Chapter 4: The Prince and the Pony
There are many ways a princess's afternoon can go wrong.
But being asked to learn how to ride a horse from a man who's clearly never ridden one? That's a new one.
One would think after what happened with the general, my father and his vassals would take a chill pill. But instead, two days later, I'm meeting another suitor—one I didn't have high hopes for, especially after the first one.
The midday sun shimmered over the palace stables, warm and golden, the air thick with the scent of hay, leather, and mild royal desperation. I'd changed into riding clothes—a fitted cream blouse tucked into high-waisted breeches and knee-length boots polished to perfection. My hair was braided, simple and practical, because unlike my suitors, I didn't plan on dying today.
Vaelory, ever the faithful worrier, trailed behind me, wringing her hands as though we were walking into battle instead of a date.
"Your Highness," she whispered urgently, "perhaps you should not participate in such… unladylike activities before your suitor. Riding is vigorous and unpredictable!"
"Exactly why it's fun," I said, stretching my arms. "Also, if a man can't handle me on a horse, he can't handle me at all."
Vaelory made a strangled noise. "That is not the point!"
"Oh, I think it is."
"You should have turned down the offer when he brought it up," she told me.
"But he's my suitor, isn't he? I can't just turn him down," I said sweetly, even though I had every intention of turning him down one way or another.
Before she could respond, trumpets blared—because of course there were trumpets. No prince ever arrives quietly. The stable doors swung open dramatically, and in strutted my suitor for the day:
Prince Armitage von Snifflethorn.
Yes. Snifflethorn.
He was everything his name suggested—tall, pale, and vaguely allergic to sunlight. His golden curls were arranged with such precision they practically squeaked. He wore an embroidered riding coat and boots so shiny I could see my reflection in them. One really didn't need to wear shiny boots when riding a horse.
Behind him, his servants carried three boxes—each containing a different riding glove, because apparently one must coordinate emotionally with one's horse.
"Your Highness!" he said, dropping into a flourish so exaggerated it looked painful. "You honor me with your radiant presence."
I smiled sweetly. "Prince Snifflethorn..."
"Ah, Armitage, please!" he interrupted, pressing a hand to his chest. "Formality is a barrier between souls."
Oh?
"Then consider the barrier removed," I said lightly. "Shall we begin?"
He brightened. "Yes! Tell me, have you ever ridden a horse?"
I had, and I was an expert at it—but I wasn't going to tell him that.
"No... you did say you were going to teach me," I said in a sweet voice.
Behind me, Vaelory made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying bird. I ignored it and turned toward the horses.
My favorite mare, Lunabelle, was already waiting. She was sleek, black, and not to boast, but she was as sensible as I was. Next to her stood Armitage's steed: a very nervous-looking chestnut with eyes that screamed for help.
"Her name is Petunia Thunderhooves the Third," Armitage declared proudly. "We share a deep connection."
Petunia immediately sneezed and attempted to eat his sleeve.
"Yes," I said dryly. "I can tell."
After ten minutes of ceremonial posing, Armitage finally attempted to mount. The problem was… he didn't really know how.
He placed one foot in the stirrup, lifted himself halfway, and froze midair like a confused bird.
"Do you… need help?" I asked, trying not to laugh.
"I've got it," he said, wobbling. "I was trained by the royal equestrian tutor himself!"
"Was that tutor perhaps a decorative pillow?" I muttered.
He didn't hear me—or pretended not to—and with a grunt, swung himself up. Unfortunately, momentum was not on his side. He flew over the horse entirely and landed in a pile of hay with a sound that could only be described as sincere disappointment.
"Oh dear," Vaelory gasped.
I covered my mouth, not to hide horror—but laughter. "Impressive dismount, Your Highness."
Armitage popped up, hay sticking out of his curls. "Just testing the ground's… cushioning. Safety first, after all."
"Of course."
He dusted himself off, remounted with even more determination, and somehow—miraculously—stayed seated this time. His smile returned with blinding confidence.
"There! A perfect start!" he declared.
Petunia immediately began walking backwards.
"Um," I said helpfully, "I don't think it's as perfect as you think."
He gave me a dumb look. "Of course it is, she's moving."
"Yeah, moving in reverse."
"Reverse?" he asked.
"Like walking backwards?"
"Well, that is… that is simply because she's getting to know the terrain!" he insisted, gripping the reins so tightly Petunia rolled her eyes.
"The terrain of the stable?" I asked.
