She hung onto every word the prince said as he explained how to properly groom and saddle the animals. He handed her a brush and gestured to Frasya, who stood calmly in the stable aisle. At first, she was reluctant and concerned about moving too quickly and agitating the mare, but Asterious’ voice reassured her.
“It’s all right,” he urged. “They love the attention. And if they don’t, they’ll let you know. Especially this one.”
As if on cue, the mare pinned her ears but pricked them forward again once Caramyn placed the brush back along her neck. She stroked the fur gently, just like he had shown her. The mare’s eyes softened as she stretched out her neck and wiggled her muzzle, earning a soft giggle from Caramyn.
“You must've scratched an itch she couldn't reach,” Asterious said, chuckling with her.
Something about the sound of his laugh reached a deep part of her heart that wasn't meant to be accessed. She had never heard such weightlessness in his voice, and after the way she’d seen him burdened in Misthelm, it was a welcome relief. For a heartbeat, he had shed the mantle of the arrogant, somber, temperamental prince to reveal a carefree soul, unshackled from the weight of burning cities and bloodied crowns.
“All right, next comes tacking up." The prince walked to the room of the stables where all the saddles and bridles lined the wooden walls. He selected the equipment needed and showed Caramyn how to position the saddle on the horse’s back and attach all the buckles and bits of leather to secure it.
Caramyn drank in every word, her mind stretching to catch each thought. For most of her life, her only teachers had been books and the harsh lessons of survival. She had taught herselfeverything she knew, forever grateful to her mother for teaching her to read.
Whenever she tried to join the children in the village for anything from elders sharing stories around the fire or helping with the harvests and mending fishing nets, she was met with cold, sideways glances. And then after her first bleeding, when Shadows began appearing in places she’d been, parents began dragging their children back inside. Soon enough she wasn’t allowed outside during the day—only at night, alone, after the village had gone to bed. So, she spent her days poring over the knowledge that others gained from mentors, always out of necessity, rarely out of choice.
But now, here in the Vaerwynd stable, sunlight spilling across the wooden beams, the sweet scent of hay in the air, she was learning something new simply because shewantedto. Not because survival demanded it, not because fear dictated it. And someone—someone who could have been anywhere else—was willingly taking the time to teach her, in the light of day, as if she mattered. The realization made her chest tighten and her heart lift all at once, and it was almost enough to make her forget that he was the cold-hearted Blackwynd Prince and his every kindness could be a trap.
The prince allowed her to finish tacking up the horse, only assisting if she asked or if small adjustments were needed for security. Then, together they led their horses to a place behind the castle that Caramyn had not yet discovered, facing the sprawling cliffs that overlooked the Shattered Sea, was an arena. Where a once flawless layer of sand had covered the ground, it was now mottled with clumps of spiny grass peeking through.
As they stepped up to the gate, Asterious slowed with some strange hesitation, and then stopped entirely. His hand hovered over the latch, fingers curled as if he’d forgotten how to move them. For a few too many breaths, he stood there,unmoving, eyes glassed and distant, like something had pulled him somewhere far away to another place and time. His jaw tightened. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, swallowing hard, the silence stretching uncomfortably thing.
“Is…is this where the Vaerwynd held their tournaments?” Caramyn asked, the question half a probe, half an attempt to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. She stroked her mare’s forehead, disturbed by how still the air suddenly felt.
Asterious didn’t look at her. His gaze slid instead to the covered platform beyond the gates, where two-throne like seats loomed beneath weathered flags with the kingdom’s crest. “Yes,” he said at last. His voice was unsettlingly steady, void of emotion. “No doubt many victories were celebrated here. As well as failures.” A pause. “I’m sure they were…memorable.”
Only then did his hand finally close around the latch, but not before his knuckles whitened, as if bracing for something he didn’t dare name. Once they passed through the gate, the worst of whatever had seized him seemed to loosen its hold, but it didn’t vanish entirely. His shoulders eased, and he spoke freely again, but his movements remained guarded and tense, as though something still weighed on him.
