Lance continued trying to cool down the mare with the wet sponge. Part of me wanted to pet her as well, if only to reassure her. But that would require a very awkward manoeuvre with my injured ankle and then I would unfortunately be much closer to Lance. So, I chose to remain standing.
“Bessie’s a very sweet horse.” Almost too sweet for a person like him. It was a wonder she hadn’t bucked him off repeatedly. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at the mental image of Lance being thrown off a horse.
“She’s an old horse now but she was a gift from my mother. Bessie’s the least temperamental horse I’ve ever come across. She’s always had a lot of patience with me. My mother once said that she reminded her of an old milk cow that she had while growing up. The cow’s name was Bessie, and I guess it just kind of stuck.” I knew Lance’s mother died when the twin princesses were born. He must have been very young, but it must be hard for anyone to lose a mother at that age. Crazy as my mother could drive me sometimes, she was still my mother. Thatcher was never very close to our mother, and I wondered what she made of all of this. She must have been shattered to find out what he’d done.
I was unsure how to respond to Lance, the conversation suddenly feeling more personal than I would like.
“If I’d known she was your horse, I wouldn’t have taken her out riding every day.”
“It’s good that you did,” he said, surprising me. “Someone should be riding her.”
I knew I shouldn’t be getting attached to horses that weren’t mine. But now, knowing she was Lance’s horse, and probably one of the last things his mother had ever given him, I didn’t think I’d have the courage to get on her again.
The horse let out a whinny and tossed her head. Surely it wouldn’t be much longer now.
Lance and I waited for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. I felt my anxiety grow, hoping the mare and the foal would both be okay.
The mare started making grunting noises and my heartbeat quickened.
“It’s time.” Lance continued stroking her head and neck as the light bay mare started pushing out the little foal. With each noise she made, I cringed in pain for her, until finally the baby horse emerged, and I felt myself breathe for the first time in minutes. It was certainly not the most pleasant thing I’d ever seen, but the mother and foal were both alive at least. Lance stood back and allowed the mare to get up and reach for her baby.
“It’s a boy,” Lance noted after the two of us had stood there staring at them for a few minutes.
“What are you going to name him?”
Lance looked over at me with those icy eyes. “You should name him.”
“Me?”
“It’ll probably be a hell of a lot better than whatever I can come up with. Poor Bessie is stuck with a cow’s name for the rest of her life.”
I suppressed a chuckle, thinking about it for a moment.
“He looks like he’s going to be fast when he grows up. What about Windchaser?”
He looked at the foal, tilting his head. “That could work.” He kept his face neutral, but somewhere underneath that cold exterior, I swore I could see a hint of a smile.
Chapter 12
Elara
I rummaged through a drawer filled with books.
After going through the library, the study and the books that lined the parlour walls, I had yet to find anything resembling an old diary.
I’d never once thought this was going to be easy, but the more I looked, the more I doubted the diary even existed at all. It was a long shot to begin with, but for the first time in what seemed like months, I felt something other than overwhelming fear or anger. I felt hope, and it was difficult not to cling to it with every morsel of my being.
After signing a few documents and doing my correspondence that morning, I decided it was time to explore a room I’d purposely avoided since moving into the palace.
King Magnus’s sleeping chambers. The monarch’s rooms.
I’d grown up hating the man who I later discovered was my father. I’d been taught to hate him by my uncle, who believed his brother was not fit for the throne. And while many people suffered under Magnus’s rule, I’d never taken the time or spared the effort to get to know more about the man who’d spent years looking for me. Maybe it was because I was afraid that I would discover something that would change my mind about him, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.
But desperation does funny things to people sometimes and so I found myself venturing to the locked rooms of the old king. It was much like I’d expected — expensive furnishings now covered in white sheets. Large tapestries by fine artists, with long golden candlesticks placed about the room, gathering dust.
I’d opened one of the curtains, allowing just enough light to creep in so that I could see what I was doing. Then, I startedlooking through everything. There was a chest at the foot of the bed, another next to the fireplace, and a small desk in which I found nothing but some writing quills and blank pages. No drawer or cupboard would escape my search, but so far, I’d yet to turn up anything worthwhile.
There was a knock at the door, causing me to jump and drop one of the books.
