Archie led me to a large stall at the end where a gorgeous grey mare stood munching hay.She looked up when she heard his voice, ears perking forward.
"Hey, beautiful girl."Archie's voice went soft in a way I'd never heard before."How are you feeling today?"
Azzurra nickered and moved to the stall door, clearly happy to see him.He let himself in and ran his hands over her neck, checking her sides, speaking to her in quiet tones that were half English and half what sounded like Portuguese.
I leaned against the stall door and watched, something in my chest going uncomfortably tight.
This was Peter.
Not the Prince who made formal speeches and attended state dinners.Not the man who'd lied about our marriage or made decisions about my life without consulting me.
This was the version of him I'd met in these stables three weeks ago.Patient, genuine, completely absorbed in caring for something he loved.The man who'd taught me to ride, who'd listened to my fears, who'd made me laugh when everything about palace life felt overwhelming.
That man had been real.I'd known it then, and I knew it now watching him murmur to his pregnant horse with the same gentle attention he'd given me when I'd been terrified of falling off Celeste.
"You're staring," Archie said without looking up.
"I'm observing."
"Observing what?"
"You.Being you instead of performing."
He glanced at me over his shoulder."I'm always me."
"No, you're not.Most of the time you're Prince Archibald, formal, careful, politically aware of every word and gesture."I gestured to him and the horse."This is different."
"This is horses.Horses don't care about protocol."
"Neither did Peter."
The name hung in the air between us.He went very still, his hand resting on Azzurra's side.
"Peter was always me," he said finally."Just the parts I don't get to show very often."
"Why not?"
"Because princes don't get to just be people who like horses and making pasta and having honest conversations.We're symbols and political tools and carefully managed public images."He returned his attention to Azzurra, running his hands over her swollen belly."Peter gets to exist here, in the stables.Everywhere else, I'm Archibald."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is."He smiled at the horse."Which is why I spend so much time here.Azzurra doesn't care if I use the right fork or say the diplomatically appropriate thing.She just cares if I show up and treat her well."
I watched him check the mare's legs, her hooves, the way he moved with practiced confidence born from years of caring for these animals.
"You really love her," I said.
"I've had her since she was three years old.Trained her myself, competed with her, spent hours just riding through the countryside when palace life got to be too much."He pressed his forehead to her neck."She's the one thing in my life that's completely mine.No political complications, no duty obligations.Just a girl who likes carrots and hates having her ears touched."
"Sounds like a healthy relationship."
"Healthier than most of mine, certainly."He glanced at me."Want to meet her properly?"
"I don't know much about horses."
"You rode Celeste.You know enough."
He opened the stall door, and I stepped inside.Azzurra watched me with dark, intelligent eyes, ears forward with curiosity rather than suspicion.
