Chapter 2: Two Worlds Collide
****
Clarkent stood beside his favorite horse in the Riding Stable, rubbing the buckskin dun’s dark nose with loving gentleness.
Now that he was thirteen, he was discovering more and more that he really *had* gone up in the world. He had told Dwayne he could help the other stableboys complete their tasks since he had finished grooming his ten horses, but Dwayne had told him to simply wait to assist any riders that came in. That was normally a job reserved for the stableboys a few years older than he was, so he felt proud to be entrusted with such a responsibility. And he was excited for another reason as well--when a stableboy had reached the point where he could give riding lessons and help riders, he would also be allowed more free time. As perks went, that was a good one for Assigned servants.
Esroh Repus flicked his dark ears, listening to something.
“Repus,” Clarkent murmured to the horse soothingly, moving his hand to glide down the well-defined muscles of the creature’s neck. The horse rubbed his head against the stableboy, who smiled.
Suddenly, there was the soft crunching of feet on straw, and Clarkent turned.
Standing in the stable entryway was a brown-haired girl with a pink dress and an anxious expression. It was obvious that the stable was not the place she was meant to be, and Clarkent’s eyes widened as he took in the silver coronet on top of her head. Was this the *princess*?
Realizing it had to be her, he gave a fumbling bow. Dwayne had taught him how to bow gracefully in case King Samuel ever entered the stable (which never happened, preferring as he did to have his horse prepared for him ahead of time), but now that there was a good opportunity to use that rehearsed bow, Clarkent was unable to bring forth any semblance of grace.
Fortunately, the princess was too distracted to notice him making a fool of himself. “This is the stable?” she asked with readily apparent distaste as she gazed around. From the expression on her face, there might as well have been rotting carcasses strewn in the stalls rather than living creatures.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Clarkent murmured, slowly easing up out of his bow. Was he supposed to wait for a signal before rising? He couldn’t remember.
“It smells,” proclaimed the princess. She wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms.
Clarkent frowned. It was a stable. Of *course* it smelled. What had she expected?
He tried to look closer at her without being obvious about it. Apart from her clothes and her haughty expression, she looked more like a waif than a princess. Somehow, he had expected the princess’s cheeks to be pinker and plumper. He hadn’t believed most of the stories told about her--some said she was nothing more than a living corpse, and he’d certainly known *that* couldn’t be the case--but apparently she *was* unhealthily thin. The higher-than-thou attitude he had also heard about also appeared to apply.
He glanced toward the end of the stable, where Dwayne was helping Geralph untangle a set of bridles. He caught Dwayne’s eye questioningly, and the older man nodded. Clarkent knew that meant Dwayne wasn’t going to come and help with the princess. He was going to have to assist her himself.
“You!” the object of his thoughts said, staring straight at him, as if seeing him for the first time. “Do you have a name?”
Clarkent resisted the urge to cross his own arms. He did *not* like this girl. It seemed as if every one of the bad stories he had heard about her were true. Regardless of his personal opinion, however, he wouldn’t be uncivil to her--he wasn’t going to risk a Dismissal because of a petulant princess. So he settled with a nod in response to her inquiry.
The princess continued looking at him. “Well? What is your name?”
He gritted his teeth and forced his tone to stay level. “Clarkent,” he answered. He paused and then added, “Your Highness.”
She gazed at him for a moment, as if trying to ascertain whether his use of “Your Highness” had been sarcastic or not. But he looked back at her unflinchingly, and she at last lowered her head. “I am Princess Loisette, and I want to go riding,” she proclaimed in a soft but firm voice.
“Yes, Highness,” he murmured. It was just his luck to be saddled with assisting this brat.
****
When Loisette had stepped into the stable, she had been frightened out of her wits. But she had endeavored not to show it, hiding her insecurities under a layer of snootiness.
The stableboy she had first laid eyes on seemed nice. He had been gently petting a horse and talking to it, and suddenly she had wanted to experience his kindness. But the only true kindness she had witnessed being applied to herself had been Aliss’s--and so she didn’t know how to approach him.
As she asked him his name, she noticed he was covered in the dust of the stable. He was surely foul-smelling, and there was no reason why she should want to be in his presence. But though she had come here with the intent to ride a horse, her already shaky resolve was starting to dissolve. She had to get a grip on herself. They were just animals. There was nothing to be afraid of.
Taking in a deep breath, she lifted her head and pointed to a cream-colored horse. “What is that horse’s name?”
The stableboy--Clarkent--glanced at the creature. “High Flyer, Your Highness,” he told her. He was obviously not a boy of many words. She wasn’t sure if she liked that or not.
“I would like to ride him. You must get him ready for me.”
His eyes darkening, the stableboy responded, “Yes, Your Highness.”
