The Royal Stables smelled of leather, hay, and impending testosterone poisoning.
Kaia stood by the mounting block, trying to look dignified in a riding habit that was tighter than her own skin. It was a deep, emerald green velvet, tailored to within an inch of its life, with a skirt that draped elegantly when standing but promised to be a logistical nightmare once she was actually on a horse.
"You look like a mossy hillock," Victoria commented, adjusting her own riding hat, which featured a pheasant feather so long it was a hazard to low-flying birds.
"And you look like you are about to invade a small country," Kaia shot back, adjusting her gloves. She had covered the lingering redness on her chin with a liberal application of powder, but she still felt the phantom burn of the ink scrub.
"Ladies," Prince Beckett said, appearing beside them. He was wearing a tweed hunting coat that looked brand new and slightly too big. "Are we... excited? To chase... nature?"
