The horse’s ears flicked back and forth, uncertain.
Anne took one step closer. “It is all right,” she murmured. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Tempest shifted his weight sharply, muscles still tight, but did not move away. The Duke stopped several paces behind her, watching in utter silence.
“He should still be attacking anything that moves,” one of the stablehands whispered in disbelief.
Anne did not look away from the horse.
“He is not attacking anyone,” she said quietly. “He never was. He is afraid.”
She reached out slowly, letting her hand hover for a moment before making contact. The instant her fingers touched Tempest’s neck, something in him changed. The tension did not vanish, but it loosened in stages, as though his body had finally recognized something it had been searching for.
Anne exhaled softly and stepped closer, resting her palm fully against him.
“You are all right,” she whispered. “You are all right. I have you.”
Tempest lowered his head enough that the transformation in him became undeniable. The frantic energy that had filled the yard moments ago disappeared at once.
Anne’s hand moved gently along his neck, steadying him. Tempest leaned slightly toward her, pressing his head closer to her shoulder in a gesture so instinctive it felt as though the horse had forgotten every other person in the yard.
Around them, the yard remained silent. Even Mr. Fletcher was no longer being moved. Everyone was watching without speaking, as though interrupting the moment would break something they did not understand.
The Duke stepped a little closer, just enough to see her properly.
“He does not respond like this to anyone else,” he said.
Anne finally glanced at him. “Because he does not belong to anyone else.”
“Lady Anne, I have seen horses trained, broken, corrected, and controlled in every way a man could imagine. I have seen fear managed through force and discipline, but I have never seen this. Not once.”
“And yet it works unlike anything else.”
The words should have been simple. They were not.
Tempest let out a slow breath, still close to Anne, still anchored to her presence in a way that made everything around them feel secondary.
The Duke’s expression shifted subtly as he watched the animal settle further against her hand. Anne could not have hidden her satisfaction for anything. It was undeniable proof that no amount of money could change things.
Tempest was hers.
He belonged beside her.
And if she wanted to remain beside him, there were sacrifices that she would have to make.
It was not fair, not at all, but if it meant saving Tempest’s life, then she would do it. He was the only thing in the world that she could consider entirely her own, and there was nothing she would not do for him.
Even if it meant leaving her life behind.
“Lady Anne,” the Duke said, “may I speak with you?”
“Your Grace, you have done enough. If you insist on having Tempest, then you must at least allow me to stay with you as a stablehand.”
“I have already told you that was never my intention.”
“Perhaps, but that changes nothing. I see no other way to take care of him, and if that means I must go with you, then so be it.”
“But I do not?—”
