Page 21 of Royally Drawn (Resplendent Royals #3)

Adaptation

INGRID

N orfolk was picturesque. Horses grazed in lush green fields. Adorable stone houses dotted the landscape. The Georgian house Cici’s family owned was what you expected—ample, a bit cold, and perfect for a big family of equestrians. While the house was grand in places, it was unfussy in most ways—built for practicality. Every entrance had boot brushes. Boots littered the “mud room” at the back of the house. A dog sink occupied one corner of this room. Dogs greeted you immediately in the morning, hoping they might get to run down to the barn with you.

The decor looked less like a British period piece and more like a house reclaimed by Scandinavians and brought into modernism. Rick would have approved, and Alexandra would have deemed it “too sparse.” They differed in decor preferences. Alexandra joked Rick would have preferred an IKEA showroom to Versailles.

“The place is elegant and simple,” I said over breakfast with the rest of the riders.

The place came with an entire staff—as you’d expect—but Breakfast was relaxed.

“It’s typical for us,” Cici said.

“So, did your father win the decorating wars?” I joked.

“Oh, no, this is all Mor,” Cici said of her mother.

“Aunt Kiersten wears the trousers,” Betty giggled. “Uncle Olav defers to her on most things.”

“Pappa is a sap,” Cici said. “He loves Mamma endlessly and lets her do as she pleases ninety per cent of the time. He manages the rat race—now often with me—and Mamma is the public champion of everything. He doesn’t tell her what to do, though. She does as she pleases. The women in our family aren’t doormats.”

“It takes a man willing to put up with that,” Isak joked.

“Yes, but a wonderful one.” Cici gave him a quick kiss as she rose to get more eggs. The woman ate so many eggs of all kinds. She said it was what powered her on cross-country.

“What is the plan today?” Betty asked.

“We’re going to hack down to Sandringham.”

“We can just… do that?” I asked.

“Mamma has carved out a bridle path most of the way there. There are some quiet lanes. The horses love it. We’ll ride over for lunch with Auntie.”

She meant Queen Natalie. Well, that was unexpected! I’d make sure to put on my most matchy-matchy kit. Our horses were getting a nice rest before we headed to Badminton. It was my international debut—no pressure—and they’d only landed a week ago. We’d skipped the Kentucky Three-Day this year to focus on international competition. Unlike the British and American teams, we didn’t have nearly the depth in our house to have horses on two continents just waiting. I supposed Cici could have had that if she wanted, but she tended to alternate each year where she began the big international competitions. This was a major weekend for us.

“Have fun,” Isak said. “We’re about to dip into training for the day. Go play with your ponies.”

They were adorable together. If they were anyone else, I’d have found them cringe.

“We’ll go have a nice day. Auntie decided to stay here for a couple of days—inconveniencing everyone so she could see Betty and me and welcome you, Ingy. ”

“Me?”

“Yes. Now, get dressed, and we’ll take the horses out.”

It flattered me that Her Majesty even cared to greet me. I wore a tailored pair of slate grey breeches, my teal and brown field boots, and a long-sleeved teal blouse. I figured I’d look presentable enough. Back home, Alexandra and Odette always perfectly matched, and I’d turn up in almost anything. Riding was about being productive and pretty astride a horse—not in a barn aisle.

We did some work around the stables before tacking up. Kraken perked up as he spotted me. The old man was never too bored for a good hack. Despite his name, Kraken wasn’t much of a fire-breathing dragon. He was a packer—a dependable five-star-tested gelding. We’d bought him from a French rider about to retire. She saw me coming up in the world and agreed to sell him to us almost two years ago, knowing I’d keep him going. Alexandra bought him for me as a twentieth birthday present. When he arrived, I cried and cried out of sheer happiness. His arrival allowed for what the Chronicle described as a “meteoric” rise of a young rider.

While Alexandra wanted to keep me home for a few more years before setting me free—her maternal instincts overrunning her—she knew I needed to move on. Moving to America with Cici and Betty had improved my cross-country by leaps and bounds. I was more confident, which allowed my horse to shine. It was heaven.

We rode to Sandringham in good weather, but packed rain gear just in case. Our horses were coming off a few days’ rest, making for a few happy bucks as we picked up a trot. If everyone behaved, we’d gallop them a little on the way back. We didn’t want to take too much edge off or risk injury. They would need to let it out in a few days at Badminton. I tried not to overthink. We’d have a four-hour drive southwest to the estate to settle in before dressage began tomorrow.

Sandringham was more extensive than I anticipated. Guards waved us through, and we rode up to the Queen’s line of stables. Her beautiful string of riding horses greeted us. To my surprise, she called out from a stall where she’d just watched one of her mares deliver a foal.

“Oh, there you are!” Queen Natalie said warmly. “Lovely to see you all. Are you keen to have lunch? ”

“We’ve had an enjoyable morning and could do luncheon, yes,” Cici answered. “Auntie, I think you’ve met Princess Ingrid before?”

I bowed slightly. We’d only met briefly.

“In passing,” Queen Natalie answered. But it was so lovely to host you. Any friend of Cici’s is a friend of ours. And Betty, how are you?”

“Good, Auntie,” she answered. “Trying to keep up and learning lots.”

Betty was still green and wet behind the ears regarding competition. She excelled at dressage but struggled with confidence over fences. She had an enviable seat but struggled to convince her horse to follow her. They were working on trust more than gymnastics these days.

It amused me that she called Natalie her aunt. Technically, Betty was Keir and Lars’s half-sibling and not directly related to the Lyonses. However, as with most things with this rowdy family, one’s blood origins didn’t matter much if they were in the fold. These people were mad but loved hard. I sensed that no matter how idiotic he could be, Duncan would show up for Betty if needed—regardless of whether he was her blood relative.

“It is nice to see you all. We have a few guests for lunch,” Her Majesty explained. “But I think they will be glad to see you all, too.”