he says, leading us through a gate that leads directly to the stables.
The smell hits me first: hay and horses. The sweet, fragrant scent of dead grass mixed with the natural scent of large beasts. Pure heaven!
The stable is massive. One of the biggest I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some pretty impressive ones, especially in Florida where people have nothing else to do with their money except spend it on their horses. There is a courtyard in the front with another tall fountain. What is with all these damn fountains?
There are three branches of stalls leading directly in front and splitting off to the left and right. There is a practice area down one corridor and a substantial outside paddock behind it. I can only see it because someone has left the door open, and the bright morning sun is shining through. It’s like an equestrian wonderland. Everything is polished and spotless, which is no small feat. Most people think that horses are naturally majestic, when really, they are slobs. My excitement is growing the further we walk in. I am practically vibrating by the time we enter the first corridor.
Along the main artery, horses stick their heads out in curious greeting — some munching on hay, and others too arrogant to offer a second glance. There is one horse in particular that stands out right away. He, because his presence is too male to be a mare, stares out at us. His eyes are a clear chocolate brown with intelligence that almost seems mocking. His coat is the color of freshly pooled blood from a sliced vein. He has no markings, but you would know this horse anywhere. He is…perfect.
I stop in front of him and let him adjust to my presence. He paws his hooves up and down in greeting and nods his head almost to say hello. My hands itch to reach out and touch him. It’s nearly too much to control — this urge. I’ve never felt this pull before. It’s intoxicating and otherworldly. I feel a connection. Something I’ve never felt with another horse before.
“What’s his name?” I say in a hushed whisper, because all my breath is gone. I am captivated and in awe of this beast. And he is a beast. At least 18 hands, but not a draft. His body isn’t built that way. He’s muscular and toned but doesn’t carry around the bulk of a draft horse. He would make an excellent show jumper.
“This is Red. He’s a companion horse to the prize horses. He is not a good horse at all, very green and hardly accepting of his halter. It takes forever to get him from pasture to stall. Only Greyson can handle him. We only keep him because he seems to keep the other horses calm. Let me show you the horses we will be riding today,” Cass states, while slowly turning and walking away.
I hesitate. I can’t stop staring at him. He seems unable to look away either. I feel like I am falling deep into his chocolate eyes. I can see he is judging me. I know he’s taking my mirth and trying to figure me out. I let him.
I reach out. Fingers extended in a cupped fashion. Not tense, but lovingly. I let him sniff my hand. His huff is warm and wet. His eyes track my movements, but he stands still, seemingly in the same trance I’m in. I open my palm and place it on his cheek. He doesn’t throw his head or back away. His hair is coarse and silky at the same time. The heat from his skin warms my hand and, at this moment, looking into his eyes, I know he is mine.
“I won’t ride any horse except Red,” I say, in almost a whisper. I don’t have it in me to argue or look away.
“You can’t. He won’t even let anyone put a saddle on him. He is completely useless. You’ll get hurt,” he says, almost like he cares about me.
“Let me be the judge of that. If you did your research correctly, you know problem horses are my thing. You know I can handle it. Unless of course, you didn’t do that good of a job at being my stalker,” I push, knowing this will get a reaction out of him. He starts to say something when Bartholomew walks down the hall. Seeing us, he stops and bows.
“Your Highness, Changer, what brings you to the stables this morning? Are you looking to go riding? I can have Stormborn, and another horse tacked up in around 20 minutes.” He eyes me like I’m nothing. Beneath him, bordering on contempt. He has another thing coming if he thinks for one minute I am going to put up with his shit.
“Want to tell me what you mean by Changer?” I ask, because there are so many other things I want to say, but this seems like the most non-threatening.
“Has no one told you your purpose?” he asks, eyeing the prince. He looks like he is scared for letting that word slip. I won
der what they do to Fae who disobey? Surely it isn’t as bad as what they do to the humans. Nora said no one was allowed to say anything, and it looks like Barty just fucked up big time.
“You were born to change the world,” Cassiel says, seemingly feeling he is the better choice at telling me that I’m some savior, which I most certainly am not. His guise must not be the same as the others, or he is openly defying his father, which I could get behind 100%.
“I think you have the wrong girl. I am not even special enough to change the menu at Manny’s, let alone the world.”
“There is no doubt that you are she, because it can only ever be a she, and not a he.”
