Page 14 of The Ostler's Boy

A fter a few minutes, Sameer gave up, and I tried to stay in my chamber, lay down, and throw myself into the sheets to brood dramatically, but I was running. No, I was sprinting through the Palace.

Somewhere, somewhere else. A place unknown to the party guests and ladies and gentlemen I had left behind, and unknown to myself.

I had no goal for where I headed, or even the knowledge necessary to construct such a thing, but I was the puppet of a raging agony that didn’t care where any particular corridor led. It wasn’t until sludge and hay worked together to stain my ankles and I sank into the mud, that I even realized I was outside, or near the stables.

My face was streaked with tears, and I was panting; I was out of breath, and all I wanted to do was ride a horse and flee from everyone in the same way I had found peace when I was home.

“Ice,” I recalled.

I stepped into the barn. At the far end, I caught the gleam of her familiar white coat, my mare, and, like a beacon, a sailor’s saving light, I went to her.

“Ice,” I whispered sweetly. “Beautiful, reverent Ice,” I said. I brushed her mane with my nails. “Hi. Hi, there, girl.”

She rustled in her pin. She looked at me with her strong, magical black eyes, and I stood a little taller at the connection. I checked around, finding the saddle I thought was hers, and I reached to pull it off the wall, but?—

“Are you stealing my horse?” someone asked.

“Mr. Evergreen?” I said.

He leaned against a beam, watching me fail to unhook the seat from its place.

“Your horse?” I delivered. “This one’s mine.”

“Not yet, she’s not,” he replied. “She’s still too green.”

Cyrus moved much closer than I knew, and when his hand met my back to force me his way, he spurned me with the nerve to react to my face.

“You’re crying?” he asked.

“Thank you,” I spat, working myself up. “Thank you for that remarkably brilliant observation, Mr. Evergreen! Now, if you would be so kind as to get me her saddle down, I-”

“Why are you crying?” he pried.

“It does not concern you,” I said.

Cyrus barred me from making another attempt at the seat; his height was my nemesis.

“Because I’m not a lord?” he asked.

“Why would I be crying over your status, sir?” I whined.

“You said it didn’t concern me,” he said. “I assume because of my status.”

“Does no one sleep in this place?” I asked. I shook my head. “And what does your rank have anything to do with anything?”

“You tell me!” he said.

“Oh, believe me, sir! If I had any idea of what you were on about, I would!”

“Then, if my station does not offend you, tell me why you’re upset!” he called back.

“Your station has nothing to do with why I won’t tell you-”

“Then why won’t you?—?!”

“Because you’re his confidant!” I shouted. I took a sharp breath, mad that he had gotten that much of me. I quickly crossed my arms. “Forget I said that.”

“...What did Sam do to you?” Cyrus’s tone became dire with his expression as he found the loose ribbon dangling at my side. He stared at it for too long. “Was he inappropriate with you?”

“What?” I asked.

“Did he touch you?” He positively seethed. “Look at you, your dress. You’re crying. You’ve been running.”

There was a moment of sparking heat between us, the energy before a storm.

“N-No, Mr. Evergreen. The Prince was…”

He waited.

“He was…” I grabbed the end of my tie and fastened it back into its place. “He was feeding an apple to someone else. Please don’t make me explain. I’m devastated.”

He exhaled. “Agatha.”

“...You’re not surprised?” I asked.

There was no answer.

“I should’ve known,” I said. “Of course you aren’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“...And then he,” I swiped my face free from evidence of my pain. “Then he had the audacity to follow me back to my room.”

Cyrus tensed.

“Well, not inside,” I thought to add. “He didn’t—I haven’t—I’m still?—”

“Alright,” he said. “You swear he did not try to convince you in some way?”

“No,” I said. “No, sir. Sam was very cordial to me. Aside from nearly screwing another woman, that is. During a ball in my honor, no less. …His pants were…Maybe they had?”

Cyrus turned to collect a different saddle from off the wall. He handed it to me.

“You’ll ride Tails,” he said. “Ice will not do well with your mood.”

“I don’t agree,” I argued.

“I don’t care if you agree,” he replied. “I care if you listen.”

“We had a moment,” I told him. “Just now. She?—”

“How happy for you, Your Highness. It’s still a no.”

“But she ? —!”

“No,” he said. “She is still too green and a wild animal. She will throw you off. How do you suggest I explain the injured princess to whoever treats you? Hmm?”

“I—”

“You’re too nice anyway.”

“Nice he calls me?” I asked. “After a whole day of nothing but insulting my?—”

“A horse like Ice identifies weakness right away. No. It won’t do.”

“Weakness?” I furrowed my brows at him. “How dare you! And I’m not nice!” I groaned but still heeded his advice and turned to the other stalls. Then, I realized I had no idea who Tails was. “Uhm, Mr. Evergreen?”

“Cyrus is fine,” he said. He tightened the ring on the original saddle. “He’s in the third pin. The painted.”

I looked around. “...If you’re not the ostler, why are you here so late?”

“You’re not the ostler,” he said. “Yet here you are haunting me.”

He checked the saddle’s pouches.

