Chapter Two
I adjustmy grip on the round, hard-bristled brush, securing the strap more firmly across the back of my hand. The horse whinnies softly as I continue my rhythmic strokes, brushing along her flank until her coat is gleaming caramel in the shafts of early morning light that filter into the stable.
“Good girl, Ginger,” I coo, holding my gloved palm flat to feed her a sugar cube. It disappears in the blink of an eye between her large buck teeth.
I hum to myself as I store the brushes away in the tack box. When I return to untie the lead line from Ginger’s halter, her velvet muzzle butts into my hand, seeking another treat.
“Sorry — that was my last one. I’ll give you more tomorrow after our ride. How’s that sound? Huh?”
Ginger’s soft neigh makes me smile.
“Who’s my good girl?”
“Youdorealize she’s not going to talk back, don’t you?”
The voice startles me. I spin toward the sound and find a willowy redhead leaning against the stall door, dressed to the nines in a sparkly black dress, fitted peacoat, and sky-high heels. Her hair is a bit mussed, her lipstick is long gone, and there’s eyeliner smudged beneath each eye. Even so, she looks totally glamorous.
“Chloe! What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a girl visit her stepsister without an ulterior motive?”
“Sure.” I tilt my head at her. “I’m just surprised to see you up this early.”
“I haven’t been to bed yet, if you must know.” She laughs, white teeth flashing brightly. “I knew you’d be out here after your morning ride — figured I’d swing by and say hi before I crash.”
“Oh. Well.Hi.” I turn back to Ginger and remove her halter. Stroking her nose one final time, I whisper my goodbyes, exit the stall, and bolt it shut behind me. I can feel Chloe watching as I bang my knee-high leather riding boots against a nearby wall, dislodging chunks of dirt and manure from their soles. When I glance up, her nose is wrinkled in distaste.
“Aren’t there grooms staffed here for this exact purpose?”
I shrug. “I don’t mind doing it.”
“Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Emilia, Heir Apparent of Germania and Official Mucker of Palace Horse Stalls. Long may sherein.” She smirks at her own play on words.
Snorting, I fall into step beside her. I wave goodbye to the uniformed stablehands as we pass through the doors — two boys in their late teens with ruddy cheeks and prim navy uniforms. They flush bright red and drop into low bows.
God, I wish they would stop doing that.
Trailed by a fleet of soft-footed guards, Chloe and I cross the palace grounds in silence, taking in the icy beauty all around us. It’s chilly — half of November has already slipped away, and with it any lingering vestiges of warm weather. The once lush evergreens around us are now coated with frost. The frozen gravel paths crunch beneath our feet. Snowflakes drift slowly from the overcast sky, dark with promise of the season’s first heavy snowfall.
I’ll be sad when the deep snows come, as it means the end of my morning trail rides. For the past few weeks, my equestrian lessons with Hans — the gruff, grumpy Master of Stables who’s worked at Waterford Palace for longer than I’ve been alive — have been my only respite from the utter boredom of castle confinement. Without a hobby to distract myself, I fear I may go entirely mad.
If I haven’t already.
Chloe is uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, she talks a mile a minute, full of hilarious anecdotes and unconventional life advice. Maybe, after weeks of futile attempts at conversation, she’s finally grown tired of my one-word answers and melancholy disposition.
I can’t blame her — I’m the first to admit I haven’t exactly been a bundle of joy, lately. Between the lack of sleep and the twenty-four-seven security detail, I’m grumpier than a gold-digger caught violating her prenup.
We’re nearly back to the castle when I shatter the strained silence, trying my best not to sound jealous. The fact that Chloe gets to leave this place — albeit with a hulking member of the King’s Guard in tow — is nearly enough to inspire a foot-stomping temper tantrum.
“So, where’d you go last night?”
“Some hot new designer had a fashion show in Lund. Ugliest dresses I’ve ever seen — one model actually walked out wearing what I think might’ve been a trash bag.” Her shoulder bumps mine. “You would’ve hated it.”
“Mmm.”
“Hey.” She stops walking beside a waterless fountain. The stone mermaid at its center seems especially lifeless in the dull grey light. “I know this sucks, okay? I know it’s not fair that you’re—”
“Locked up here like a fucking prisoner?”