I had mastered diplomacy (by not causing an international scandal for several weeks), poetry (if one counted sarcastic limericks about the court tailor), and etiquette (provided no one objected to the fork occasionally doubling as a wand).The only domain still beyond my reach?
Horse riding.
And today, to the palace's collective dread, I was determined to change that.
"She's far too comfortable with that stick," Father growled, arms crossed, brow furrowed with the sort of concern usually reserved for droughts or assassins.
"She's a natural," Mother said blandly, not bothering to step back from the training circle. Her lips curled into a wicked little smile—the kind that meant she'd either slipped something suspicious into the tea again, or simply knew I was about to terrify everyone within fifty yards.
And honestly? I was.
Midnight—the sleek black horse beneath me—was a magnificent beast. Muscular, clever, and—if the groom's high-pitched warnings were to be believed—a bit unhinged. Perfect.
"Come on, lad," I murmured with far more confidence than I possessed. "Let's soar. Or crash spectacularly. Either way, we make history."
We thundered.
Well—more like we launched.
Wind whipped through my hair, crowning me in chaos as the world blurred around us. I whooped—half triumph, half terror.
"CHARLOTTE!" Father roared from somewhere far, far behind. "DO NOT AIM FOR THE FOUNTAIN!"
Too late.
A tremendous splash echoed through the courtyard as Midnight skidded to a halt beside the royal fountain—and I, soaked but upright, gave a grand, dripping bow to my stunned audience.
Mother clapped. "Brava."
Father groaned into his gloves.
I beamed. "I call that move: The Royal Dive."