Chapter 73: Mounting Troubles

The morning mist clung low to the ground as the convoy gathered before the gates. Horses stamped at the cold earth, their breaths ghosting pale in the air.

The courtyard buzzed with the sounds of preparation, clattering hooves, jingling armour, and the soft hiss of breath in the morning frost. Steam rose from the horses’ muzzles, and the royal banners fluttered in the wind, their dark silks catching the pale light of dawn.

Ilaria’s eyes sparkled as she took it all in, the towering steeds, the neat rows of soldiers, the crisp scent of metal and morning air. Her excitement was almost childlike. And then, of course, it landed on the massive warhorse waiting for her.

“Oh, look at you,” she whispered in awe, stepping closer to the stallion as if greeting an old friend. “Aren’t you majestic?”

Before she could reach for its mane, a gloved hand gently caught her wrist.

Levan’s voice came low beside her ear. “Careful. He bites when strangers hover too close.”

“I’m not a stranger,” she said defensively, her lips curving into a grin. “I was only saying hello.”

“He doesn’t speak ’hello,’” he deadpanned, though his tone softened as his gaze flicked between her and the horse. “Are you sure you even know how to ride one of these?”

Ilaria blinked, momentarily offended. “Of course I do! I’ve ridden with my father before.”

“Ponies in the royal gardens don’t count.”

She gasped. “They were not ponies! They were—”

“Small enough to fit through a corridor?” he finished, fighting the twitch of a smile.

Her mouth fell open in mock offense, then promptly shut again when she turned to truly see the horse that awaited her. The tall, powerful, dark as polished iron stallion. It looked intimidatingly huge, and only just then did she notice the saddle that came nearly to her head.

“…Alright,” she muttered thoughtfully. “Maybe just a little taller than I remembered…?”

Levan clasped her arm. “You can ride with me instead,” he offered.

Her head snapped up. “W-with you?”

He regarded her blankly, utterly unbothered by the suggestion that was currently threatening to melt her brain. “It would be safer. Less risk of you toppling off halfway to the gates.”

“I— no! I can do it myself,” she blurted, hands flailing a little before she crossed her arms in what she thought was dignity. “The chronicles of King Agrathen’s northern campaign explicitly warned against sharing mounts on long journeys. Something about— about balance and… tactical inefficiency.”

He blinked slowly. “…Balance.”

“Yes!” she insisted, chin lifting even though her ears were pink. “And— and besides, your warhorse looks far too proud to carry two riders. It would be cruel.”

He looked back at his warhorse, who gave a loud, indignant snort, pawing the ground as if to say, Are we leaving or are you planning to court her here all morning?

Levan exhaled through his nose. “Right. Cruel to the horse,” he murmured, meeting the stallion’s very unimpressed stare.

Then, turning back to her, he added, “You should let him get to know you first. Stallions don’t take kindly to new people.”

Ilaria blinked, then nodded seriously as if she had just been entrusted with a sacred duty. “What do I do?”

“Hold out your hand,” he said, stepping closer to guide her wrist. “Let him smell you. Don’t flinch if he huffs.”

Nervous, Ilaria slowly obeyed, one of her palm outstretched, breath held tight as the massive horse lowered its head. A warm breath brushed her skin, sending tingles down her spine, followed by a soft snort that ruffled the ends of her gloves.

Levan waited for the usual toss of the head or twitch of irritation this particular stallion usually gave. Out of all the warhorses in the royal stables, this one was known to be the most disciplined and the most temperamental. He obeyed commands like a soldier but treated most people with the disdain of a noble at court.

The horse had once snorted at him for walking too close. Literally snorted. So when the beast only blinked at Ilaria’s approach, then lowered its massive head to sniff her hand instead of biting it, Levan felt, absurdly, like he had just been betrayed.

Ilaria’s face lit up as she confidently got even closer towards the stallion. “He likes me!”

Levan stared, incredulous. “He barely lets me touch him.”

The horse snorted again, as if confirming the statement, and Ilaria giggled, glancing at Levan with mock pride. “Maybe he just knows I’m friendlier.”

Levan huffed in disbelief. “He’s not supposed to be friendly.”

But Ilaria was already reaching out again, her fingers brushing over the stallion’s mane with such care that even the creature seemed to ease under her touch. Her voice turned soft, almost cooing. “He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”

“Rhegar,” Levan replied, watching the scene with an unreadable expression.

“Rhegar,” she repeated quietly, testing the name like a secret before smiling. “Well, hello, Rhegar. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You’re so pretty~ Your mother must be beautiful too.”

