Page 53 of Royals
Glaring at me, Miles steps a little closer. “This is just what my face looks like.”
“That is unfortunate,” I say, and Glynnis claps her hands again.
“All right!” she trills. “The sooner we start, the sooner this can be over.”
As she leads me to a stall, she adds, “For something as delicate as this, it’s best if we let the photographers come to us rather than the other way around. Things feel much more... plausible that way. And given how sensitive this situation is, plausibility is our friend.”
“Okay, but horses are not mine,” I say.
Glynnis laughs, and I end up on the back of a gray mare named Livingston, which is a weird name for a girl horse, but I don’t want to point that out in case she hears me and decides to throw me off.
Miles gets this massive black stallion because of course he does, and within just a few minutes, the two of us are in Holyrood Park behind the palace, riding on horses like people who just fell in love in a tampon commercial.
This is ridiculous.
But it’s also really pretty here. If I ignore how scary it is to have a thousand-pound animal underneath me, I can admit that.The sky is blue and almost cloud free, and the park is green and lovely and nearly empty except for a few people jogging and a girl walking an insanely cute little white dog.
And, of course, the photographers. I see them there at the edge of the park, three guys who all look nearly interchangeable in pullovers, baggy jeans, and sneakers.
To take my mind off them, I make myself smile at Miles and say, “Is this your normal first date, then?”
He sits a lot more easily in the saddle than I do, the reins just draped in his hands while I’m clutching mine so hard my knuckles are white.
“This is actually our fourth date if we’re counting that time I walked you back to your room, the race, and the other night at the club,” he says, and I sit up taller in the saddle.
“If we’re counting those, you’re pretty much the worst boyfriend ever.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he says, and I jerk my head around to look at him.
“You’ve been a boyfriend?” I ask. “To a human girl?”
Shaking his head, Miles moves his reins from one hand to the other. “Let’s save that for our fifth date, shall we?”
His horse trots ahead a little, and I give mine the slightest little touch with my heels to make her catch up. To my relief, she does, and I try not to think about how much jiggling those cameras might be catching as I pull even with Miles.
“Is there going to be a fifth one?” I ask. “Can’t we just do... this and be done with it?”
Miles looks over at me, his sandy hair dipping over his brow, and his eyes are particularly green this morning. Maybe Glynnischose the park to make him look his most handsome. Who can say?
“I assume they’ll want us to do the ball together,” he says, smiling broadly for the photographers.
“Ball?” I repeat, giving him the same bright grin, complete with a head tilt. This is some excellent work and better end up on at least one front page. I haven’t shown this many teeth inages.
“We’re headed up north day after tomorrow,” he replies, complete with a little chuckle as he reaches out to cover my hand for just a second with his own. “To Baird House. There’s going to be a ball for Eleanor and Alex, and if Glynnis doesn’t make us sell this there, I’ll eat this saddle.”
“Oooh, you might choke, and that would besofun to watch!” I say, tossing my hair over my shoulders.
Another laugh, and I swear there’s genuine warmth in his eyes now. It almost makes me wonder if he’s done this kind of thing before.
There’s a sudden flurry of barking off to my right, and I look over to see that cute little white dog I’d spotted earlier suddenly tearing across the park, filled with bloodlust for a flock of birds on the path right in front of us.
It’s a pretty nonthreatening dog, but Livingston doesn’t see it that way. Suddenly, my previously gentle and super-chill horse shudders, hooves pawing the earth, and then, as the dog gets closer, my horse loses her mind altogether, giving a panicked whinny and lifting her front hooves off the ground.
Shrieking, I panic, and instead of grabbing the reins I sink my fingers into her mane, holding on for dear life, my entire world becoming a panicked blur of barking, whinnying, myown shrill cries, and the vision of headlines reading, “FUTURE PRINCESS’S SISTER KILLED IN FREAK HORSEBACK ACCIDENT WHILE ON FAKE DATE!”
And then Livingston lowers her hooves back to the ground, still pawing and shuddering, and I see a long-fingered hand shoot out and grab her reins.
Miles.
