— "Alex, do not dare to take the turns too sharply; Berkley is the most aggressive rider."
— "Yes, Father."
Alex was nervous, as he always was on the day of the races. He stroked Soul, listened to his father's instructions, and tried not to think of what he was expected to do in half an hour.
— "But if it so happens that Berkley rides first, and you are second," Lord Carlston continued, "then you may strike. Do not let him intimidate you; such insolence must be put in its place."
— "Yes, Father."
— "That is all. I shall leave you to yourself." Lord Carlston patted his son on the shoulder and stepped out of the stable.
I wonder… is the Duke already upon the stands?
Thoughts of Nathan — whom Alex had not seen for five whole days — lent a strange calm to his heart, troubled as it was by the approaching contest. These days the Young Lord had spent in rigorous horseriding practice and the renewal of his fencing lessons, while the Duke was wholly occupied with wedding preparations alongside Ophelia.
Does he ever think of me, I wonder? … Perhaps I might find a chance to speak with him before the race? … No, surely his hands are already too full with a thousand concerns. Altiva is racing today as well…
The company of Soul brought Alex none of the solace it once had. He sank upon a bench, his elbows resting on his knees, and covered his face with both hands. More than anything, the Young Lord longed to be elsewhere. His breath grew heavy and uneven in a futile attempt to steady himself against the storm rising within.
All will be well, all will be well, all will be well…
— "Alex?"
Someone touched his shoulder. The Young Lord lifted his head, and in an instant his whole face transformed. He sprang up and embraced the Duke, unable to restrain the impulse, forgetting all else in the world.
— "Were you—were you unwell? Are you very anxious?"
— "Not so much now," Alex murmured, unwilling to leave those warm arms.
The Duke smiled, his hand drifting into his beloved's golden hair with tender gentleness.
— "I have missed you terribly, Alex."
— "I have missed you as well, Your…" The Young Lord faltered and fell silent.
Nathan laughed softly, drew back just enough to meet his gaze, and said:
— "Why can you never bring yourself to call me by name?"
— "Forgive me—it is only a habit."
The Duke drew him close once more, silence reigning between them.
— "…Nathaniel."
Oh.
Nathan was deeply moved, and did not dare remind the boy that he might simply call him Nathan.
— "What troubles you most, my dear?"
— "I fear so greatly to disappoint my father."
Nathan withdrew slightly to meet Alex's gaze.
— "Today Berkley rides in Redgrave's name. My father tells me the man is known beyond England as a merciless breaker and a ruthless horseman. I cannot see how I might secure first place against such an opponent."
— "Alex, look at me."
The boy raised his eyes.
— "I know how dearly you love your father. Yet these races are, above all, a spectacle. People gather here to be entertained, to feed their thirst for excitement. Nothing of true consequence hangs upon the race itself. Your father is proud of you, regardless of the prize — I am certain of it."
— "But the honour of the Carlstons is at stake."
The Duke sighed.
— "Your love for horses is boundless, Alex. And though I have travelled all across Europe, I have never met anyone like you. I bought Altiva from a cruel master, and she would have withered under his hand. The honour of the Carlstons lies in that love you bear for your horses — and in your gift as a careful and skilful rider, who brings joy to the crowd with every race. Try to remember that. Ah — an idea!"
Nathan stepped back a few paces, his brow furrowed in mock seriousness though he could not suppress a smile.
— "You worry needlessly about Sir Berkley. The only horse you ought to fear is Altiva. Against her, I daresay you stand no chance at all."
Alex blinked in astonishment, then burst into laughter.
— "I fear, after my triumph last time, you sound far less convincing."
— "Do not be so certain. I have a new rider now — it is Sir Wilson you must dread."
Alex let himself fall back into Nathan's arms.
— "Good luck," the Duke whispered at last.
The Young Lord sat astride Soul, awaiting the shot that would mark the start. Though lighter at heart after his meeting with Nathan, his pulse still raced uncontrollably.
The shot rang out. Soul leapt forward with brilliance. By the second lap Alex had taken the lead. Nathan clutched the rail, his eyes fixed solely upon his beloved, caring nothing for Altiva's progress.
But then Sir Berkley began to close in, pressing Alex hard, forcing him towards the outer edge. Aggressively he demanded the inner lane, threatening to drive Soul aside. Altiva followed close, holding third.
Unwilling to risk Soul's fall and certain elimination, Alex yielded. To resist would have meant collision — Berkley would have forced Caravelle straight through, and the consequences could have been disastrous for them both.
Soul finished second. Altiva claimed third.
The crowd roared with delight and pressed eagerly towards the riders.
— "Alex! How could you surrender your winning place? Do you not care for the outcome of the race?"
The Young Lord dismounted, casting a guilty glance at his father.
— "Father, I could not endanger Soul's well-being."
— "That coward Berkley would never have dared force his way through at such a position — Soul would have shattered his horse's teeth!"
— "It was magnificent!" The Duke broke through the throng of onlookers. "What an ending! I was so absorbed in your contest that I quite forgot my own rider!"
The crowd echoed his delight, rewarding Alex with a burst of applause. The Young Lord forced a smile and bowed, though Nathan saw too clearly how deeply his father's words had cut.
How I long to seize him, to lift him high, to whirl him round and round until he laughed, until he forgot such cruelty!