The horse let out a low rumble of approval, and Levan felt an odd prickling in his chest. It was weird. An unfamiliar tightness he did not particularly like. It was ridiculous, really, to feel anything over a horse. But something about the way she looked at the stallion, her eyes bright, voice gentle, and affection unguarded made him irrationally annoyed.

He cleared his throat, forcing his gaze elsewhere. “Don’t touch him too much if you don’t want to risk yourself getting kicked,” he said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Ilaria laughed at the absurdity, still stroking the stallion’s neck. “What are you saying? He likes me, look.” She leaned forward, pressing her cheek gently against Rhegar’s massive jaw, her fingers running down the sleek curve of his neck as if offering him a soft, comforting hug. “He just needed someone to talk to him nicely.”

Rhegar lowered his head slightly then, nuzzling her shoulder in response, letting out a soft rumble that seemed almost like contentment. Ilaria giggled again, looking up at Levan with sparkling eyes. “See? He trusts me now.”

Something hot and foolish flared beneath his ribs, gone as quickly as it came. He cleared his throat again, trying to hide the way his fingers itched to reach out, not to the horse, but to her.

He did not even know why it affected him so much, though he said nothing, simply watching as she beamed at the massive stallion like it was the most natural thing in the world to love something so fiercely.

For some reason, Rhegar seemed to study him with a lazy, unimpressed tilt of his head, and Levan had to fight the ludicrous urge to glare back. As if he needed a duel of egos with a damned horse before breakfast.

“Tch,” Levan muttered, looking away. Maybe I should’ve been a damned horse, he thought darkly.

The way the stallion snorted and shifted its massive weight, sending a cloud of frosty breath into the air, made it feel very much like it was silently judging him.

Levan’s jaw twitched, his gaze piercing through the horse. Oh, so now I’m the inferior one?

Rhegar snorted again, flicking an ear toward him, as if to say, Yes, exactly. Take notes, human.

He exhaled then, suppressing the urge to groan when he realized what he was doing. Silently arguing with a horse? Really? Without another word, he stepped closer, placing a steady hand at her waist and steering her away from fussing over Rhegar, who let out a disapproving neigh at him.

“Put your foot here,” he said simply, ignoring the stallion’s dramatic protest and guiding his wife toward the saddle.

“Wait— husband, I can do it myself—”

“You’ll take half the convoy down with you if you try,” he said dryly, and before she could protest further, he lifted her easily that she barely had time to gasp before she found herself seated firmly on the saddle.

Her breath caught, half from surprise, half from the warmth of his hand lingering at her side.

“There,” he said quietly, adjusting the reins for her. His gloved hand brushed her knee before stepping back. “Now… don’t get too attached, he’s temperamental.”

Ilaria glanced down at him and nodded eagerly. But she barely spare him more than a second attention when her focus went back on Rhegar as she resumed patting the stallion, humming softly. “Okay, husband,” she said, as if they had finished some important business.

Levan could only stare, the corner of his mouth twitching as he watched her affectionately fuss over the horse.

“Tch,” he sneered again, straightened his back and then walked back to his own mount, muttering under his breath, “Some husband I turned out to be…”

Around them, the knights nearby had, of course, been watching. Not that anyone dared comment, save for a few wide-eyed glances quietly exchanged. After what happened yesterday, they quickly learned that interrupting the crown prince, especially when his wife was involved, was a fool’s errand.

Levan swung onto his own massive mount with practiced ease. The stallion snorted impatiently, clearly in agreement with its rider’s urgency.

The knights’ eyes flicked subtly between their prince and his wife, noting the way she beamed at the horse and the way he watched her just a fraction too long before turning his gaze forward. Not one of them breathed a word, though every jaw tightened slightly in silent amusement, or perhaps shock.

Then, with all traces of his earlier mood gone, Levan’s voice cut through the morning mist, crisp and commanding. “Mount up! Get in line!”

The knights jolted into motion, the soft thud of boots and the creak of leather filling the air as they scrambled to mount their own horses and get into position.

Rhegar pawed the ground, snorting once as if announcing his readiness. Ilaria smiled then, tightening her hold on the reins, the excitement in her chest barely contained as she stayed in the middle between two knights on the second row just like her husband had ordered.

Levan gave one last glance her way, just a flicker before turning his horse toward the open gates. The banners above caught the wind, unfurling with a heavy snap.

The great gates creaked open, spilling the pale light of dawn across the cobblestone.

“Move out!”

The convoy stirred to life, hooves striking earth, steel glinting in the morning sun as the royal expedition began its steady march beyond the castle walls.

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