I had no reply and sat very still as the animal in front of me nudged my leg again. In one demanding move, the horse shoved its way into my heart and I slid straight into love with the beautiful dapple grey. Its huge glossy eyes spoke of ancient worlds and kindness, and I had a vivid recall of my love of unicorns when I was younger.
I’d always wanted a pony—as most girls did. But living in central London and being daughter to a man focused only on textiles meant my dreams were directed into more practical things.
My memory of meeting Jethro with my nanny as chaperone came back.
I reached out to stroke the nose of my newfound love. “Unicorns do exist.”
My heart swelled as the horse snuffled my knee, its forelock flopping over one eye and catching in its thick eyelashes.
Jethro stiffened. “What did you just say?”
I glanced over, never taking my hand from my warm companion. I waited to see if recognition would flare in his eyes. Did he remember that brief meeting, too?
When I didn’t answer, he snapped, “Well?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.” Bringing the conversation back to a subject he obviously adored, I asked, “What’s his name?” I scratched the horse between its eyes, straining against my seatbelt to get closer.
Jethro never took his eyes off me. Something happened…something I couldn’t explain. The harshness, the frost in his mannerisms…they seemed to thaw a little. His head tilted, looking less tense and arctic than normal.
Butterflies spawned in my belly to see yet another side of him. Being around these beasts did something. It did more than relax him—it gave him a place to hide. He seemed to feed off the simplistic animal gentleness.
He took his time answering, but when he did, his voice was soft, beguiling. “Not him, her. Her name is Warriors Don’t Cry. But her nickname is Moth.”
Moth.
Soft-winged and subtly stunning. It was perfect. I wanted to keep her.
“And the other one?”
Jethro sat still, drinking in the black beast before him. “This is Fly Like The Wind. But he’s my wings, as I cannot fly, so I call him that.”
So, that’s Wings.
The one who carried Jethro away when he’d reached all that he could bear. A wash of gratefulness filled me to think that he had something that didn’t judge—didn’t try to control him with family tradition.
Perhaps, I should learn from Wings. Perhaps, I should look past the hatred and despair and look deeper. There was something redeemable inside Jethro.
I know it.
“When will you let me see?”
Jethro’s nostrils flared. “Pardon?”
Silent courage filled me from touching Moth, and for the first time, I laid it out plainly with no anger or resentment. “When will you tell me what the debts mean to your family? What is the point of all of this? How have you gotten away with it for so long—because the Debt Inheritance wouldn’t hold up in any court of law. How did your family go from serving my ancestors to owning…” I waved my arm at the horses, encompassing the world outside the truck and Hawksridge.
I should’ve stopped there, but I had one last question. A burning question that I would give anything to know. “Why can’t I hate you for what you are? Why can’t I stop myself from wanting you? And why am I still here? Playing these games and believing that in the end, it won’t be my head in a basket and you holding an axe, but something entirely different?”
Thick silence fell between us. Only the snuffles of Wings and Moth broke the tension clouding thicker with every breath.
Finally, Jethro murmured, “If I do the job I’m supposed to, you won’t earn a single answer to your questions, nor learn anything about me.”
“You’re not doing a good job then,” I whispered. “Because I already know more about you than you think.”
He rolled his shoulders. “I have no doubt that in time you’ll learn everything you want to know.”
“Including your secrets?” I whispered again, filling my voice with feeling. “Will you trust me enough to show me the truth?”
He looked away, tugging the forelock of his horse. “That, Ms. Weaver, is like blindly believing in unicorns. You can’t be mad at me, when in the end, you find out they never existed.”
I gasped.
He did remember.
He murmured beneath his breath, “I suggest you focus on reality and stop looking for magic in a world that only wants to destroy you.”
Silence fell like a heavy curtain, slicing between us and putting an end to all connection.
We stayed quiet the remainder of the journey.
POLO WAS THE only contact sport I enjoyed.
Hunting was a solo pastime—something that was both a hobby and a curse. But riding and being around horses had been my one saving grace as a kid.
Still was.
I permitted myself a brief second where I leaned against Wings and breathed in his musky scent. My heart rate hadn’t equalized ever since we’d arrived an hour ago.
What the hell had happened in the carrier coming here? Why had Nila chosen that exact moment to bombard me with questions that had every power to skin me alive?
Jasmine had been wrong to say I had to make Nila fall in love with me. I’d tried—I’d spun some concoction in the shower about her fabricating a web and capturing a Hawk. It’d sounded ridiculous and so unlike me that Nila’s eyes had widened, noticing my slip.
There would be no seducing her with deception. No winning her with tricks. If I wanted her to fall in love with me—to grant me another way of fixing myself and being able to survive the next ten months until my inheritance took place—I would have to let her inside me.
Allow her free reign to my complications and disease. I would have to let her see me. All of me.
And I didn’t have the power to do that. Regardless of what Jasmine thought.
Sighing heavily, I looked out over the large grassy field. Polo players were dotted about, tending to their horses beside a mismatch of caravans, floats, and cars. Tyre tracks had squelched through sodden grass, turning green to mud.
