The Princess Alice Cup is one of the few events in my diary that I actually look forward to. It’s a relaxed atmosphere where I won’t be expected to speak much. Not to mention most of the attendees are fellow horse lovers. They’re my type of crowd.
I sigh and smooth down my black-and-white polka-dot dress. As I catch a glimpse of some of the riders exhibiting around the arena’s main ring, my body itches to change into the same comfortable clothing they’re wearing and join them. Except I know I have to take things slowly.
Just over a year ago, after graduation and before leaving on my gap-year travels, I injured my lower back in a riding accident. I’m fully healed, but I still have some problems when I sit for long periods. Riding is one activity I sorely missed.
Since I’ve been back home, I’ve been working on building back up to pre-accident riding activity, minus the jumping. But there have been a lot of days I’ve had to stop to listen to my body. And that’s been a major source of frustration.
“Ma’am, we’re just about ready for you,” a festival volunteer says as he pokes his head into the tent, stopping short of entering.
It takes me a moment to realize that Art has managed to block his path. Today he’s wearing a light-gray suit, crisp white dress shirt, and lilac tie. It’s a stark contrast to the normal darker suit he favors. I have to admit, it’s a good look for him.
Trying not to be caught staring at him, I rise onto my toes and wave to the volunteer. “Great, I’ll be right there.”
“I’ll, um, let them know.” The man swallows hard and dashes away.
Angela walks up to Art and elbows him. “Really?”
“It’s protocol.”
“What? Scaring everybody away?” She snorts.
“That sounds like something my father would ask you to do.” I chuckle.
“No.” Art runs a hand through his hair. “You know what I mean.” He looks to Angela for help. “We’re supposed to be on the lookout for anything suspicious.”
“We’re on palace grounds and everyone with a volunteer lanyard has gone through a background check to be here. I think they’re okay.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “I know this is the first public appearance we’re working as Princess Alice’s protection officers, but that doesn’t mean you have to act as if suddenly every person here is a threat. Relax. Do what you’ve been doing the last few weeks, and everything will be just fine. You know the body language and behavior to look for.”
So that’s why Art has been acting so off. He’s afraid that with so many people around and my making a public appearance, something will happen to me. My heart flutters at the thought of him being concerned about me. Or maybe I’m reading too far into this. After all, protecting meishis job.
I glance back at him. His large hazel orbs dart from Angela to me. His posture relaxes slightly. “I guess you’re right.”
Angela grins. “That’s the spirit.”
No. It definitely has to be a work thing. He’s invested in making sure everything is done by the book. That’s the type of meticulous attention to detail that’s gotten him this far. Still, I’ll do my best to at least make him feel a bit more comfortable. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, I add, “I heard a rumor floating around that you might be a James Bond type of an agent.”
He furrows his brow into a deep V. “I’m not a James Bond. I’m a police officer. Not a member of MI-5.”
Angela laughs, but tries to disguise it as a cough. “I don’t think she meant it literally.”
“I didn’t. To quote Amanda, being a James Bond means you have ‘super awesome agenting skills.’ And that you can handle anything that’s thrown at you,” I emphasize. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t already one of the best. So listen to Angela. Trust yourself and your instincts.”
Normally, I’d be against helping Art inflate his ego, but something inside me is telling me he needs a pep talk like this.
It takes a moment, but I’m rewarded with the slightest upturn of his lips. “The proper term would be ‘awesome policing skills.’ Not agenting.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
Angela clears her throat. “Come on, you two, let’s not keep the troopers waiting. Us military folk prefer to do things on time.”
She holds the flap of the tent, and Art and I follow her outside to the area where the horses are prepped before they enter the arena. A cool breeze hits my cheeks and brings in the refreshing scent of horses, hay, and mud. Tucked off to the right are fifteen soldiers in camo uniforms chatting amongst themselves, not appearing to notice us. They look to be about my age, in their late teens or early twenties.
As we approach, I hear one of them mutter, “I can’t believe the Life Guards took it again!”
“The results aren’t official yet, but come on, Baker, you knew it was probably going to happen. The Life Guards have taken the top prize the last couple of years running,” his friend replies. “At least we’ll probably take fourth through sixth. That’s an improvement from last year.”
The soldier named Baker winces. “It sounds even worse when you put it that way, McMillian. The Blues can’t keep finishing in the bottom half.”
McMillian shakes his head. “You’re taking this way harsher than the guys in the actual competition. If you want to change things, maybe you should enter next year.”
