I couldn't shake the image of that woman from the photograph as Arthur and I made our way to the equestrian center. Her face—my face—haunted me with every step. But now wasn't the time to unravel that mystery. We had an audience waiting, and appearances to maintain.
The equestrian center sprawled before us, impeccably maintained with its pristine white fences and emerald grass. Several horses were already saddled, handlers standing nearby at attention. I recognized most of the breeds—Arabians, Thoroughbreds, and a few striking Friesians.
And then I saw him.
Standing apart from the others was a magnificent black stallion with wild eyes and a defiant stance. His coat gleamed in the sunlight, muscles rippling beneath as he pawed the ground impatiently.
"There he is," Arthur said, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of pride. "Chasing Wind."