A little distance away, the polo arena was pristine and untouched, just waiting for galloping horses to tear it into a brown mess. And just beyond was a movable grandstand taking centre stage—looming over the field, offering fabulous viewpoints of the soon-to-start match.
Men and women milled about, finding their seats in the tiered chairs or making their way to the tents below which housed gourmet snacks and exclusive wines. There were no hotdog stands or cheap beer in plastic cups. These events were for the elite of England—families with a bank balance in excess of ten million pounds. Caviar, foie gras, and salmon mousse were on the finger-menu along with some of Hawksridge’s wine and vintage beer.
Nothing inferior was allowed.
I peered harder, trying to spot Nila in her black dress amongst the teaming mass of spectators.
Nothing.
What do you expect?
Kes would’ve taken her to the reserved tent on the outskirts of the food and grandstand area. We had our own private gazebo where guests were encouraged to socialise. We also offered uncut diamonds at rock bottom prices to all those we trusted.
Not only was polo beneficial for my mind-set, but it was also a brilliant day for our bank account.
When we’d arrived, I’d deliberated on how best to avoid Nila while taking her to where she needed to be. All my worrying was for nothing as Kes had appeared the moment I’d backed Wings down the ramp and hobbled him to the tethering post.
Moth was his horse, but he summoned a stable boy to attend to her while he offered to take Nila to the viewing area.
With a weighty look at me, Nila had nodded and disappeared with my brother. I hated that she went with him so easily, but at the same time, I was happy to see her go. It gave me time to get my head on straight before the match started.
Hopefully, once I’d had a day on the field with the sound of rac
ing hooves in my ears and power in my veins, I would be better.
I would be stronger.
Moth nudged my spine. I twisted to pat the dapple grey. Nila’s reaction to the horse hadn’t escaped me. She’d melted the moment Moth had demanded attention.
I doubted she’d ever had pets growing up—her father seemed too consumed with his empire, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he put his children to work the moment they understood how to wield a pair of scissors.
The Weavers had always been the same—treating their offspring like slave-labour—getting wealthy off the toils of family who were denied a childhood.
My heart suddenly warmed. Maybe I can give Nila what she’s been missing?
Kes had no affinity with Moth. She was a good horse, came from a prestigious breeder, and the most tolerant of mares. But she was just a tool to Kes.
What would Nila do if I gave her Moth?
Would she open her heart more readily? Would she see I only meant to do what was required of me while trying to protect her from everything in my power?
Standing between the two horses, I scratched each behind their ears.
Moth was soft and kind and reliable. But she was no match for Wings. Where Moth was eager to please and fast to react, Wings had a heart similar to mine—an imposter’s heart where obedience was required but breaking the rules was the only way to survive.
Rubbing Wings down, I quickly saddled him and held his head while I fed the bit into his mouth. He stomped, pawing at the ground.
I could’ve had the stable hands tend to him.
But I wanted to do it.
It relaxed me, and with Nila in my life, I needed all the relaxation I could get.
The sun was out and today could be a good day. If only there was one other person here, it could’ve been perfect.
Pulling out my phone, I called my sister.
It rang a few times too long and the familiar panic where her safety was concerned came over me.
“Jethro? Why are you calling me—isn’t the match about to start?” Her soft voice came down the phone, sliding straight into my ear.
“You really should’ve come with us, Jaz. The sun is out and the sky is crystal clear.”
“Maybe next time.”
Maybe next time.
Her favourite expression.
Only thing was there was never a next time because she would refuse to go on that outing, too.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Okay, well I better go. Just wanted to check on you and let you know I’ll win again and give you the crystal vase or whatever shit they give us.”
Jaz giggled. “Okay. Be safe. And remember what I said. Try to figure out a way to face what you are. No more ‘fixing’. Get that woman to love you then you can hide again.”
I didn’t want to tell her that it’d gotten to the point where I could no longer hide—even from myself.
“Sure, easy done.” My tone dripped with sarcasm. Before she could respond, I added, “See you when we get back tonight.”
Hanging up, I looked at the screen.
I spotted Kestrel striding back alone across the field. I knew he would’ve stopped to place a wager on our team in the betting gazebo.
My stomach tensed.
Nila would be on her own. Cut and Daniel would never leave the gambling tent, so I just had to hope to God that whoever was mingling in our private space would leave her alone. She’d be surrounded by Black Diamond brothers peddling illegal stones. She would be untouchable under their protection. Not to mention imprisoned if she had a lunatic idea of running.
Escaping us was never that easy. There was a reason why her ancestors never fled.
My fingers drummed against my phone. Going against all better judgement, I opened a new message and typed:
Kite007: I’m assuming you haven’t replied because of what happened the other day. But perhaps now you’re ready to talk. You have questions. Lots of questions. What if I told you it would be easier for me to answer this way than any other?
My heart rate spiked, hovering my finger over the send button.
What am I doing?
