“If it is a race you want, Lady Annaïs, I will gladly oblige.”
Excitement crackled. A race between the two most-watched women in Asadia promised spectacle, intrigue, gossip—and the court would dissect its outcome for days.
The princes exchanged a glance. Reiya caught the faint tension in Alarik’s posture, the careful restraint in Kaelen’s silence, but neither interfered.
They trusted her to handle it herself.
That trust, that unspoken certainty in her, was an edge sharper than any weapon.
King Azarion lifted a hand, quieting the murmurs. “If Princess Reiyana and Lady Annaïs wish to test their horses’ mettle, then let itbe so.” His gaze flicked toward Annaïs. “But let it remain, as you say, my lady—a friendly contest, nothing more.”
Annaïs inclined her head gracefully. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
But Reiya knew better.
As the future Tazahrina, she was meant to lead by example, show the court—and all of Asadia—that the disastrous past engagement was behind them, and a new era of peace and unity had begun.
And apparently, a ‘friendly’ horse race across the sands would be proof of that.
As the gathering moved outside the tent, anticipation thickened.
A steward stepped forward, his voice carrying over the low buzz of interested onlookers.
“The terms are set. A sprint across the open sands to The Sentinel’s Crown.” He gestured toward the distant rock formation, a jagged spire of stone jutting skyward like the broken blade of some ancient giant. “The riders will circle the outcrop and return, testing both speed and skill on the uneven terrain near the rock. The first to cross the finish line wins.”
Reiya slipped on her riding gloves as she stepped forward, the court’s scrutiny pressing down on her. The race was a spectacle, but it was also a test—one she had no intention of failing.
As she approached, Shivanar tossed her head, nostrils flaring, as if sensing the challenge ahead. The white mare was built for endurance, her long legs promising both speed and stamina.
Reiya’s hand skimmed along her neck, a silent assurance between them.
Across from her, Annaïs swung onto her mount like someone born on a horse. It was no surprise she rode astride, not sidesaddle. The chestnut stallion beneath her—sleek, finely muscled—was bred for raw speed. He would bolt like an arrow at the first command, but Reiya had spent enough time on horseback to know that speed alone wasn’t enough.
Annaïs adjusted the reins, her posture effortless.
“Are you ready, Princess?” The words were light, playful, but the edge beneath them was unmistakable.
Reiya mounted Shivanar, sitting astride too. She swallowed a winceas the posture tugged at sore muscles, but she’d sooner perish than betray anything less than perfect grace. “Quite ready, Lady Annaïs.”
The desert stretched ahead, golden and endless beneath the late afternoon sun. The Sentinel’s Crown loomed in the distance, its jagged peaks casting long shadows over the sand. Reiya studied the route, tracing the dips and ridges of the land with careful eyes.
Most would see an open stretch.
She saw the obstacles.
The terrain near the outcrop would be treacherous—sharp inclines, shifting sands, and scattered stones that could break the rhythm of an unprepared rider.
Annaïs might outrun her on the straight path. But the winding stretch near the Crown?
That was where she would win.
A steward raised his arm, the air thick with silence.
“On my mark—begin!”
Annaïs’s stallion bolted forward, sand spraying beneath his hooves as he tore ahead. A cheer went up from the crowd as she took an immediate lead, her posture low, streamlined, confident.
Reiya didn’t rush.
