SHORT CHAPTER
This peculiar relationship with animals was nothing new to her. Even carriage horses grew uneasy in her presence, making finding a suitable mount nearly impossible.
Beatrice was about to dismiss the entire venture when something outside the stable caught her eye. Standing in the open field, a massive black stallion stared in their direction, unmoving yet exuding an air of intent observation.
Noticing her gaze, both Calrex and Bilros turned to look.
“That horse isn’t for sale,” the Baron said in a hesitant tone, as though resigned to yet another obstacle in today’s series of missteps.
His voice faltered with embarrassment, but he proceeded to explain regardless.
“It’s a wild horse from the Kansan plains. I managed to acquire it at great expense, but it refuses to be tamed. It escaped its pen on its own and just roams freely. We’ve left it alone since it doesn’t harm anyone unprovoked, but it needs to be captured eventually… someday.”
Horses from Kansan plains were renowned for their strength and resilience, often trained as warhorses. Even those raised by humans were notoriously difficult to manage, let alone a wild one. This particular stallion had become a burdensome investment—a valuable but untamable creature.
The Baron continued his lament. “If we try to approach, it rears and lashes out. Several of my hands have been injured already. Honestly, I’ve considered…” He trailed off, his face clouded.
“It’s coming this way,” Beatrice interrupted.
“What?”
Bilros snapped out of his melancholy and turned his head in disbelief. But it wasn’t walking—it was charging.
“Look out!”
With a scream, the Baron bolted for the opposite exit, and his assistant dropped the rope and followed.
Calrex, torn between irritation at the Baron’s cowardice and concern for Beatrice, instinctively reached to pull her away.
But she stood motionless, murmuring with eerie calm, “That horse isn’t afraid of me.”
“Beatrice, get back!” Calrex barked, yanking her arm harder than he intended. Yet she didn’t budge. It was like pulling against a boulder.
“Move, or it’ll kill you!”
The black stallion’s hooves pounded against the ground, its speed unrelenting. Calrex calculated that a collision was inevitable and finally released her arm, stepping aside to avoid the impending chaos.
Dust exploded as the stallion skidded to a halt mere inches from Beatrice. It stood before her, towering and fierce, but strangely calm. Its flared nostrils and pawing hooves betrayed a mix of frustration and curiosity.
Calrex, pressed against the stable wall, stared in shock as Beatrice turned to him, her face composed.
“I’ll take this one.”
Her voice was quiet yet resolute, and her unshaken demeanor only deepened Calrex’s shame. Her gaze held no reproach, no anger—only indifference.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, her concern clinical rather than emotional. Without waiting for his response, she shifted her attention back to the stallion, running a steady hand over its muzzle.
Meanwhile, Bilros returned cautiously, babbling apologies and assurances as he assessed the situation. Beatrice dismissed his rambling with a single statement.
“I’ll be taking this horse.”
“What? That one? It’s too dangerous!”
But the sight of the once-feral stallion standing docilely at her side left him speechless.
Bilros muttered excuses but ultimately agreed, too flustered to argue. Beatrice, unbothered, simply replied, “Send it to the Duke’s estate. We’ll handle the payment.”
Bilros stammered in protest. “I-I insist it be a gift! Please, take it as my apology for today’s trouble!”
Beatrice nodded lightly. “If you insist. Have it sent promptly, then.”
With the matter settled, she turned to Calrex, brushing the dust from his coat and shoulders.
“You seem shaken. Perhaps we should return to the estate,” she suggested calmly, tugging his wrist lightly to lead him out.
Calrex followed in silence, overwhelmed by the replay of his earlier thought.
‘If she doesn’t move, she’ll die.’
The truth of those words, paired with the memory of his own retreat, left him reeling with guilt and self-reproach.
Calrex Ember’s words echoed in her mind, a reminder of her indifference to her own survival but the mortal fragility of others. “If you collide, you’ll die,” had been his response, as if she weren’t an anomaly immune to ordinary harm. Yet, her body shielded that vulnerability from him, cloaked in a mundane façade.
Her thoughts drifted to the oncoming stallion, its onyx coat gleaming in the dim light as it barreled toward her. Animals feared her inherently—she had long known this—but this one displayed a defiant resolve unlike any creature before. She stood unmoving, her golden gaze piercing through the stallion’s fervent charge, commanding with the raw authority of a predator.
‘Stop.’
The command pulsed through her in an unspoken clarity, a silent snarl echoing in her mind.
‘Before I destroy you.’
The stallion’s instincts outweighed its fury. It halted abruptly, kicking up a cloud of dust that enveloped them both. Its wild eyes locked onto hers, trembling with a primal understanding. She extended her hand, running her fingers along its powerful muzzle, a gesture of both dominance and strange affection. It yielded, its massive frame quivering under her touch.
“This one will do,” she declared, her tone final. Her brothers’ incredulous faces barely registered in her mind as she turned to them. Calrex’s expression betrayed an emotion she couldn’t place, but it quickly faded into the usual stoicism that their family bore like armor.
The ride back to the estate was uneventful, the silence between her and Calrex profound. She stared out of the carriage window at the passing countryside, her mind void of turmoil, unlike the man beside her. Calrex, usually composed, wrestled with a torrent of guilt and self-recrimination. He had abandoned her in a moment of peril—an act unbefitting a brother and a duke.
When the jet-black horse arrived at the estate that evening, it caused an immediate stir. Felix, ever curious and impulsive, attempted to assert his dominance over the beast, only to be met with a swift rejection. The stallion reared, snorting disdainfully, forcing Felix to retreat with a sheepish laugh. It submitted only to Beatrice, a fact that the household noted with awe and unease.
The following days passed with an unusual tranquility. Calrex, burdened by his guilt, grew more attentive, frequently seeking her company. Felix, determined to recover from his embarrassment, insisted on accompanying her for frequent rides, his persistence bordering on childish. Agatha observed these developments with quiet satisfaction, sensing a subtle shift in the family’s dynamics.
Preparations for the debutante ball progressed smoothly. Beatrice exchanged a few more letters with the Marquess, finalizing the details of their coordinated attire. The Marquess’s attentiveness in matching her dress with his suit won Agatha’s approval, her pride evident in the satisfied smiles she cast at her stepdaughter.
On the eve of the ball, Agatha handed Beatrice a small, glowing orb.
“This is enchanted,” she explained, her tone soft but firm. “It will clean any stains or blemishes from your dress. Use it wisely, my dear.”
Beatrice accepted it with her customary calmness, noting the faint trace of magical energy within. It would prove useful, not for the reasons Agatha imagined, but for the task she had meticulously planned.
As night fell, Beatrice lay in her bed, the orb placed on her bedside table. The upcoming ball did not excite her, nor did the prospect of garnering the crown prince’s attention. What stirred within her was the calculated anticipation of her true goal.
In the cover of the ball’s glittering finale, amid the swirling gowns and flowing champagne, she would take her first decisive step toward freedom.
Heliot Buildrander’s life would end by her hand.
For Lily, she would ensure it.
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