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He doesn’t smirk at my sarcastic remark, and if it weren’t for the tension between his eyebrows, I wouldn’t even be sure he heard me.
“Come.” He holds out his hand. “I’ll help you put on your helmet.”
“I think I can manage.” I reach out and take it from him, still smarting from his rejection earlier. He made it clear where he stands, and I don’t want or need the confusion of trying to complicate this situation any further. The more distance we can keep between us, the better off I’ll be.
Once I have my helmet secured, he offers me his hand to help me mount, but I ignore it. That unnerves him, and I can feel him watching me as I reach up and grab the reins with one hand and the saddle with the other. I ease my left foot up into the stirrup and hoist myself up, swinging my other leg astride the horse and mounting myself comfortably.
“You’ve ridden before?” Judge’s question betrays his disbelief.
“You forget we grew up in the same circumstances.” I stare at him incredulously. “I think our parents would have agreed that it’s all part of being a well-rounded member of the upper echelon. A child simply cannot have one or two extracurriculars. They must excel at everything.”
Judge frowns, his features tightening as he seems to recall a memory from his own past. I can’t be sure, though because a moment later, it’s as if it never happened. He mounts his own steed, one who seems far more spirited than mine. But why should that come as a surprise? I think Judge enjoys a challenge in all his endeavors.
“You ready?” He glances over at me, and I nod.
He clicks his tongue and gives the horse a light squeeze with his boots. I secure the reins in my grasp, and Temperance takes her cue from Judge, following along without requiring me to do anything.
We settle into an easy gait, heading for the field of open grass behind the house. The grounds of Judge’s estate are huge, and I’m quite certain he explores more difficult terrain every morning when he goes for his rides. But I suspect he doesn’t want to throw anything too tricky my way just yet, regardless of my assurance that I’m capable.
“How long has it been since you last rode?” he asks.
“I had lessons most summers from the age of ten,” I tell him. “And then I’d still often visit my horse over the years. But I haven’t been back since he passed away.”
I can feel Judge watching me, and I don’t know if I admitted too much. Perhaps it comes as a shock to learn that despite all appearances, I do have a heart. I have real feelings, and I am capable of caring about other people and animals too. Although, admittedly, animals are easier. They don’t require much from you. All they want is your affection.
“I’ve forgotten how much I missed it,” I add, the gentle breeze blowing against my cheeks. It feels refreshing after being locked in my room.
“What kind of horse?” Judge asks, seemingly interested in keeping the conversation going.
“A Percheron.” I smirk at him. “They were a team actually. Prince and Duke. Prince was the one I rode often, although they were both magnificent. My instructor made the mistake of letting me ride him once for fun. After that, I never wanted to stop.”
“Why am I not surprised you took on the mammoth?” Judge smirks.
“He was seventeen hands,” I recall wistfully. “But a gentle giant, nonetheless.”
He eyes me carefully, and I realize it’s because I’m relaxed for the first time since I’ve been here. This feels natural to me. It feels good to be outside, breathing in fresh air while doing something physical. My body is in tune with the solid weight of Temperance beneath me. I trust her, and she trusts me, and there’s something beautiful about that simplicity.
For a moment, I consider that I shouldn’t be telling him how much I enjoy riding because that will just give him something else to leverage against me. Perhaps I should have played it smart and told him it was stupid so he’d make me do it every day. But what’s done is done, and I can only hope that the warmth in his eyes means he approves of my willingness to ride with him. At least it will give me something to do. Something else to focus on.
“Shall we pick up the pace?” he asks.
I smile and give Temperance a gentle squeeze, and she breaks into a trot before I can even call out over my shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask.”
When Judge comes for me in the morning, I’m already prepared. He smirks at his small victory when he sees me dressed and ready, and it grates at me, but I know resistance is futile at this point. If I don’t go freely, he’ll make me go naked again. And I can imagine few things worse than falling in a pile of horse shit with nothing to buffer it. So I go along with this charade, deciding that I have a new plan of action.
I realized last night when I was lying in bed, trying to forget the events of the past few days, that I’ve been going about this whole situation the wrong way. I’ve learned quickly that putting up a fight with Judge isn’t going to get me anywhere, no matter how satisfying it might be to test his patience. What I need to do is earn my freedom and a small sliver of his trust. If I can access the grounds, I can find a way out of here and put this whole situation behind me.
Those are my best-laid plans. But patience isn’t one of my virtues, and when Miriam comes to my room in the afternoon looking like she sucked on a lemon, it sours my mood.
“Sorry, princess. No buffet for you today.” She sets the tray of what I can only describe as prison food onto the table. It looks like some sort of gelatinous loaf of cat food, and there’s no way in hell I’m eating that.
When I glance up at her, she’s wearing a cruel smirk, waiting for a reaction.
“Hey, Miriam.” I smile at her sweetly. “Do you ever worry your face will get stuck like that?”
My victory is small but glorious, when she narrows her eyes at me and spits out her reply. “You think you’re pretty special, don’t you, Ms. De La Rosa? But I think you know there’s nothing special about you. That’s why you’re still on the shelf at twenty-five. Nobody can stand to be around you. You can’t even find some poor sap to marry you even with all your money and the trappings of your last name. Lord, what a poor soul the unfortunate bastard would be.”
When I don’t reply, her lips curve even higher, sensing that she’s struck a nerve. But she doesn’t stop there.