Not only was it a disaster waiting to happen to write things down for anyone to read, but I had no intention of answering any of the questions she’d asked in the truck.
I always knew Nila would eventually find out that I was Kite. Hell, I wasn’t exactly subtle—but I’d always planned to let the ruse die a death when she did. It wasn’t needed anymore. I’d had enough enlightenment of her thoughts. And having the ability of talking this way only made the connection between us harder to ignore.
It was too dangerous. Secrets were too easily shared when hidden behind closed doors. Things I never intended to say suddenly had the audacity to find their way into a faceless message.
My fingers hovered, tingling with the urge to press send.
Do it.
I did.
“Ready to kit up?” Kes asked, shrugging out of his over-shirt and revealing the team colours below.
My temper flared to think Nila had feelings for him.
Feelings for my damn brother.
Feelings that I’d made happen by letting her chase the wrong path.
“Yes. I’m ready.” Depositing my phone into the saddlebag, I unfolded my matching colours and slipped them on.
Another reason I’d wanted to kill off Kite was to give Nila no choice but to be honest to my face. I didn’t want her running to Kes. I didn’t want him anywhere near her.
She’s mine, goddammit.
With a shaky hand, I tied my cravat and shoved Nila Weaver unsuccessfully from my thoughts.
Game time.
It’s time to win.
There were very few places where I could be completely free.
In fact, I could count three in total.
One, when I went to see Jasmine.
Two, when I took Wings for a gallop away from cameras and family and obligations of being someone I wasn’t.
And three, when I let down every guard on the polo field.
I fed off people’s energy. I drank the players’ nervousness, revelled in their tingling excitement, and for once, I was grateful for the disease I lived with.
We took our positions.
In my hand, I held my reins and a short braided whip. My cream jodhpurs, polished black knee-high boots, and gold velvet waistcoat over the billowing old-world sleeves of my white shirt made me feel like a knight about to joust for some fair maiden’s affection.
Kes grinned, sitting atop Moth and her nineteen hands of elegant muscle. Wings was only eighteen hands high, but he had something Moth didn’t. He had ferocity that rippled around him. Other horses felt it. Their nostrils flared, their eyes tracking him wherever he went.
He was an anomaly.
Just like his owner.
The Hawks were well known for hosting polo matches and commandeering the rules of any game we were invited to. Common rules that we broke were: no horses to be higher than sixteen hands, and multiple mounts per player.
I flatly refused to play on any other horse but Wings. Therefore, the rest of the players were forced to follow my lead.
Another rule we tweaked was to have a longer half-time. Instead of the stupid length of ten-minutes, we stipulated an hour—the horses needed it, seeing as we didn’t change mounts.
And an hour would be perfect for what I had planned.
I had every intention of seeking out Nila and finishing what she started this morning. What I wanted to do to her would be a fuck-load better than any showerhead.
The umpire cantered onto the pitch. The game we were about to play would be fast, brutal, and mentally draining. Men were known to break legs from an incorrectly wielded hook or concussion from falling mid-flight.
The umpire spun his speech while everyone nodded but didn’t listen. We all focused on the hard white ball in his hand.
The moment the ball hit the turf, it would be on.
The horses j
ostled and pawed, tasting imminent war.
After the umpire had finished his spiel, the other two members of our team came forward. In a close circle, we slapped mallets in a final hurrah before kick-off.
“I got your back,” Kes said, his eyes glowing beneath the shadow of his helmet. His matching waistcoat held the number four. His role was to protect the leader, stop others from scoring, and had no restrictions on where he could go on the field.
I nodded, tugging at my cuffs and curling my gloved fingers firmly around my mallet. “First play is offensive. Steal the ball on the throw-in and slam this chukker so we can crush their hopes.”
I wore the number three on our team. My role was tactical leader and the best player—it wasn’t ego, just simple fact.
My teammates nodded and touched their visors in acknowledgement.
Excitement bubbled in my chest. It was such a foreign elusive emotion that I quickly became drunk on it.
Trotting to our places, I smiled at Kes, “Ready, brother?” Out here there were no his or mine. No firstborn bullshit. No diamond smuggling or family legacy.
Just speed and accuracy.
Kes smirked. “Ready to whoop your ass.”
“We’re on the same team, moron.”
He laughed. “On here we are, but we both know we can still lose even when on the same side.”
Wasn’t that the God-awful truth?
We were flesh and blood. By right, we should have each other’s back—yet we’d been bred to compete against one another. If I were suddenly to ‘disappear or have an accident’, Kes would take my place and rule.
Not because he wanted it—he already knew I would give him more than our father ever did—but because he was the substitute.
Born as a plan B.
At least there had been some planning in his conception. Daniel, however, was the accident. Not required and definitely not wanted.
Kes held up his mallet. I did the same and we swatted a salute. “Let the best man win.”
I nodded. “Best man.”
Two minutes later the bugle sounded, the ball flew, and the world ceased to exist as I threw myself into the match.
I’D LIVED A life of privileged upbringing.