“Ok Dr. Seuss. That still doesn’t prove that it is me.”
“There are other ways to prove it is you, but my father wants to be the one to show you. For now, let’s ride, and then I will take you to him.”
The need to ride overpowers my curiosity. It’s been too long. My heart and my mind wants a release. I need a way to process all this. Getting on Red and giving myself over to the course will help.
“Ok, later then.” Turning to Bart, I say, “Where is Red’s tack?”
“Why would you want tack for the companion horse? You can’t ride him,” he says, with that arrogant tone I have come to associate with all Fae.
“Let me be the judge of that. Now, where is it?”
“He doesn’t have any. We don’t waste resources on horses that don’t perform.”
“Show me to the tack room then, and I will fit him myself.” It won’t be perfect, but I am sure I can find a saddle to fit as closely as possible.
It seems there is going to be a lot I am not going to like around here. With an exasperated look, good ol’ Barty shows me into the tack room. Except it’s not a tack room. It’s a fucking megastore of equestrian equipment. There are rows and rows of gear, saddles, bridles, bits, and crops. There are things in here that cost more than I would make at the best competition. It’s a Wonderland. I instantly fall in love with all the neat rows and color-coded bins. In the back of the room, there are stations almost like those fancy wooden lockers pro athletes have in their dressing rooms. Each is labeled with a horse’s name. Inside is all their gear and grooming supplies. They even have custom shampoo and conditioner specifically for their coat’s need. I notice the names on the lockers are all weather-related. Stormborn, Lightning Cloud, Thunderstruck, Bolt, and Hurricane. They all seem to be named after adverse weather. There are only five lockers, but there are clearly over 20 horses in this barn.
“Barty, where is the tack for the rest of the horses? There are only five lockers here,” I say, turning around to the short stuck-up Fae. He is shorter than the others with a swollen red nose and caterpillar eyebrows. His face is bloated, and his body is skinny, kind of like a Fae lollipop. He looks like he might burst at any moment. I don’t think he has ridden a horse in a very long time. He kind of looks like Gargamel from the Smurfs.
“Only prize steeds get lockers. The rest of the horses have their tack outside their stalls, and companion horses have only a halter for transport. Also, my name is Bartholomew, not Barty.” He says this last part with such disdain. He must not be used to being challenged. I’m just going to have to change that.
“I know what your name is, but you see, I have this thing with names. I don’t like them, so you will get a nickname of my choosing to make me feel…happier.”
“Listen here…” he begins, but Cassiel quickly puts up a hand and stops him.
“Bartholomew, that will be all for today. I can continue to show Azra around. You are dismissed,” Cassiel says, in that cool-as-fuck tone. With that, Barty turns on his heels and stomps off.
Chapter 10
Getting Back in the Saddle
Azra
I find suitable tack for Red and head back over to his stall. The halter they use for him is hanging on a nail next to the gorgeous crimson steed. I reach for it and grab a lead in the other hand. Opening the stall door, I remember what Cassiel said. I don’t think he will give me a problem, but you never know with horses. They don’t have significant tells like dogs or cats. They are subtler with theirs, and sometimes it’s too late to react. I open the stall door and wait a bit. I want to let him acclimate to my presence. He seems calm and hasn’t turned away, so I think we can proceed. I place the lead in my left hand, lean over, and approach him from the same side. He watches my moves, calm and patient. He seems eager to please. He’s so damn beautiful that I feel a rush of excitement creep over me. It’s been too long. I coo to him and make calming noises.
“Good boy. How are you today? My name is Azra. You up for a ride today?” I say low, so only he and I can hear. Horses don’t like loud, obnoxious people, and that could be the reason why Barty doesn’t get along with him. He shuffles his hooves like he’s ready to go. My hands come up, and I walk over to him slowly. As I am about to touch him, he leans into me and closes the distance. His nose nuzzles into my hand, and a wave of calm comes over me — we both just breathe in each other’s scent for a bit. I place the halter over his head and clip it closed. The encounter took all of three minutes, and I am leading him to the stall door. The lead goes on next, and we walk out.
“That was amazing,” Cassiel says, with awe in this voice. “I have never seen him so calm and willing to please. You are quite the horse whisperer.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but he seems to want to get to know me,” I respond. I lead him over to the cross ties and begin to groom him. His coat is luxurious. He must eat well here. He leans into my movements and huffs at me every so often. You can tell he is enjoying being brushed. “How is it that you all can’t handle him? He’s such a good boy. Isn’t that right, Red?” I pat his neck to let him know he’s doing well.