****
Clarkent asked the princess to wait a moment while he went to speak with Dwayne. She looked annoyed at the delay but nodded in acceptance.
“The princess wants to ride,” Clarkent told the Stable Master softly. “But she doesn’t have a lady-in-waiting with her. Do I--do I go with her? Should I ask Billy to go with her instead?” Giving lessons was part of a stablehand’s duties--but females never came alone for those lessons. They always had someone with them. It was rather unorthodox for the princess to be here by herself. As a result, Clarkent thought maybe Billy should assist her--he was a few years older than Clarkent and had thus been around the stable longer.
Dwayne studied him for a moment, a frown creasing his forehead. “Normally, it would not be appropriate for a stableboy to go out alone with a princess. But I think that it will be all right for you to go with her.”
Clarkent wanted to ask what made him so special--why *he* could go with the princess when Dwayne seemed to be implying the other stableboys (including the more experienced Billy) shouldn’t do so--but it wasn’t his place to question, so he just nodded and walked away from Dwayne.
As Clarkent moved over to the equipment, the princess came up behind him. He began to pick up a saddle, and he saw her pointing at something.
“I want that,” she said.
He shifted to see what she was looking at. She was pointing at a red and gold caparison.
He frowned. “They usually don’t wear those for normal riding, Your Highness.”
“I want him to wear all the pretty horse clothes,” she declared.
Even though the term “horse clothes” almost made him laugh, Clarkent found his mood darkening. “Yes, Your Highness,” he muttered.
As Clarkent saddled the palfrey the princess had picked out, it was hard to keep from grumbling. Putting on a horse’s full regalia was a painstaking process, especially since he had only actually put on all of a horse’s equipment once. He might have seen it done countless times, but it was different to actually do it himself. And since it was for the princess, he had to make sure everything was perfect.
Personally, he thought she wanted the full trappings just to make him do more work. And thinking about that simply annoyed him more.
Still--there was a part of him that was worried. While High Flyer’s gait was one of the smoothest in the stable, he liked speed, and he was occasionally a little stubborn. It had never been bad enough that Clarkent would refuse to allow a beginner to ride him, but the horse would certainly have not been his first choice for someone as slight-looking as the princess. He would simply have to keep an eye on both horse and rider. Besides, the princess might quickly decide this newest pastime was boring--he could be worrying over nothing.
When Clarkent had finally put everything on the horse, he double-checked to make sure all the equipment was secure, and then he walked the Palomino around and fixed the sidesaddle one last time. He took High Flyer’s lead rope, grabbed the whip the princess would need, and said softly, “Follow me, Your Highness.”
He led the horse and the princess outside the stable to a wooden platform. A set of stairs led up to it, and there was a railing on the backside. The platform was there to help children and women mount taller horses, and Clarkent knew they would need it. It would have been too easy for the princess to pick a pony--which would have been more suitable for someone of her size and experience.
As he moved High Flyer to stand beside the platform, he gestured for the princess to climb the stairs.
She gave him a sour look--why, he wasn’t sure--but did as he’d motioned her to. Her pink shoes climbed first one step and then another, and after a few more, she was at the top.
Clarkent dropped the lead rope to the ground. All the horses in the Riding Stable--except, of course, for Penelope Grace, who wouldn’t stand in one place for all the salt licks in the world--were ground tied, which meant they had been trained to stand in one place when their lead rope was lying on the ground, so he didn’t have to worry about High Flyer running off. He hurried up the stairs behind the princess, ready to help her mount the horse. After a second’s thought, he dropped the whip he was holding on to the platform, knowing he would need his hands free.
Though she was only a year or two younger than him, she was small and extremely thin, and Clarkent was confident he could lift her without any difficulty. He told her quietly, “I’m going to help you onto the horse, Highness.”
The princess nodded, and he couldn’t help but think that she looked terrified. “All right,” she said shakily. “If--if you think you must.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes in irritation and instructed curtly, “Hold the pommel . . . Highness.” When she looked confused, he gestured to the slightly raised area at the front of the saddle. After she had grabbed on to it--for dear life, it looked like--he stepped forward. Carefully, he placed his hands under her arms, lifting her. To say she was as light as a feather would have been an exaggeration, but in the brief time he held her up, Clark could feel how bony and underfed she was. As he set her on the sidesaddle, he thought there was something incredibly sad about her life, though he couldn’t quite say what.
The princess instantly leaned forward to put her arms around High Flyer’s tan neck, and Clarkent said quickly, “Easy. You’ll scare him. Sit up straight.”
She took in a deep breath as she rose off the horse’s neck, looking more like a frightened little girl than a princess. “I’ve--I’ve never ridden a horse before,” she told him quietly.
