Chapter 6

       The moon had begun to rise by the time the estate settled into its usual quiet. The last crew members rolled up fencing tape and stored away tools, and a soft stillness reclaimed the grounds. But in the far corner of the paddock, under the wash of a single floodlight, Celyth remained with Monerach.

       She hadn’t returned to the house yet. Her body was tired, but her mind buzzed with a rare clarity. Seeing Cé Klargan had shifted something. Not fear—though he was undeniably intimidating—but a kind of challenge she hadn’t realized she was waiting for. Something real. Something to measure herself against.

       She led Monerach in wide circles, keeping her steps steady, her voice low and even as she whispered small corrections, small encouragements. The stallion responded with the quiet understanding of a horse that knew his rider wasn’t just asking for movement—she was asking for trust.

       From the edge of the stable wall, Lorcan watched. He hadn’t told her to stay. He hadn’t expected her to. Yet there she was, alone in the dusk, reviewing everything in her mind with the horse she’d grown with. He respected that.

       He approached slowly, careful not to interrupt her rhythm. She noticed him but didn’t pause.

       “You said training starts before dawn,” she said, without looking up. “But I needed tonight,”

       “I didn’t say you couldn’t take it,” he replied.

       A beat passed between them.

       “Why Klargan?” she asked. “Why now?”

       Lorcan folded his arms, “Seranna isn’t the type to show her hand unless it serves a purpose. She brought him here to make a point,”

       “To intimidate me?”

       “No. To make sure you take this seriously. Klargan is more than a competitor. He’s a reminder—of what you’ll be up against. Not just him, but riders like him. Horses like him. What you saw today isn’t rare in real circuits. You’ll see more of it once you leave here,”

       Celyth was quiet for a moment, “Then I want to be more than someone who ‘shows potential.’ I want to win. Not by luck or pity,”

       Lorcan stepped closer to Monerach, running a hand along the stallion’s shoulder. “Then you stop looking at Klargan like he’s something beyond you. You and Monerach need to think, move, and react like one. No hesitation. No second-guessing,”

       She nodded slowly, letting the words settle.

       “I’ll work him at sunrise,” she said, “Tomorrow and the day after. Until the race,”

       “You’ll be sore,”

       “Then I’ll get stronger,”

       Lorcan’s eyes didn’t soften, but his voice dropped a tone, “It’ll show. On the track, people don’t see how hard you train. But they always notice who trained harder,”

       Celyth placed her hand gently on Monerach’s neck, “Then I want them to notice,”

       Lorcan stepped back, “Be at the ring before the first light.”

       “I will,”

***

       As the first sunlight streamed across the dew-kissed fields, casting a golden sheen over the racecourse, Seranna was already there.

       To everyone's surprise, she had arrived before them, her silhouette visible against the morning haze. Clad in her riding suit, she moved with ease beside her horse, Cé Klargan, already deep in their warm-up routine. The stallion responded to her with impressive precision, his hooves kicking up soft clouds of mist as they cantered gracefully along the outer track.

       She caught sight of Celyth arriving with Monerach and offered the girl a subtle smile—a quiet, encouraging look—before gesturing lightly for her to join. No words were exchanged. They didn’t need any.

       A short distance away, Lorcan stood tall beside his own steed—a regal white stallion named Rudgielf. The horse exuded power and discipline, its silver mane rippling in the breeze as Lorcan adjusted the bridle with practiced hands. He said nothing either, but his gaze followed Seranna and Celyth, something unreadable flickering behind his composed expression.

       The day had barely begun, but the rhythm of hooves against earth, the soft breath of horses, and the quiet connection between riders had already set the tone.

       Something important was building.

       Celyth settled into Monerach’s saddle, adjusting her posture as they fell into an easy rhythm beside Seranna and Cé Klargan. The morning was crisp, the scent of damp earth and leather mixing with the steady sound of hooves against the track.

       Seranna rode with the kind of ease that only came from years of discipline. Every movement between her and Klargan was seamless, controlled. Celyth studied them without meaning to, watching how the stallion responded to the smallest cues—how they moved as one.

       “You kept up well yesterday,” Seranna finally said, eyes still fixed on the path ahead, “But keeping up and taking control aren’t the same thing,”

      Celyth tightened her grip on the reins, “I know,”

       “Do you?” Seranna turned her head slightly, “Or do you just think Monerach will close the gap if you push him harder?”

       Celyth exhaled slowly, “He’s strong. He wants to run,”

       Seranna gave a slight nod, “That’s not enough. Racing isn’t about who wants it more. It’s about who understands the track, the timing, the opponent,”

       A few beats of silence passed as they rode, the quiet only broken by the rhythmic sound of their horses breathing. Lorcan, a short distance away on Rudgielf, finally spoke. “You’re too focused on speed,”

       Celyth glanced toward him, “It’s a race,”

       “It’s a strategy,” he corrected, “Anyone can go fast. The question is, can you control the race before it controls you?”

       She didn’t answer right away. Monerach’s ears flicked back slightly as if sensing her thoughts.

       Seranna slowed Klargan just enough to make a point, “You have potential,” she said, “But potential means nothing if you don’t sharpen it,”

       Celyth met her gaze, “Then let’s sharpen it,”

       Seranna gave a slow, approving nod.

       Lorcan adjusted his reins, “Good. Then we start working on control,”

       Celyth straightened her posture, gripping the reins more firmly. She had come here to race. Now, she understood—she had come here to learn how to win.