“He is a different horse now that you are here. I can’t believe I’m getting to witness this. I think he should be yours.”
“What? Can you even do that? Just give me a horse?”
“I can do anything I want. Prince remember?”
I get such a hit of emotion, my eyes begin to water. I have never owned a horse before. When I was young, we couldn’t afford it, and as I started to compete, it didn’t make sense to own one. I was always riding someone else’s. This is a dream come true. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
“You're most welcome. Finish up here and meet me in the arena. I’m going to make sure Stormborn is tacked.” He walks away down the corridor. I can’t say that it isn’t a great view. He has a fine-looking ass — not the time Az, not the time.
I finish up grooming Red and start to put the saddle on. He is a perfect horse and lets me dress him with no issues. I don’t even get a pullback when I am placing the bit in his mouth. I take him off the cross ties and walk down to the arena. I’m just about to get there when Greyson comes out of one of the stalls. He is dressed in dirty jeans and a t-shirt. There is sweat covering his body, and I can’t say that I’m not attracted to him right now. There is something about a man who works with his hands. I must be losing my mind to be checking out more than one guy in one afternoon. I try to ignore him and walk past, but he stops me.
“What are you doing with Red? How did he get tacked up?” he questions, with just an underlying hint of anger in his voice.
“I dressed him. I don’t see the problem with it. And as of 20 minutes ago, he is my horse, so I can do whatever I want with him. Now move out of the way,” I say to his shocked face. He looks too good for me to ignore in the tight t-shirt that’s hugging the considerable muscle in his arms. I get a zing of excitement in my lady parts.
“Oh, I see now. You walk into this place, and 48 hours later you are riding a prize horse and claiming it’s yours. Typical Fae.”
“I’m not a Fae,” I say, because I really haven’t come to terms with all of this, and I truly don’t believe I belong here. “It’s not like that at all. I don’t know why Cass decided to give him to me, but he is too special to give up.” I’m starting
to get pissed, because, fuck him. I’m here because of him, and he’s trying to make me feel bad for finding a little bit of happiness here.
“Sure you’re not. Then why was I ordered to bring you in? And how did you freeze time and blow me across the room the other day? Normal humans don’t do that. You need to stop lying to yourself.” He’s pissed, but his eyes are flaming with passion. It’s all very confusing.
“Whatever. Just let me pass. I don’t even know why I am talking to you.” Instead of moving away, he steps into my personal space. He looks deep into my eyes as if he is searching for something. He’s so close that if I raise on my toes, I could kiss him. My body is getting hot all over, and I want to so bad. I want to kiss this asshole of a man.
He steps out of the way then, and I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness that he moved away. It feels like he has already made up his mind about me. It seems this was the moment he decided I wasn’t worth it.
I walk past him quickly, with Red following behind me, and head for the arena. It’s a huge round covered course with twelve obstacles set up in various heights. The edges around it are cleared for warm-ups, and there is even a mini-course for inexperienced riders in the back. It’s so amazing.
I grab a mounting block and slowly approach Red from the left. I talk to him in subtle tones and make sure he knows where I am at all times. I test out his tolerance for having someone on his back by placing my left foot in the stirrup and stand upright for a few seconds. He seems fine with it and stands still for me. I don’t know what everyone is talking about. He’s been nothing but compliant. I take it one step further and swing my leg over. He moves a couple of steps forward adjusting to my weight. I can feel the corded muscles of his upper body through the saddle. His head is held at the perfect height, and he gives me time to adjust. I slowly squeeze his sides and ask him to move forward. Taking the reins in my hands and placing them almost touching my upper thighs, I hold them softly without too much tension, but just enough to let him know I’m in control. My thumbs are pointing up, and my back is straight. I shrug my shoulders and roll my neck to get better situated in the walk. He rides the rail around the arena perfectly. It’s like I don’t even have to tell him where to go. The slow roll of his front legs matches my micro hip rolls, and we begin to get into a rhythm. After two laps, I ask him to trot by squeezing his belly and clicking to advance. His movements enter the trot, and I begin to post. Up down, up down. One, Two, One, Two. Oh, how I have missed this. Riding a horse and having them move in harmony with your body is sublime.
