“Well, we’re definitely doing a puzzle together sometime soon.”
The idea lodges in my mind with surprising force: Astrid and I bent over a table, sleeves rolled up, arguing over sky pieces and edge pieces, constructing something together, side by side.
It’s a domestic image, yet thoroughly appealing.
“Very well,” I say, aiming for composure. “But I warn you, I’m extremely competitive about corner pieces.”
She laughs, and the sound fills the room. “Game on, Fred. Game on.”
Chapter Thirteen
Astrid
I tugat the hem of the riding jacket, tightly buttoned up, glancing down at my outfit. The jodhpurs fit perfectly, flaring at just the right place, and the jacket is snug and very proper looking. I can’t help feeling like a character from a Jilly Cooper novel.
“You look the part, Asti,” Anya says.
“But the horses here are so much bigger than Elkevikian horses! Whatif I chicken out?”
“Then you can come back here and relax until the Prince has had his ride,” she says simply.
“But what would he think of me?”
She levels me with her stare. “You’ll be fine, Asti. Now go.”
I meet up with Frederic in the living room. If he has any thoughts on my attire, he doesn’t mention it, probably because he’s dressed the same.
After a short drive, we then arrive at the stables.
The air smells of hay and leather. Our shoes click against the cobblestones as we follow the stable manager inside. Rows of stalls stretch out on either side of us, a few horses leaning their heads over the half-doors to inspect us.
And just like that, all my private concerns about continental horses come roaring to life. They areenormous. Easily twice the size of the sturdy little horses we have back in Elkevik.
How am I going to even get up on one of these beasts, let alone commandeer it?
“Here we are, sir, ma’am,” says Mr. Timbale, the stable manager as we come to a stop by a giant horse with a beautiful brown coat. “We have a beauty for you, sir. Chestnut is his name.”
Frederic immediately strokes her nose, and Chestnut gives an appreciative throaty rumble.
“And for you, ma’am, we have Silver,” Mr. Timbale says as he leads me to the adjoining stall.
Silver. That doesn’t sound so bad. Silver could be gentle, modest, possibly even compact.
Inside the stall, Silver is bent over her feed, chewing with slow concentration.
“Morning, Silver,” Mr. Timbale calls.
She lifts her head. Two vast gray eyes fix directlyon me, framed by lashes long enough to be false. Although who ever heard of false lashes on a horse?
I swallow.
“Have you ridden before, ma’am?” Mr. Timbale asks.
“Only ponies,” I say quickly. “Well, not technically ponies. Our horses in Elkevik are about half the size of Silver.”
“Ah yes. They’re famous. Very popular with children, I understand. We’ll get Silver saddled up for you in a jiffy.”
“Great,” I say, pasting on a smile.
