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I thought I was ready to join the conversation. Thought I’d be okay with this.
But as I look around the room, everyone planning my life without allowing me a say in the matter, it’s all too much.
“I…” I begin, but can’t squeak out another word. My throat closes up, the chains shackling me to this life suffocating me the longer I stand here.
My eyes lock with Jameson’s, searching them. For what? I’m not sure. Then my gaze falls on the binder in front of him, which is open to a list of potential wedding dates, all of them in less than a year.
Panic racing through me, I finally summon the strength to move.
But it’s not toward an expectant Jameson Gates.
Instead, I whirl around, darting out of the room as fast as I can.
Chapter Six
Esme
Sunlight warms my face as I walk through the famous Lamberside Palace gardens and toward the back of the property where the stables are located. When we first moved here after my uncle’s death, my grandfather having died only a few months after and making my father the new king, my mother brought me out here practically every day. Wanted to give me something that reminded me of my old life.
My horse, Lightning, did just that. During that difficult time, she became like a therapy animal to me. Gave me a taste of something normal in a world that was anything but.
I hope she still holds the same soothing magic she did when I was a little girl.
As I follow the line of perfectly manicured trees, the weight suffocating me grows lighter, becoming almost nonexistent when I slip through the open barn door of the stables, the comforting scent of earth, grass, and manure greeting me. I don’t even care my heels are covered in dust. All that matters is the peace surrounding me.
I make my way down the line of stalls, taking time to visit with each of the horses for a few moments. Some of them I’ve known most of my life. Others are relatively new additions. While I appreciate each of these animals, there’s one in particular that will always hold a special place in my heart.
Reaching the last stall, I smile when I see the chocolate Arabian with a streak of lightning between her eyes.
“Hey girl.” I run my hand down her forehead and to the bridge of her nose.
Her excitement at seeing me is obvious, a whinny escaping her throat. I bring my head to hers, breathing in her welcoming scent that reminds me of simpler times. This horse has been one of the few constants in my ever-changing life. Which is why the palace stable head knows not to even think about selling her and replacing her with someone he can train to race.
Lightning may be slowing down for an Arabian, especially now that she’s nearing twenty, but I don’t care. She’s part of me.
And one of the last reminders I have of my mother.
The sound of footsteps on hay cuts through my moment of peace, and I spin around as a younger man carrying a bucket of feed comes to an abrupt stop. Eyes widening, the horse hand quickly bows toward me.
“Your Highness. I apologize. I didn’t realize you were here.”
“It’s quite all right. It was just as unexpected on my part.”
“Are you here to ride?” He quirks a brow as he scans my clothing. A slim fit dress and three-inch heels aren’t typical riding attire.
“Perhaps another time. I wanted to pay Lightning a visit. See how my old girl’s getting on.”
“Of course. I’ll give you some privacy, ma’am.” He bows once more, then retreats, leaving me alone.
I duck into her pen, taking a few minutes to brush her coat, the repeated movements calming me. I understand why people suffering from PTSD or anxiety find success with equine therapy. Just being in the presence of these magnificent creatures settles my nerves. Something I didn’t think possible minutes ago when I stormed out of that kangaroo court of a meeting.
“Rough day?”
Surprised by yet another intrusion, I dart my eyes toward my right, spine stiffening when they fall on Creed.
His imposing frame is clad in a pair of camouflage pants and a tight-fitting olive green t-shirt, his chest and arm muscles on full display. It should be a crime for someone to look that good in just a simple t-shirt.
Then again, Creed Lawson would probably make a paper sack look sexy.