"She has to familiarize herself, after all," he said to me.
I sighed. This was the man who was supposed to be teaching me to ride a horse? Really?
I swung onto Lunabelle's back in one smooth motion and gave her a gentle nudge forward.
Armitage smiled at me. "Your Highness, you learn fast. That was even smoother than what I showed you," he told me.
I didn't reply because there was no need to do so.
After a bit of effort, Armitage's steed finally got the memo that she was supposed to move forward, not backward.
We started off easy. Lunabelle's hooves thudded softly against the dirt as the wind brushed against my cheeks. For a moment, it felt perfect—free, calm, a rare sliver of peace.
Then, behind me:
"AAAAAAHHHHHH!"
I turned just in time to see Armitage flailing as Petunia decided she was done with his nonsense. She bolted left, then right, throwing up dust like a tiny whirlwind while Armitage clung to her neck, eyes bulging.
"Use the reins!" I shouted.
"I am using them!" he wailed. "They're just not listening!"
"Reins don't listen... you steer them!"
"I'm steering! Do you not have eyes to see that I'm steering them?"
"Do you not have brains to realize that you are strangling her and not doing much steering?" I asked him.
I remained where I was because there was no way I was going to be helping him. I watched as Petunia broke into a panicked trot toward the rose hedge.
With a dramatic shriek, Armitage flew sideways into a nearby bush, vanishing completely. Petunia stopped, blinked, and calmly began chewing grass.
Vaelory screamed. "Oh my days!"
The prince's people rushed to him, helping him to his feet, but he pushed them away.
From the middle of the hedge, he spoke loudly, "I meant to do that!"
"Of course you did," I said, watching him untangle himself from roses like a sad bouquet.
He emerged scratched but alive, his dignity in critical condition. "I must admit," he said breathlessly, "she's a bit more spirited than I anticipated."
"Or you're just not as good at riding as you thought you were," I said dryly.
"Nonsense. I took lessons just for this," he said, waving me off.
To his credit, he got back on Petunia again, this time holding on like his life depended on it—which, honestly, it might've.
We started moving again. To be sincere, Armitage was doing less teaching and more fighting for his life.
We lasted approximately seven seconds before he lost control again.
Petunia veered left. Lunabelle went right. I stopped easily; he didn't. He went sailing over her neck, landed face-first in the mud, and groaned dramatically.
I rode over, resting my chin on my hand. "You okay down there?"
He spat out dirt. "Perfectly fine! Just… getting to know the earth."
"Intimately, it seems."
Vaelory was beside herself, half horrified, half praying I wouldn't laugh too loud. Too late for that.
Armitage adjusted himself, dusting off his clothes, which just meant he was smearing more dirt on them. He wasn't done when Petunia sneezed on him.
"You insolent creature!" he began.
"Surely you don't plan to reprimand your steed now, right?" I asked him.
He turned then with a perfect lie—I didn't need a truth serum to know it was a lie—on his lips.
"Of course not."
Immediately after he said that, Petunia took his hair into her mouth, chewing on it. The prince wailed, calling for his people to help him, and when they finally dislodged Petunia from his hair, the prince fell... again.
"Conversing with the earth again?" I asked him.
He sat up slowly, brushing dirt from his velvet sleeves. "You seem… remarkably unconcerned about me."
"That's probably because I am," I told him.
"You don't care?" he whispered, distraught.
I nodded just as his lips quivered. Great, another crybaby.
His eyes widened, and Prince Armitage von Snifflethorn burst into tears.
Real, actual, loud sobbing.
"I want my mother!" he wailed. "She would have cared! She would have come running!"
I blinked, caught between horror and amusement. "Your… mother?"
"She'd have wrapped me in a blanket and made me lavender tea! But you—you just stand there! Unmoved! Heartless!"
"Lavender tea sounds nice," I offered.
"Don't mock me!"
I tilted my head. "I'm not. I genuinely like lavender."
Vaelory was panicking. "Your Highness! Say something comforting!"
I leaned slightly closer. "Maybe next time, try to suggest something you actually have knowledge about—and maybe dress appropriately and reduce the perfume."
He sniffled loudly. "That's… that's not comforting!"
I shrugged. "It wasn't meant to be."
As if that was a sign, Armitage's sobs grew louder.
"I want my mummy!" he cried.
I ignored him, riding my own steed back to the stable with a smile on my face.
Two suitors down.
The royal matchmaking campaign was going beautifully.