       Seranna studied Celyth for a moment before urging Cé Klargan into a tighter curve. The stallion responded instantly, moving with controlled power as they cut across the track at an angle that seemed effortless.

       “Watch,” Seranna instructed, “Feel how the track moves beneath you. Anticipate it, don’t react to it,”

       Celyth followed, guiding Monerach into the same maneuver. He responded, but not with the same smoothness. There was a hesitation, a moment of resistance before he adjusted. Seranna noticed.

       “You’re asking,” she said, “Not telling,”

       Celyth exhaled sharply. She knew Seranna was right. She needed to be clearer, more decisive. She urged Monerach forward again, this time with firmer intent. He listened, moving sharper, smoother.

       Lorcan watched from a distance, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, “Again,”

       And so they did.

       For the next hour, they rode—adjusting, refining, learning. It was more than just practice. It was transformation.

***

       The news spread like wildfire. A private horse race at the prestigious Blackwood Track—an event unlike any other. Word traveled fast, and soon, whispers turned into open discussions. The Millesernans were hosting it for their youngest daughter, Celyth.

       Jason couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He had imagined many things, but this—this was beyond expectations. A spectacle in the making. He could already picture the thundering hooves, the tension at the starting line, the roaring cheers from the stands. It would be nothing short of extraordinary.

       People talked. Everywhere.

       The elite of the city, the socialites, and the equestrian circles all buzzed with anticipation. Among them, the invited VIPs held their tickets like prized possessions, murmuring about the exclusivity of it all.

       A private race. A Millesernan event.

       It was bound to be legendary.

***

       After a grueling training session, the three of them found themselves at a quiet restaurant, a brief respite from the intensity of the past few days. The scent of warm bread and slow-cooked meals filled the air, yet Celyth barely touched her plate.

       Seranna noticed the stiffness in her posture, the way her fingers idly toyed with the rim of her glass. The weight of tomorrow’s race hung over her like an unspoken burden.

       Without a word, Seranna glanced at Lorcan—a silent nudge.

       Lorcan, ever perceptive, met her gaze before shifting his attention to Celyth. He had always been composed, distant even, but in this moment, Seranna needed him to be more than just a guardian overseeing her success.

       He needed to be a brother.

       He leaned forward slightly, voice steady yet firm, “Celyth,” he called, waiting until she looked up, “You don’t have to carry everything alone,”

       Celyth blinked at Lorcan, her fingers tightening around her glass before she slowly set it down. Her shoulders were stiff, her face unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something guarded.

       “I know,” she said, though the words sounded more like a defense than actual belief.

       Lorcan didn’t look away. He didn’t let her retreat into silence, didn’t let her dismiss the conversation before it truly began. He had seen this before, in different forms, in different people. The weight of expectation, the fear of failure, the quiet battle between self-doubt and determination.

       He exhaled, shifting slightly in his chair, “You’re carrying too much, Celyth,” His voice was measured but firm, steady in a way that left no room for argument, “I’ve seen that look before—the one that tells me you’re running every possible outcome in your head, weighing every mistake before it even happens,”

       Celyth looked down at her plate, pushing her food around with her fork, “Because it matters,” she muttered. “Because if I fail—”

       “You won’t,” Lorcan interrupted, his tone even but absolute. “And if you do, you’ll get back up. That’s the difference between winning and losing. Not the result—but what you do after,”

       Celyth frowned but said nothing.

       Lorcan leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering, “You’re strong, Celyth. You always have been. But strength isn’t just about pushing through alone. It’s about knowing when to let people stand beside you,”

       Celyth sighed, rubbing her temple. “I just—I don’t want to disappoint anyone,”

       Lorcan’s expression didn’t change, but something in his tone softened, “Who exactly do you think you’ll disappoint?”

       She hesitated, “You. Seranna. Everyone who expects me to win,”

       Lorcan studied her, then shook his head, “Winning isn’t the expectation. It never was,”

       Celyth’s brow furrowed, “Then what is?”

       Lorcan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, “That you fight. That you prove you belong out there. That you don’t let the pressure make decisions for you,” He let the words settle before continuing. “No one’s asking you to be perfect. No one’s expecting you to be the fastest rider in the world overnight. But if you go into that race thinking your worth is tied to where you place, you’re already setting yourself up to fall,”

       Celyth stared at him, searching for something—an argument, a flaw in his reasoning. But there was none.

       Lorcan sighed, lowering his voice slightly, “Celyth, you think I haven’t been where you are? You think I haven’t felt that same weight on my shoulders?” He shook his head. “I know exactly what it’s like to feel like every step forward is being measured, that failure isn’t an option. And I also know what happens when you let that pressure decide how you move,”

       Celyth swallowed, listening.

       “If you let the fear of failure control you, you won’t lose because someone was faster. You’ll lose because you never really let yourself race in the first place,”

       Seranna, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke, “He’s right,”

       Celyth turned to her.

       Seranna held her gaze, calm but unwavering, “I’ve seen riders with all the skill in the world lose simply because they let the pressure get to them. And I’ve seen riders who weren’t the strongest, the fastest, or the most experienced walk away with victories simply because they understood what mattered most,”

       Celyth took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

       Lorcan watched her carefully, “So stop thinking about winning. Stop thinking about what happens if you fail. Just ride. And trust yourself,”

***