“You said Ice wasn’t rideable,” I said.

“I said she would not appreciate your mood.” Cyrus met with a lighter, speckled horse and dressed her with his seat, tightening the straps over her sides.

“I’m confused,” I said.

“Happy to draw you a picture,” he quipped.

“Of what?” I asked.

“I’m taking Edith. Not Ice,” he said. “Seriously. I will draw it out for you.”

“I do not need a—!” I gasped. “I beg your pardon! I never—!” I nearly dropped Tails’s set in my huff. “How dare you, sir!”

That made him laugh, and, despite his awful remark on my intelligence, Mr. Evergreen stepped past me with a blanket, shook it out, and placed it on the stallion for me. Then he took the saddle from my hands and plopped it onto the creature.

“...Tails is a stupid name for a horse,” I muttered. “They only have the one.”

It didn’t get a rise out of him as I had hoped. When the horse was ready, Cyrus swung his hand out widely and insisted I get on.

“Your chariot, my lady,” he said, though sarcastically.

“…Are you not going to help me up?” I asked.

“What? Help yourself.” His brows came together, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Wha... W-What? How?” I stepped closer, wondering if I even could; the seat was just barely foreign enough to trifle me. “I need you to boost me. So that…”

“This is a western saddle,” he explained. “Use the horn.”

“The… horn?” I didn’t know what that meant. “He doesn't have horns. He’s a horse.”

Cyrus planted himself behind me. He took my hand and placed it onto an erect piece that jutted out of the front of the seat, and with his other, he hoisted me by the rear up into the air. I threw my leg around the other side, by instinct, but I was gripping madly to what must have been the horn . I scowled at him as soon as I was safely seated.

“Watch your hands!” I cried.

“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “As if I could cop a proper feel with all that satin.”

“It’s silk!” I said.

Cyrus mounted Edith far smoother than I had performed. He whispered something to her I didn’t hear, then led her toward Tails and me, asking, “Where are we riding to, Princess?”

“We?” I found it in me to ask. “We are not going anywhere. I am quite capable of blowing steam off on my own, sir.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded. “Relax your shoulders. Your posture’s wrong.”

“I am a very experienced rider, I’ll have you know.”

“Aye. So, what then? You want me to see me hanged, is that it?” he asked.

“H-Hanged?”

“I can’t think of a better punishment for the man who lets the Princess, his best friend’s wife , ride out into God-Knows-Where, well after midnight, no doubt to be murdered by the apparent rise of bandits or worse. What do you think they’ll do to me? God forbid your father finds me first.”

“Is that? Is that a possibility?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I prefer not to find out.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” I confessed.

“Assume I’m not. I’ve grown quite accustomed to life here with Edith, Your Highness. With my luck, someone has seen you weeping hysterically on your way out here to my domain. You’re not exactly subtle; I heard you stomping from the back door. And, I have been seen, as well. I said hello to several folks on my way out.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m explaining how I will instantly become the prime suspect in your murder. The motivation is there— we’ve just had a public row this afternoon. I think I should just escort you to wherever it is you want to go, and save us both the hassle of a trial. Well, you’ll be dead. So. Save myself the hassle, really.”

I stared blankly, but a moment later, he grinned . I sort of bobbed my head.

“Um,” I started, taking another pause. “Alright. Just don’t expect me to talk. Yeah?”

“Got it,” he said.

“Especially about my feelings,” I added. “I’m sorry you had to see what you saw, my weeping, as you call it, but you will keep it to yourself, I command it.”

“Noted.”

“And don’t ask me any questions, either! I am not interested in complaining or confiding in you. And no. It’s not because you're not a lord, it’s because I don’t know you. All I know is that you’ll immediately go and tattle away all of my woes to Sameer as soon as we get back, and I can’t have that sort of exposure. I’ve already told him I was not hurt. You understand?”

“It's the middle of the night, Princess.”

“So what?”

“I would at least wait until sunrise. Out of courtesy for the Prince.”

“You think you’re rather clever, don’t you?” I asked.

“I am, yes,” he said.

“What, with your?—”

“When do you start not talking to me?” he asked.

“What?”

He trotted past me and out the door. When I caught up, he asked, “Have you had much time to explore the grounds? Or would you prefer I take the lead?”

“I…” I watched him navigate seamlessly around the yard. Edith was happy, despite the hour. “You forge our path. If you are willing.”

“Oh, I’m willing, Princess,” he said. “Do you prefer something scenic or something brutal, perhaps?”

“Brutal?”

“Yes. To shake you from your thoughts. Keep you focused on the task at hand. That’s the point, yes?”

“The task at hand?” I asked. “What task?”

“Not falling off your horse while I win,” he said. “Yeah!”

With that, he struck the reins against Edith’s neck and gave her a kick, sending her into a gallop.

Stunned at first, I laughed.

Dumbly.

I sat stupidly on my horse, and when I realized that Evergreen was very far ahead, my competitive side awoke.

I didn’t want to lose, not to Cyrus Evergreen; I’d never live it down. So I steeled myself, mirroring his actions, and then I chased him into the flickering starlight of the night.