Caramyn’s gaze drifted past him to the tiered benches that lined the outside of the arena, and she could almost imagine the ghosts of an audience cheering as knights of old raced on their steeds, magic flames or wind patterns swirling above them for entertainment, and whatever other competition the Lightborn indulged in. She wondered how many a lance had splintered in the same spot where she stood, or how many mages and witches had performed or dueled here. The cheers of the crowd echoed in a memory of history she didn’t possess but could envision clearly thanks to the stories she’d read as a child to pass the painful hours in hiding.
“Didn’t you see tournaments in Felhold?” she asked. “Surely your father hosted them, too.”
“He did once upon a time.” Asterious cocked his head. “But by the time I was born, he was too busy alienating our allies to risk tournaments. He no longer welcomed neighboring kingdoms. He thought it showed weakness to allow them into our lands. That they would corrupt our ways and culture and make it ‘impure’ with foreign magic influence. Too many opportunities for intel, he believed.”
“So many have suffered for his paranoia and prejudice.” Caramyn shook her head.
Asterious looked down as he put a hand on his horse’s muscled neck. “I’m sorry for the pain my father’s laws have caused. It couldn't have been easy for you growing up. To have to hide and live in fear that one day you might be found and—”
He stopped, as if choking on the thought he couldn’t finish. So, she finished it for him. “And brought to you for execution.” He had no knowledge of what he apologized for, and some part of her wished she could tell him that shedidlive in fear, and that shewasfound, and that the only way to escape it had been to run to the darkest part of herself and to make sure no one could ever find her again.
But he’d found her. And he was so foolish to think she was Light, that she might be something greater than darkness. She told herself that was the only reason he hadn’t killed her yet. She watched him mount his horse, and the image of him astride his black stallion conjured up the memory of the way he'd looked at Misthelm—
“Caramyn.” The sound of her name ripped her from her spiraling thoughts. “Everything all right? That’s the third time I said your name.”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she stuttered. “Just admiring the…view.” Her face flushed with embarrassment as she realized what she’d said,while she’d been staring straight at the prince, and Asterious raised a teasing eyebrow before gesturing for her to mount up. She blinked away the voices in her head and hoisted herself into her saddle with ease, a natural feeling from the nimbleness she’d acquired from years of climbing up branches and prowling through treetops. The prince nodded with an approving look. “That was graceful,” he said. “This will be quite different than when you rode with us to Misthelm. Or when you rode with me when we met.”
“Oh, good. I hope so.” Caramyn wrinkled her nose, “That was unpleasant. I could smell you the whole time.” She hoped he didn't notice the way she blushed at the memory of sitting against his warmth when they'd shared the saddle on their journey from the Shadow Woods nearly a month ago.
“What? You didn't enjoy being snuggled up to me?” The prince sneered, and she made a face at him. “Now, take up the reins.” Asterious grasped the leather straps between his ring and pinky fingers, making gentle fists, and showed her how to do the same. “A skilled rider will use these sometimes for subtle things, but not as much as you’ll use your legs and shifts of your weight. The reins don’t control the horse. In fact, nothing we do controls them. We only communicate with them. And if they trust us, they listen.”
Caramyn blinked as he explained how to shift in the saddle, tense and relax certain muscles, and use leg signals to ask the horse to move, turn, and maneuver. “Let’s try a lap around the field. Don’t use the reins. Use only your body.”
As the pair steered their mounts around the border of the arena, Caramyn concentrated on controlling her body enough to move the horse where she wanted, but sometimes Frasya seemed to have her own ideas of where she should be and how fast they should go.
“Don’t focus so hard on just yourself.” Asterious advised. “Remember there is a living creature beneath you, and she feels everything you feel. She has to trust you, but you also must trust her. Trust is everything.”
Trust is everything.
Caramyn soon realized this was far different from climbing trees and pulling the weight of longbow drawstrings. Those things required her to rely on nothing but her own strength and ability. But riding this powerful animal, asking it to respond to cues as refined as her breath and posture, as though their bodies were connected, required a sense of partnership she wasn’t used to. All her life, she was strongest when she was unyielding and guarded. Yet now, only by becoming vulnerable and surrendered could strength become hers for a little while. It was an exchange of power and freedom that she could never achieve on her own.
