The coat was softer than she expected, warm under her palm. Phaeon turned his head slightly to look at her, but didn’t move otherwise.
“See? He’s accepting you.” Eliam’s hand covered hers, showing her how to stroke along the horse’s neck. “Horses can sense fear. Confidence is essential.”
“Fake confidence still counts?”
“It’s a start.” He moved behind her, his chest almost touching her back. “Now, the first thing you need to learn is how to mount properly.”
She turned her head to look at him and found his face much closer than expected. “Are you going to make suggestive comments about everything?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” His expression was perfectly controlled, but she could see amusement in his dark eyes. “Does it bother you?”
“It’s distracting.”
“Good. You need to learn to focus despite distractions.” He stepped back, taking the reins. “Watch.”
He demonstrated the proper way to mount—foot in stirrup, hand on the saddle, smooth motion up and over. He made it look effortless, of course. Sitting atop thehorse, he looked every inch the fae lord—commanding, powerful, entirely in his element.
“Your turn,” he said, dismounting with the same fluid grace.
Briar approached the stirrup with considerably less confidence. It was higher than she’d expected, the angle awkward. She got her foot in, grabbed the saddle, and tried to pull herself up.
She made it halfway before her arms gave out and she slid back down, nearly losing her balance entirely. Eliam’s hand shot out to steady her waist.
“Less pulling, more pushing off with your grounded leg,” he instructed. “Use your momentum.”
She tried again. This time she made it farther but ended up sort of hanging off the side of the horse, one leg over, the other dangling uselessly.
“This is dignified,” she gasped, struggling to right herself.
“Tremendously.” His hand found her dangling leg, guiding it over until she was properly seated. “But you’re up.”
She was. She was also very high off the ground, and the horse hadn’t even moved yet. Her hands gripped the saddle horn with white knuckles.
“Relax,” Eliam said, one hand on Phaeon’s neck to keep him still, the other on her thigh. “You’re too tense. The horse can feel it.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one sitting on top of a creature that could kill you with one kick.”
“Phaeon has excellent manners. Unlike his rider, apparently.” His hand squeezed her thigh once before moving to adjust her posture. “Sit up straighter. Shoulders back. Look ahead, not down.”
She tried to follow his instructions, but everything felt wrong. The saddle was hard and unfamiliar, the height dizzying, and she could feel the horse’s power coiled beneath her, waiting.
“Now,” Eliam said, handing her the reins, “we’re going to walk.”
“Walk?” Her voice pitched higher. “Already?”
“Would you prefer to start with a gallop?” Eliam’s tone was dry, but his hand remained on Phaeon’s neck, keeping the horse still.
“I’d prefer to start with both feet on the ground.”
“Too late for that.” He positioned himself at Phaeon’s head, one hand on the bridle. “Hold the reins loosely. Don’t pull unless you want him to stop.”
“Pulling means stop. Got it.” She gripped the reins like a lifeline.
“Loosely,” he reminded her. “You’re not trying to strangle them.”
She forced her fingers to relax slightly, though every instinct screamed at her to hold on tighter. Eliam made a soft clicking sound, and Phaeon took a step forward.
The motion rocked through her entire body. She immediately tensed, grabbing the saddle horn.
