Chapter 275: The Prince and The Stallion
Dean drove the small four-wheeled vehicle down a gravel path, leading Micah and Emile in the direction of the horse range.
The ride was short, the air crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of pine and hay. Hills stretched on both sides, filled with tall trees and patches of wildflowers. Wooden fences marked off wide, grassy fields, and in the distance, horses grazed lazily under the sun.
Micah sat in the front, legs casually crossed, one arm resting on the edge of the cart. His other hand tapped a steady rhythm on his thigh.
His mood was suspiciously good, too good, especially after how he had flatly denied Clyde’s request to join them.
Clyde had tried, of course. A single sentence, low and indifferent, asking if he could come along. But Micah had smiled, leaned casually into Dean’s side, and said with a sweet voice. "I think I will enjoy it better with this sweet brother and Emile. You know, just young folks."
Clyde had said nothing. Just stood still at the porch, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes watching them go as the cart rolled away.
And Micah had smiled wider.
When they reached the stables, Micah was the first to jump out of the cart. He landed lightly on his feet, plucked a blade of hay from the side, and stuck it between his teeth, chewing lazily.
Dean stepped down more cautiously. Emile hopped off after him, adjusting his sunglasses and his big hat while looking around.
A groom in a neat navy vest came forward with a slight bow. "Young masters, welcome. This way, please. You can change into your riding attire in the locker rooms."
They followed him into a long wooden stable house with walls lined with polished saddles, riding gear and photos of previous races. Everything was clean and arranged, with a faint smell of leather and fresh hay lingering in the air.
Micah emerged first from the locker room, fully dressed in a sharp black equestrian outfit. The tailored jacket hugged his frame tightly. His riding pants were tucked into sleek leather boots that reached just below the knee. A black helmet rested under his arm.
He looked like an elegant prince, belonging to a historical drama.
Dean and Emile came out moments later, both wearing standard brown jackets and riding gloves. But neither of them could stop sneaking glances at Micah.
They were both still in shock, unable to believe someone this young had stood up to their uncle without facing consequences. Little Uncle just pressed his lips together and stared as Micah outright rejected him.
Emile leaned toward Dean, whispering as they walked. "Do you think Little Uncle is under some kind of spell? Or has he been bewitched or something?"
Dean frowned. "What?"
"I’m serious," Emile hissed. "He just stood there and let Micah talk like that. No threats, no lectures. He didn’t even glare!"
"You mean your roommate is an incubus? Seducing our uncle?"
"What else explains it? This is too strange. How can Micah act like this without any fear?" Emile shot back. "I have to ask Micah what his deal was with our uncle."
Dean frowned deeper. He had never considered that possibility. That maybe Clyde might be interested in Micah... no, what about Asena then?
He glanced at Emile and muttered, "Don’t say anything yet. Let’s wait until Jacklin gets here."
He needed to talk to his cousin about all this.
Emile nodded reluctantly.
The groom led them to the paddock, a wide fenced-in paddock surrounded by stable buildings and open meadows. The horses were waiting, each already groomed and saddled.
Micah’s eyes scanned the lineup, landing on a striking black Scottish stallion near the back. The horse stood tall and still, its coat sleek and glossy like polished obsidian. Its mane was long and faintly curled, eyes sharp and intelligent beneath thick lashes. Something about the way it held its head, proud, quiet, commanding, pulled Micah in.
He walked toward it without hesitation.
The groom stepped quickly in front of him, raising a hand. "Young master, wait, this one..." he paused and glanced at Dean.
Micah asked. "What is it? Is he injured?"
The groom shifted uncomfortably and shook his head. He stepped closer and whispered. "That’s master Clyde’s horse, sir..."
"Oh? Really?" Micah smirked, his face lit up. "Even better. I want that one."
The groom blinked, caught off guard. He turned sharply toward Dean, asking silently for help.
Emile nudged his cousin in the ribs. "Don’t meddle," he whispered.
Dean looked at him quizzically.
"Let’s see what Little Uncle does. I’m curious. And besides Micah never changes his mind once it’s made. Unless it’s for Darcy." Emile explained.
Dean nodded to the groom. "That’s okay. Let him."
Micah reached up and gently stroked the stallion’s mane. The horse didn’t flinch. Instead, it turned slightly toward him, sniffing his hand as if appraising him.
Micah offered it a green apple from a nearby basket. The stallion took it from his palm with surprising gentleness, crushing quietly. Micah smiled, eyes softening.
"What’s his name?" Micah asked. "Please don’t tell me it’s blackie or something like that!"
Dean smiled. "No. It’s Onyx."
Micah smiled, still petting the horse’s neck. "Ah, a fitting name."
He took a step closer and leaned in, resting his cheek briefly against Onyx’s jaw. "You’re a lot like your master, huh?" he whispered. "Cold and scary on the outside. Gentle inside."
Onyx blinked slowly, then snorted.
Micah chuckled and swung himself up onto the saddle in one graceful motion. He adjusted the reins and sat tall in the saddle like he had done this a hundred times.
Dean and Emile mounted their own horses, nearby, keeping a bit of distance. Micah walked Onyx forward slowly, letting the stallion get used to his movements. The two of them settled into rhythm quickly, the horses’ hooves making soft thuds against the ground.
Micah’s posture was relaxed, but confident. Then, without a word, he leaned forward slightly, pressed his heels gently against Onyx’s side, and the stallion surged into motion.
They galloped across the paddock, a blur of black against the green field. The wind rushed against Micah’s face, tugging strands of hair free from under his helmet. His jacket flapped behind him, and laughter bubbled out of his chest as they picked up speed.
He felt free, wild and untouchable.
It had been a long time since he had felt this liberated.