Though he should have expected that admission based on her behavior, Clarkent was nonetheless surprised. He had thought horseback riding lessons were a requirement for royalty. Who had ever heard of a princess who couldn’t ride a horse?
“Never?” the word escaped him. He clamped his mouth closed. He really had to be more careful.
But she didn’t seem to think him insolent. She simply shook her head. “I--I don’t know what to do.”
One of the common sayings of the day was “It’s just like riding a horse--you never forget.” But part of the problem with that saying was that a person actually had to learn how to ride a horse before it could apply. And so, mystified at how different this princess was from what he had expected, Clarkent tilted his head and looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time. Though she had come in here ready to spout off orders, he had the feeling it was just to hide her insecurities. But what he didn’t understand . . . was why she felt insecure in the first place.
She was a princess. She had been born with a golden spoon in her hand, after all! If she wanted boar for dinner, all she would have to do was ask for it. If she wanted a pretty new necklace, all she had to do was send someone to buy one. An entire kingdom was at her fingertips. Surely, she could want for nothing.
But if she had all that, why was she so unhappy? Why was she so thin? Why was she as wretched as everyone had always made her out to be?
Whenever Dwayne heard any of the stableboys share disparaging stories of the princess, he sharply told them not to take stock in idle rumors. Did he know something Clarkent didn’t? Why did nothing about this princess make any sense? She was an enigma to him.
He took in a deep breath, resolving to be more patient with her. “Try talking to him,” he suggested. “Horses can sense nervousness.”
The princess looked at him unsurely and then glanced at her horse. “High Flyer,” she said in a soft voice, tentatively reaching forward to stroke his neck. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I just want to ride you. You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”
The horse’s cream-colored ears twisted to hear her better, and she continued talking, “Please--be good for me.”
“I’m moving your foot,” Clarkent told her. She nodded, and he looked down at her dress with a frown.
The long skirt of dress was covering her foot, which could be potentially problematic, but there was nothing that could be done about it--unless he told the princess to go to the castle and change, and he certainly wasn’t going to do that. So, biting his lip, he lifted her dress up enough so he could see her shoe.
She was wearing a pink slipper, which again wasn’t the best choice for riding. He looked up at her. “The next time you ride, you should wear boots, Your Highness.”
“Why?” she asked defensively.
“The heel will help keep your shoe in the stirrup,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said and then fell silent.
Since that had gone over better than he thought, Clarkent ventured, “You should also wear a slightly shorter dress.”
She peered down over the side of the horse. “So it won’t cover my foot?” she guessed.
He nodded. Then, satisfied that he had at least warned her a little about proper riding clothing, he placed a hand under the heel of her left foot. He guided her pink shoe into the stirrup, marveling at how small her foot was. Then he stepped back and gave her a few pointers on how to ride the horse--speaking in short sentences and never saying much more than ten words at a time. Finally, he handed her the whip, which she took uneasily. “You’ll need that to cue High Flyer, Your Highness,” he told her.
“What do you mean?” she asked warily.
“It’s part of riding sidesaddle instead of astride,” he answered, as if that explained everything.
“What?”
“You use the whip and your left foot as cues,” he told her.
“Oh,” she said, still looking unsure.
Clarkent got off the platform and took High Flyer’s lead rope, guiding the horse around to get the princess used to its movements.
The princess soon got over her initial fright, which was good. But her fright appeared to turn into annoyance, which was *bad*.
“Why must I ride sidesaddle?” she asked him in a raised voice that was almost a growl.
Clarkent tilted his head and stared at her, not understanding why she was putting up a fight about this. “Because you’re a girl.”
Her brow narrowed. “What?”
Clarkent swallowed, fearing he had upset her. “Ladies ride sidesaddle, Your Highness,” he told her quickly. Maybe putting a more positive spin on it would help.
“But it seems more dangerous,” she pointed out.
Or not.
“It’s not proper,” he returned firmly.
“And why not?” she demanded.
He flushed. A comment Geralph had once made--“Women should be straddling men, not horses”--came to his mind, but it wasn’t something that could be spoken to a woman, much less a princess. And he was ashamed of even thinking of it himself. So he simply answered, “It just isn’t--ladies wear dresses . . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say much more than that.
She stared at him, and he wondered if she was going to challenge him and get him in a whole world of trouble. But then she looked away from him and asked, “Are you going to ride with me?”
“What?” he asked, not certain he had heard her right.
She turned back toward him. “I wish to ride in the field, and I command you to ride with me.” She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing like those of a mother bear just daring someone to move closer to her cubs.
“Are you sure you’re ready to ride in the field?” he asked her unsurely.
She pressed her heel into High Flyer’s side and swished the whip with her right hand. The horse moved forward, and Clarkent had to act quickly so that the lead rope was not pulled out of his hands.
