"I assumed."
"Will that be a problem?"
"Everything about Rakk is a problem." The bitterness leaks through despite my best efforts. "But I'm not going to let him dictate what I can or can't do anymore. I've had enough of that for one lifetime."
Something shifts in Kaelen's face. Almost like approval. "Good."
They drift away to find seats near the racing route, and I turn back to the equu. A stable hand helps me select a mount—a lean female with intelligent eyes and a coat the color of desert sand. She snorts when I approach, testing my confidence, but settles when I stroke her neck with steady hands.
"Easy, girl. We're both doing things we're not entirely sure about."
The handler boosts me into the saddle. The equu shifts beneath me, adjusting to my weight. I grip the reins and feel something in my chest loosen slightly. Up here, away from the whispers and the weight of being Rakk's unwanted mate, I can almost breathe.
The race route follows the canyon rim for two miles, then loops back along a lower ridge. Dangerous enough to be thrilling. Stupid enough that only warriors and people with nothing to lose attempt it.
I qualify as the latter.
Other riders gather—mostly young males eager to prove themselves, but a few older warriors join, including Gorrak and several I recognize from the training yards. They eye me with varying degrees of skepticism and dismissal. A human woman racing against orc warriors? Laughable.
Let them laugh. I've survived worse than their mockery.
Then Rakk arrives.
He rides a massive equu, its coat pure midnight black and rippling with muscle. The beast prances and tosses its head, clearly as dominant and powerful as its rider. Rakk sits the saddle with easy confidence, his broad shoulders relaxed despite the equu's restless energy.
But when his eyes find me across the gathering riders, something cracks through his composed expression. Surprise. Then concern. Then something that looks dangerously close to pride.
I force myself to look away before that warmth in his gaze can undermine my carefully maintained walls.
The starting drums begin their countdown. Deep. Steady. Building tension until my heart matches their rhythm.
I position my equu near the middle of the pack, away from the most aggressive riders but close enough to have a fighting chance. Rakk moves to the front line with the other dominant males. He doesn't look at me again, but I feel his awareness like a physical touch.
The final drum strike hits like thunder.
We explode forward.
The canyon becomes a blur of stone and firelight. Wind whips my hair back as my equu stretches into a full gallop, her powerful legs eating distance. Hooves thunder against packed earth. Riders jostle for position, their mounts snapping and kicking at competitors who get too close.
For the first time in weeks, my mind goes blissfully quiet.
There's no room for hurt or confusion or the constant weight of watching every word and action. There's only wind and speed and the primal thrill of controlling something wild beneath me.
We round the first bend. The canyon wall rises dizzyingly high on our left while the cliff edge drops into darkness on our right. One misstep. One stumble. That's all it would take to plummet into the abyss.
I lean forward and urge my equu faster.
Ahead, Rakk pulls into the lead alongside two other warriors. His black equu moves like liquid power, barely straining despite the brutal pace. Even from here, I can see the focus in his posture, the perfect synchronization between rider and mount.
He's magnificent.
Damn him, he's magnificent, and my treacherous heart squeezes watching him dominate the race with the same effortless competence he brings to everything.
We hit the turnaround point. The route narrows as it loops back along the lower ridge. Riders bunch closer together, fighting for position. My equu pins her ears and pushes through a gap between two males who try to box me out.
The crowd's roar echoes from below. Fires blur past in streaks of orange and gold.
And for these few precious moments, I feel almost free.
