Page 32 of His Royal Matchmaker

Guy studies me over the rim of his mug. “Something on your mind, Hugo?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you only ride when you need to think or when you need tostopthinking. And you’ve got that same look you had after your dad passed.”

I sigh. He knows me too well. “It’s nothing that serious.”

“Could it be…?” He trails off, raising an eyebrow. I know what — or rather who — he is thinking about, but I choose to not respond for now.

Midnight sees me coming and trots to the fence, her ears pricked forward.

“Hey, beautiful,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke her velvety nose. “Miss me?”

She nuzzles my palm, looking for treats. I pull an apple from my pocket — I never visit empty-handed — and she takes it delicately before crunching away contentedly.

The familiar ritual of grooming and saddling quiets my mind. Brush, pick hooves, check for any signs of discomfort, saddle pad, saddle, bridle. Midnight stands patiently, occasionally turning to watch me with one liquid brown eye.

“There,” I say, tightening the girth. “Ready for an adventure?”

Guy helps me mount, though I don’t need it. “East trail’s nice today.”

I nod my thanks and nudge Midnight forward. We walk sedately out of the yard, but once we reach the trail, I give her the signal she’s waiting for, and she leaps into a canter with the grace of a dancer. The wind rushes past my ears, and for the first time today, my head feels clear.

We gallop across an open field, slowing to pick our way through a stand of trees, then trotting along a stream where wildflowers grow in patches of purple and yellow. I let Midnight choose our path, trusting her instincts more than my distracted mind.

Eventually, we come to a hilltop overlooking the valley. In the distance, I can just make out the palace, looking like a toy from here. I dismount and let Midnight graze while I sit on a large rock and try to untangle the mess in my head.

What is wrong with me? I met a woman for a business arrangement. We had a practice date. That’s all. So why can’t I stop thinking about her laugh? About the way she tilts her head when she’s curious? About how it felt to be just Hugo for an evening, not Prince Hugo Bastien of Marzieu?

I don’t know how long I sit here, but eventually Midnight nudges my shoulder, bored with grazing and ready to move on. I stroke her neck. “At leastyouknow what you want, girl.”

When we return to the barn, Guy is fixing a bridle, his gnarled fingers working the leather with practiced ease. He looks up as I lead Midnight in.

“Get what you needed from your ride?”

“Not really.” I start to unsaddle Midnight, my movements automatic.

“Want to talk about it instead of brooding like a teenage poet?”

I snort. “I don’t brood.”

He sets down the bridle. “Come on, out with it.”

I brush Midnight’s sweaty coat in silence for a minute, organizing my thoughts. “Emily… the matchmaker…”

Guy waits, knowing me well enough to let me find my words.

“We had a… practice date. To help me prepare for the real dates.”

“A practice date?”

“Yes. And it was…” I struggle to find the right words. “It was nice. Better than nice.”

His eyes narrow with understanding. “Ah. And the real dates weren’t as nice.”

“Not even close.” I move to Midnight’s other side, hiding my face. “I pretended to like them because I knew she was watching. Because I wanted her to think I was… I don’t know, coachable.”

“And maybe to make her a little jealous?” he suggests, too perceptive by half.

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