There was an expression of annoyance on her face. “Why? You don’t want me to ride because you’re scared you’ll get in trouble if I get hurt?”
Her sudden attack startled him. “No. I . . . I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said softly. He really didn’t--princess or not, she was a human being, and he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.
“Oh . . . ” she trailed off. “Well, I’m ready for the field.”
He nodded. “All right.”
Clarkent led the princess and her horse to the stable. He moved to go saddle up Agides, who was usually reserved for the stableboys to use, but the princess’s voice caused him to turn.
“Why are you not saddling that one?” she asked, pointing at Esroh Repus.
Clarkent shifted his feet uneasily. She must have remembered him petting the horse. “He is only for use by Nobles.” Clarkent was allowed to ride Repus when exercising him--otherwise, only Nobles were supposed to ride him. That was just the way of things. Nobles had certain privileges which lowly stableboys did not.
“I am the princess,” she stated with royal firmness, “and I want you to ride him.”
“Y-yes, Your Highness,” Clarkent replied, a bit puzzled. But he nonetheless turned away from Agides and walked toward Repus. Maybe the princess’s presence wasn’t so bad after all.
****
Loisette found that the infernal stableboy insisted on riding right beside her. He was obviously worried that she would fall off, and his overprotective nature irked her. “Go ride ahead,” she told him, waving in front of her.
He shook his head. “No, Your Highness.”
She stared at him for a moment, wanting suddenly to get under that ever-so-calm skin of his. “Fine,” she gritted. “Then I will race you!”
She dug into High Flyer’s side with her heel and cued him with her whip, and he broke out into a trot. She was sitting there wondering how to make him go even faster when the stableboy suddenly flashed up beside her and took away her horse’s reins. He made a clicking noise and said, “Whoa,” pulling back on High Flyer’s reins and forcing him back into a walk.
Still holding the reins, the stableboy twisted his head to look at that. “Don’t ever do that again, Your Highness,” he growled.
Loisette was taken aback and could only manage meekly, “What?”
“You aren’t experienced enough for races. You could’ve been hurt!” His voice was filled with steel, and his eyes were serious and stern.
But Loisette suddenly rediscovered her own mettle, and she shot back, “What’s the point of riding these stupid things if you can’t have fun?”
“Dying isn’t fun, Your Highness!”
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have been close to dying if you hadn’t made me ride sidesaddle!” she spat.
“That’s how it’s done!” he returned. “I didn’t make the rules, Princess!”
“But you love upholding them, don’t you?”
He shook his head, not understanding. “*What*?”
She slapped her hands on her lap, furious at this boy. “I want to race!”
“No!”
Loisette grabbed her coronet off her head and flung it to the ground. “I want to race *now*!” she shrieked.
He looked down at the small crown and then back up at her. There was a stubborn jut to his jaw. “No, Princess.”
She took in a deep breath, about to start yelling. Throwing a temper tantrum on top of a horse was going to be hard, but not impossible, and she was prepared to do it--but then she looked at him again.
Unlike with the countless ladies-in-waiting she had had, he showed no desire to yell back at her or hate her. Instead, he was simply firmly standing by something he believed in. True, the thing that he believed in--that he had to keep her safe--was frustrating her, but at least he actually seemed sincere . . . like he cared about her well-being.
Still--she was mad. And she didn’t want to be around him anymore. All she wanted to do was go back to her room and feed Robert Bigmouth cheese. She’d had enough of the outside world for today. “I want to go back to the stables,” she told him in a level tone as she picked up her coronet and put it back on. Her sentence was part demand and part request.
The stableboy--Clarkent, she reminded herself again, though she wasn’t sure why it mattered--nodded grimly and handed her back her reins. He watched with his dark eyes as she turned High Flyer around to guide him back to the stable. Then he pulled up beside her, and they walked their horses back to the stable quietly.
She went to the platform and jumped off her horse before he could move to help her. Then she walked down the stairs with a dignified air and began moving toward the castle. She could feel his eyes on her the whole way, and for some reason it made her flush.
****
Chapter 2 Glossary
Buckskin Dun: To be simplistic, this kind of horse is generally golden in color; has dark legs and a dark face; has a dark mane and tail which are “frosted” with a lighter color; and has a dark dorsal stripe. Buckskins and duns can be hard to tell apart, and some people argue over whether Spirit in the *Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron* movie is a buckskin or dun (though Wikipedia says “buckskin”).
Palomino: This kind of horse has a golden coat and a light-colored mane and tail.
Lead Rope: Lead ropes are used to lead horses around, not their reins, and they are attached to halters. I am conflating halters and bridles for this story.
Salt Lick: A salt lick is a block of mineral salts which animals like horses and cattle lick to get important nutrients in their diet.
