Page 33 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)
Chapter Twenty-Four
T he good thing about a triathlon is that it guarantees a solid night’s sleep.
Usually. When I’m not up half the night missing Thom.
And this morning, we’re in the stables, meeting the horses that have been assigned to us.
We’ve already walked the course. More precisely, I’m in my horse’s box stall.
For the event, I have a Thoroughbred horse called Midnight, a proven steeplechase champion, according to the stable hand.
Midnight nuzzles my chest after I give him chopped-up carrot from the palm of my hand.
This morning, I’m trying hard not to think about the tangle of emotions Thomas has left me with, so near the surface, raw and vulnerable.
“That’s all I have, I’m afraid.” I pat his neck, then slip on a halter and lead rope. We have help with the grooms, but I like to personally check my mount before the event, his hooves, and get him ready under my watch.
Thomas is further down the stables with his chestnut horse already in crossties.
His horse seems a little more spirited, but the rumor going round this morning that his mount is an elite racer, Elemental Dream, the fastest in the group.
Connor’s been looking up the stats on the horses and calling them out down the aisle of the stables.
And now the word’s out about me. I’m getting sharp looks from some of the men, complaining about an unfair advantage. The rumor mill is going overtime that it’s a competition between me and Thomas, and Wilson’s terribly irritated, angling to take the lead.
“Do you feel ready, Auggie?” Colin asks me as I brush down Midnight, who swishes his tail while the film crew records.
“Born ready. I think that’s the phrase, isn’t it?”
Colin chuckles. “Very good. That’s the winning spirit. What do you think of your odds of winning the race today? I understand you are a champion at jumping and eventing yourself.”
“I was, once. A long time ago.” I scratch Midnight’s neck. “And I’ve done steeplechase before, but it’s been some time. But I do like going fast, it’s true.”
“You qualified as a favorite for the Olympics at eighteen and shocked the equestrian world—especially the jumping community—when you withdrew from Olympic competition, after chasing your mother’s lead to establish a new royal tradition.”
My lips twist.
Don’t lose focus. Don’t think about Mum. Or about telling Thom about how much Mum and horses all mean to me. Or how I shut him down.
“Mm,” I acknowledge finally. “It was a complicated time. But I’m ready to race today.”
“That’s what we want to hear.” Colin nods his approval. “I also hear Thomas is a champion rider. Do you have any thoughts on that?”
“Several.” I smile nonchalantly. Riding Thomas has to be the best elite sport of all. My guts twist as I think of him. “But can he keep up with me?”
“We’ll have to see,” agrees Colin, pleased.
I pause with the curry comb in my hand, switching it for a pick. Jill, the stable hand, joins me, and Colin leaves us to get ready.
It’s not too long before we’re ready to go, saddled up.
I lead my horse out, then mount easily under the watch of the cameras.
I adjust the fuchsia scarf at my throat, my addition to the crimson silk I wear.
The sun is blistering. We have an audience of more than the crew to watch us take the course, extras and others associated with the production.
It adds to the electric feeling this morning.
Midnight bobs his head, whinnying, picking up on the energy.
I’m one of the first out, and we wait to the side.
Gradually, they all come out, with Thomas and Wilson one of the last, and we’re given the signal to get ready to start.
Then, it’s the three of us jostling for prime position.
Wilson’s horse sidesteps into mine. I frown, reaching to adjust a stirrup.
Thomas’ horse snorts and stamps, rearing ever so slightly in the crush.
But none of us wants to give the other any space.
My horse throws back his head. And Wilson presses in.
“Another turn,” calls the announcer over the loudspeaker since we’re not in a level starting position. I’m doing my best to ignore Wilson being an arse. Thomas is focused on his mount, and I’m on mine. This time, the horses and riders even out.
“And they’re off!” calls the announcer.
We thunder down the turf course to the first jump in a series of large hedgerows that will test the courage of all riders and horses.
We’re all experienced riders but not all experienced with steeplechase.
But I love the thrill of speed, and adrenaline’s already soaring through me like lightning.
Midnight flies, and the three of us—myself, Thomas, Wilson—are running neck and neck with our horses, so close it’s tough to call.
The first hedgerow comes, and it’s a beast. Midnight takes the jump, ears forward, like the star he is. There’s some commotion behind me, and I don’t dare turn to see what’s happened.
Beside me is Thomas, so close I could reach out and touch him.
Wilson and Connor are right on our heels. Then, a loose horse passes them, now running alongside me and Thomas. It’s terrifying because it’s totally unpredictable what the horse might do without a rider. I try to figure out whose horse it is, and I hope the rider’s okay.
We’re all over the second fence like one, a tight pack. At fence three, the loose horse cuts in front of me, and I ease up right away. “Motherfucker!”
I don’t care about Gisele’s rules right now. My horse whinnies, and we barely avoid disaster. Thomas shouts behind me. By the time we reach the fourth hedgerow, we’ve lost the loose horse. Connor’s edged ahead of me in the chaos. Wilson’s beside me, and he leans to whip at my legs, the arsehole.
“Fuck off,” I yell with searing pain, urging my horse on.
And then we’re truly racing, overtaking Connor, who swears with surprise as we come up on either side of him, right on the heels of Thomas’ horse. His mount’s horseshoes flash silver in the sun as chunks of earth fly.
It’s a blistering pace. We’re riding like our lives depend on it, my heart pounding in my ears. Then, Wilson’s eating my dust, the arsehole. And it feels so sweet.
Now, I’m neck and neck with Thomas as we soar over the next hedgerow.
And this is heaven, the high of the competition under the fierce sun and the relentless thunder of hooves that I live for.
Except then Wilson’s crowding up on us as the track curves over the next fence and hedge.
“Back off!” Thomas yells at Wilson, the world screaming past us under the thunder of hooves.
Wilson tries to take my lead by crowding me out, cutting me off as our horse’s flanks press together again.
“Are you fucking mad—” I shout at Wilson. “Back off!”
Which is when Thomas’ horse spooks at the sight of the next jump as we close in, refusing in spectacular fashion.
His horse rears.
And in a long, horrible moment, Thomas falls.
Everything happens at once.
Instinctively, I stretch for his horse’s reins in a desperate, reckless attempt to try to yank him away before he comes down on Thomas. And I tug hard on my horse’s reins at the same time to turn.
It’s enough to shift Thomas’ horse’s balance a fraction—either from my efforts or the distraction—and his front hooves narrowly avoid trampling Thomas.
But that shifts my balance too.
Everyone’s yelling.
—Wilson’s right there, still glued to my side, with Connor right behind him?—
—We’re all too close—to each other, to the hedgerow—to Thomas?—
Time distorts.
And Thomas is somewhere underfoot.
“Thomas!” I scream desperately.
I don’t know how long I’ve been screaming, but my voice breaks.
And then, my horse refuses the hedgerow with the shift in my weight in the chaos. I try to shift back.
But it’s too late—Midnight tries to come to a screeching halt. I catapult over his head towards the jump, the world upended every which way.
Oh fuck.
Fuck.
I fly headfirst through the air—all blue sky, the blur of the turf course, and the ceaseless pounding of the horses—and Thomas curled in a ball below us.
It’s the last coherent thing I remember.
—an explosion of agony, like I’ve been thrown into an acid inferno?—
— hooves pound over the turf?—
—I see horse legs and grass?—
—relentless shouting continues from the riders and crowd?—
And then, there’s nothing but pain and darkness.