Eve frowned. This was supposed to be a joyous occasion. A celebration of Chantaine’s beautiful horses. “Why the protest?” she asked.
Bridget sighed. “The citizens think Stefan is spending too much money on the horses … and his new horse master. To them, the horses don’t earn their keep.”
“Well, that would be easily fixed,” Eve said.
“How?” Bridget asked.
“Put Black out to stud. The payment for his sperm could feed a third-world country. Sounds like it’s time to spread it around,” she said.
Bridget snickered. “Can’t wait to see you convince Stefan of that.”
Furious that he hadn’t discussed this with her, she balled her fists, but hid them behind her back. “No time like the present. Later, Your Highness.”
Eve searched the crowd for His Highness and immediately spotted him. He stood tall and confident, resplendent in his dress riding clothes next to Black. She marched toward him.
“Your Royal Highness,” she said and bent her knees. As a curtsy, it sucked big-time, but it was better than nothing.
“Ms. Jackson. Good to see you. All the horses are in good form,” he said.
She moved closer. “I just hope they remain in good form. The protest I never heard about could cause problems.”
“I’ve taken care of it,” he said.
“I should have been informed. It will look ridiculous to have an army of soldiers escorting the horses. This is supposed to a celebration of pride in the heritage of the royal stables of Chantaine.”
“Unfortunately, not all the citizens see it that way,” he said.
“There’s an easy solution to the money problem,” she said.
“What’s that?” he asked, glancing around the crowd.
“Release Black’s seed,” she said.
His head whipped around as he focused on her. “Pardon me?”
“You know what I’m saying. You need to let Black provide stud service. You’ll make tons of money.”
“I’ve been waiting—”
“For what? The perfect filly?” she asked.
His eyebrows knitted in disapproval. “Who are you to tell me when I should send my stallion out for stud?”
“I am the royal stable master. You hired me for this very purpose,” she said, lifting her chin.
A trumpet sounded. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“Darn right, we will,” she said. “And you better cut the number of guards for this party in half or you’re going to look like you’re headed into war.”
Chapter Four
Eve walked the route of the parade next to the horses. Actually, she ran, trotted, skipped and walked, dividing her attention between the horses and potential protesters. At one turn in the street, she heard hecklers and searched the crowd. Within seconds, the palace guard swarmed like bees. She wished she could talk to them and tell them the value of the prized horses that represented their country, but she knew it wasn’t her place.
Pushing aside the effects of the heat of the afternoon, she returned to the last of the parade where Stefan rode astride Black. At every turn, the crowd screamed and clapped in delight. Understandably so. Both Stefan and Black were prime specimens. The spectators threw flowers at them, and she was relieved to see Black take it all in stride.
Suddenly from the corner of her eye, she saw a child streak out of the crowd toward Stefan and Black.
Instinctively, she chased after the boy child. She barely caught him in her arms.
“Prince Stefan,” the child wailed. “I want to ride with Prince Stefan.”
“Sorry, sweetie,” she said as the child struggled in her arms. “I don’t want you to get caught in the horse’s legs. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She felt Stefan’s glance at her and looked up at him. Her gaze met his, and the connection between them zinged again. He glanced at the boy and lifted his hand, waving her to bring the child to him.
“Are you sure?” she called, surprised yet not.
He nodded and she carried the little boy to him. One of the guards stepped forward to help lift the boy into the saddle in front of Stefan. The crowd roared with delight. “Find his parents to meet me at the end of the route.”
Eve searched the crowd and immediately spotted the astonished, beaming parents of the boy. The young couple were already walking down the street. The father carried a sleeping infant in an infant carrier on his back.
Eve caught up with them. “Hello, I’m Eve Jackson, the royal horse master. Is that your son taking a ride with Prince Stefan?”
The woman gave a huge nod, clearly still stunned. “My son, Ricardo, he is so active. He got away from both my husband and me. Thank you for catching him. I can’t believe he is riding with Prince Stefan.”
Eve couldn’t help smiling at the joy on the couples’ faces. “His Royal Highness asked that I make sure you meet your son at the end of the parade. We don’t want your son to be frightened.”
“Frightened,” the father echoed. “I can only wish. The boy shows no fear.”
“I understand,” she said sympathetically. “Mr.—?”
“Benito,” he said. “Raul and Gina Benito, thank you for your kindness.”
“My pleasure,” she said and gestured for a guard to escort the young couple through the throng of observers. She ran ahead to make sure her assistants were taking care of the horses and riders properly. She knew there would be hundreds of photographs taken by the press of all the horses and riders.
The next hour passed in a flurry of activity as the horses were released from their royal duties and guided back to the barns.
“Ms. Jackson,” a man called from a few feet away. “Welcome to Chantaine. Your first royal parade is a huge success.”
“Thank you. I’m thrilled for the citizens of Chantaine to get the opportunity to see the beautiful horses that represent their country,” she said and motioned to one of her assistants to take two more of the horses back to the stable.
“Oh, but they are not Chantaine’s horses. Everyone knows Prince Stefan has a weakness for fine horseflesh. These are Prince Stefan’s horses.”
“Number one, I wouldn’t call it a weakness. Number two, these horses do represent Chantaine just as your beautiful beaches and the palace and palace grounds do.”
The man lifted his eyebrow. “Easy for you to say. You make a much better salary than most of the citizens of Chantaine. The prince’s horses aren’t remotely self-sustaining.”
“It wouldn’t be hard for them to be self-sustaining,” she couldn’t keep from saying in defense of the stable.
“What do you mean?”
“Black. He’s worth a fortune as a sire,” she said, then feared she’d revealed too much. He didn’t look like a member of the press and she didn’t see a camera. “I need to go. I was taught to earn my keep,” she added