Page 24 of Royally Drawn (Resplendent Royals #3)
Horse Girl
KEIR
C ici was a notable favourite going into the dressage. A dressage queen—born to a literal queen—with a pedigree of nothing but horsewomen for miles, she had it all going for her. She’d been on the international stage for a decade. The British riders remained her primary competition—the home team and group with the deepest bench. I may not have known when things were happening, but I could grasp the broad strokes after growing up here.
Cici led coming out of the dressage, but waiting in the wings was a dark horse—one Princess Ingrid of Neandia—two princesses, both dressage queens, running into the balls-to-the-walls cross-country competition. And while I wish I could say I didn’t care, I was invested. Ingrid was a beautiful rider aboard her giant gelding. He was less monster and longer couch, but she made him look better than I thought possible.
“Yes, she’s good. Don’t trip over yourself,” Cici laughed as we watched Ingrid’s ride from Her Majesty’s box.
“What?” I tried to deny I was watching her like anything other than just another competitor.
“You were so surprised she’d even be riding yesterday. She’s remarkable—confident, strong, and has an amazing leg. I wish I had her Velcro skills. She could sit a bull.”
I tried not to think about her sitting anything at present.
“I’d love to see that,” Duncan chuckled.
Upon hearing I was out here, Duncan came to support his cousin in her quest for her first Badminton win. That was what he was telling people anyway. I had a feeling it was because Ingrid was here.
“She’s a baby , Duncan. Be good,” my uncle said. “I heard you threw the poor girl overboard.”
“It sounds so intense when you say it like that. It was all in good fun.”
Betty turned around from the row in front of us. “Until she lost her top!”
“She lost her top?” Lucy Ferguson, the Queen’s best mate, asked.
“For the record, I doubt she’d like us discussing this,” I said, feeling strangely protective of Ingrid.
“She did,” Duncan snickered. “And then Lars and Keir jumped in to assist. They couldn’t. In her infinite wisdom, Leah threw her hat in the ring by throwing her top to Ingrid.”
“Can we stop talking about this and focus on the work Ingrid is doing?” I asked. “She’s doing some… dance thing.”
“It’s a bloody passage!” Betty said, annoyed. “Good God, you’re useless!”
I threw Betty’s bright red ponytail over her head. “Okay, horse girl.”
She shook her head and slapped at me, not turning away from the competition. As much as she protested about adulthood, Betty would always and forever be my lovely, sweet, horse-crazy baby sister—our family mascot and one who brought us together when we frayed at the edges.
“She’s going to get top marks with that transition,” Aunt Kiersten mooned. “Better than yours, Cici.”
“He has the impulsion to make it easier,” Cici protested. “Warmbloods, you know?”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Warmbloods are superior in dressage,” Betty explained. They are built for it. Over fences, they are bigger, rounder, and slower. And they tend to break down faster. That’s why Irish Sport Horses and Thoroughbreds make up most of this field. Kraken is a Trakehner, but he’s been a beast.”
“He does beautifully in the dressage,” Aunt Kiersten sighed as if she were about to die of happiness.
“And he’s an old gentleman over fences,” Cici said. “He’s taught Ingrid so much. She’s supercharged with Kraken. I was over the moon when Alexandra purchased him. She earned a proper mount. I watched her in a rodeo on a greenie two years ago. She may have been crying and swearing, but she never came off and kept riding. That horse had a dreadful habit of dumping riders.”
“They couldn’t just find a better horse, could they?” Duncan asked. Are they not able to purchase horses?”
“Don’t ask such a stupid question,” Uncle Olav said. “One does not simply purchase a horse. They are invited to purchase a horse, or they breed the damn thing, feed it for a million years, and maybe it’s good enough to work out.”
“Why would you want to do that? It’s not even going to earn money like a racehorse. Every horse has a price.”
“Not all do, Duncan,” Aunt Kiersten said. “I once decided to date my older sister’s friend just to move to Norway for a horse.”
She laughed, looking over at her husband.
“Thank God that pony was irreplaceable to your coach,” Uncle Olav chuckled. “I’d have not stood a chance otherwise.”
Ingrid saluted. She gave her horse big pats on the neck and hugged him as she came out of the ring.
“She did beautifully!” Aunt Kiersten clarified. “That’s going to be a great score.”
“She will need it for X-C,” Betty confirmed. “He’s not fast like the TBs.”
“She’ll return to it in the stadium,” Cici said. “He has the most beautiful round jump. He makes it look like a gorgeous, handy hunter. It’s ridiculous. They’re as pretty as a picture. You’ll see, Mamma.”
“We should go… help,” Duncan said .
“You will not be helpful, Duncan,” Aunt Natalie laughed. “Let Cici and Betty go.”
“I’m supposed to toil,” I sighed, pretending I did not want to see Ingrid. “So, I should go.”
I followed my sister and cousins to the stables, finding Astrid and Ingrid chatting about her ride while Parker nervously stood as far away from the horses as possible. The man was a bit of a hermit—a kind one when he finally adjusted—but he was no horseman.
He asked, “It went well… I think?”.
“It went brilliantly if you ask the people who know,” I said, patting him on the back.
“There are only about ten more riders,” Betty said. Do you want to join us in our box now that she’s done?”
Astrid looked at Parker.
“I can just stay here. I’ll torture myself,” Ingrid said.
“Why?” Cici laughed. “You did an amazing job. People are asking why they’ve never seen this beautiful dressage rider who showed up.”
“Until they see me on the course tomorrow.”
“We have beer,” I offered. “If you’d like to take a load off, we have food and drink.”
“You’re famished. Let’s go over there,” Astrid insisted. “You did a great job.”
I was relieved but soon tortured by Ingrid sitting beside Betty in the first row, chatting alone. It was like I didn’t exist—or couldn’t. I gave up on anything happening—for now. Later, I’d make a move.