Lord Carlston said nothing further, leaving his son to receive the admiration of others. Ladies clustered about Alex with praise and flattery. Nathan felt himself suddenly misplaced among them and withdrew towards his own rider, speaking with him only briefly of the race's outcome.
When the prizes had been awarded, the Carlstons departed. Nathan never managed to draw near Alex again, and so could only hope that the Young Lord would keep his promise to visit him tomorrow.
That evening Alex returned to his room in silence. He lay upon his bed, tormenting himself with bitter thoughts, until sheer exhaustion dragged him into sleep.
By morning, Nathan was already waiting in the stable, stroking Altiva's glossy neck. At the sound of hoofbeats he turned swiftly.
Alex looked pale and heavy-eyed, his usual brightness dimmed. Not even the sight of his beloved roused much joy in him. He had thought, more than once, of feigning illness to remain at home, sparing Nathan the weight of his gloom; yet the prospect of enduring his father's reproachful stare was worse.
He dismounted. The Duke rushed to him, bent slightly, encircled his waist, and lifted him up, spinning him around with radiant joy.
— "How I longed to do this yesterday! You were magnificent! I could watch you ride forever! I am so proud of you!"
Alex was bewildered; he had not expected such a greeting. Nathan set him down and captured his lips, holding the Young Lord's head tenderly in his hands. Then he broke off abruptly, fearing he had gone too far, and looked at his guest. Alex's eyes brimmed with tears.
— "Alex! Have I distressed you?"
The boy gave a sob and clung to Nathan with all his strength. The Duke's heart ached; he did not dare move or ask unnecessary questions and merely stroked the wheat-colored hair in silence.
— "Thank you," Alex whispered at last, unable to restrain himself.
When the storm had passed, the Young Lord wiped his face and forced a smile. Nathan smiled back, brushing away the traces of tears with his fingers.
— "Have you had breakfast? I waited for you so eagerly that I quite forgot such an important meal."
— "Me too," Alex murmured shyly.
— "What are we waiting for?"
After breakfast, Alex felt somewhat lighter, and they strolled together in the garden.
— "You mentioned you had resumed your fencing lessons?"
— "Yes. I missed it greatly. Sir Bronte is an excellent master; he makes the time fly."
— "Sir Bronte?" Nathan raised an eyebrow.
— "Yes. Do you know him?"
Nathan's expression shifted subtly. Alex noticed and waited.
— "Yes. Yes, I know him. He was once my teacher as well."
— "Truly? Then you know he is the finest teacher in London!"
— "Indeed. Perhaps that is so."
— "You do not entirely agree?"
Nathan smiled faintly.
— "No, no. He is a fine teacher."
Alex studied him intently, sensing something left unsaid.
— "It seems to me you are hiding something from me."
— "What? Ah—blast. Very well. Just listen… I wish you to be cautious with him."
— "What is that supposed to mean?"
Nathan clicked his tongue and then sighed.
— "He is not as simple as he appears."
— "Nathaniel, why do you speak so strangely?"
How can I keep it from him, when he calls me by name?
— "Is he married?" the Duke asked.
Alex was taken aback at the sudden question.
— "I do not think so. But why?"
Nathan halted and grasped Alex's shoulders. He looked so grave that the boy felt uneasy.
— "Alex, he has always been… inclined towards young men."
The Young Lord's eyes widened, then he burst into laughter.
— "Why do you laugh? I am not jesting."
— "Forgive me! I understand! I am only surprised — I never would have guessed. But… Your face was so sullen, I began to think of something very dreadful. What is it to me?"
Nathan's expression remained unchanged.
— "He may take an interest in you."
— "What?" Alex laughed again, then froze as he realised Nathan spoke earnestly. "Why would you think that?"
Nathan took his hand, lifted it to his lips, kissed it, and replied without letting it go:
— "Because I cannot imagine anyone not taking an interest in you." Alex's laughter faded, replaced by a flush of embarrassment. "I only beg you to be careful with him, nothing more."
— "V-very well," Alex answered timidly.
They walked on. Then, suddenly, a thought struck Alex.
— "Wait. How did you know this about him?"
— "Of what?"
— "That he—that he fancies young men."
Nathan disliked the turn of the conversation and regretted having begun it. He had asked about it only to distract the Young Lord from sad thoughts. Now he had fallen into his own trap.
— "Because we were… close, for a short while."
— "What?" Alex stopped.
— "Yes. That is why I warned you. He is indeed a master of his art — but in other matters, I beg you, take no part in his… extracurricular activities."
Alex imagined Sir Bronte with Nathan — and he did not like what he imagined.
— "You think…"
Nathan turned his head.
— "You think… that he still loves you, and will seek vengeance upon me?" Alex blurted in horror.
Now it was Nathan's turn to laugh.
— "My dear Alex." He embraced him. "I was only jealous for a moment when I said all this. I assure you, Sir Bronte has no interest in me now."
— "And you… in him?" Alex asked timidly, hoping to still the unease in his soul.
Nathan could not help but laugh again.
— "Even less. It was many years ago. I was still discovering myself… I told you, I regret much of my former life. For instance, I wish I had never involved myself with Sir Bronte. But it is past. What happened, happened." He took Alex's hand, and they continued to walk through the gardens.
— "Now, my thoughts are only of you."
Alex blushed, but the reassurance calmed him.