At last, Eleonora burst into the wide field in front of the stables near the main gate of the manor, her boots kicking up little clouds of dust with each hurried step across the field, which had slowly been turning into a somewhat well-manicured grassy meadow over the years, through a mix of deliberate effort and the decreasing number of horses trampling the ground with their hooves; with the side benefit of helping to lower the cost of feeding the remaining horses.

  Meanwhile, the stable buildings themselves, which once bustled with life and had been designed to house some two hundred horses, had been reduced to just two. With the other stable buildings, over the years, having been dismantled and either sold for scrap or repurposed for repairs, as the number of horses being housed declined. Now, however, only around fifty horses remained, mostly scattered in small groups or grazing lazily near the fences, their coats glinting in the morning sun.

  The emptiness of the once-bustling grounds gave the place a quiet, almost solemn feeling; as though the riding field itself still remembered its glory days; when there were still a large myriad of riders and horses thundering across its expanse.

  The remaining stable buildings rose with an old, dignified sturdiness, that only history could provide. Their tall timber beams had become somewhat darkened with time and featured several works of graffiti carved by bored stable hands; a few were actually good, though most were not. The stable roofs swept outward in broad, graceful arcs, layered with curved terracotta tiles that caught the spring sunlight in warm, reddish tones even after years of weathering.

  Under the roof, rows of stable bays featured arched entryways framed in pale stone, their edges etched with simple geometric patterns worn smooth by generations of hands. While narrow wooden balconies jutted from the upper levels, supported by delicately carved brackets and featuring several lift elevators to move hay and other supplies to the upper floor of the stable closest to the main gate. Meanwhile, the other remaining stable’s upper floor had been crudely converted into a bunk room for the remaining stable staff when the old bunk room building had become too large for the reduced number of workers.

  As soon as Eleonora was spotted the stable hands scattered instantly like a flock of panicked chickens. Even though they had prepared for this encounter. And yes, they had most definitely prepared, for if you listened to the stable hands, they alone among the manor staff had suffered the most from Eleonora's ever so joyful presence. Thus, knowing she was leaving that day, they had posted a lookout at dawn, which just now had given them enough time to flee upstairs and barricade themselves in the bunk room before the blonde, jabbering menace could corner them.

  With any luck, she’d be gone for a blessedly long time on her "knightly duties". Their terror wasn't entirely unfounded. Any one of them could be caught in an hour-long, inescapable monologue on why Cadasian horses were objectively the greatest breed of horse to ever walk the earth and just one of those lectures was enough to shave years off of a man's life. But worse, most definitely far, far worse was the dreaded possibility of being told they had braided Lady Sparkles’s mane incorrectly, a crime that could turn the usually sunshine-filled Eleonora into a terrifying force of righteous noble fury.

  These horrors often haunted their dreams. With some even waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, whispering, “Not the braid… not again…”

  “Lady Sparkles!” Eleonora called out, blissfully unaware of the still-lingering scent of fear left behind by the fleeing stable boys. She was answered by a muffled, excited whinny, which greeted her with the same enthusiasm as a child on Christmas morning. A moment later, a beautiful white mare’s elegant head popped up over the stall door, eyes bright, ears pricked forward, wearing an expression of pure, unmistakable delight that said, Oh good! The golden one with all the snacks has returned!

  Lady Sparkles was no ordinary steed. She was a Cadasian mare, which explained, in full, the stable boys’ terror at being trapped in a lecture on why Cadasians were the undisputed queens of the equine world.

  And to be fair to Eleonora, Cadasians were an exceptional breed. They towered above most other horses at around eighteen hands tall, with a startlingly high intelligence, and an almost dog-like disposition, characterized by their loyalty and enthusiasm. Lady Sparkles, in particular, embodied those traits, with her having the personality of an overexcited puppy in the body of a very large, very powerful warhorse.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Eleonora had received Lady Sparkles for her tenth birthday, and it had sparked an immediate, all-consuming love affair between girl and horse. It had taken an unusually stern talking-to from Eleonora’s papa to finally convince the young girl to stop sneaking down to the stables to sleep with her beloved mare. To this day, Isadora still didn’t know how Eleonora had managed to slip past the guards, the servants, and three locked doors just to curl up in a pile of hay beside Lady Sparkles.

  Eleonora threw herself at the mare, wrapping her arms around Lady Sparkles’s neck in a dramatic embrace, her armor clanking loud enough to make the nearby horses flick their ears in annoyance. The mare nuzzled into her without hesitation, as if bracing herself for the onslaught of affection that always accompanied Eleonora’s visits. “Today we’re going to, like, be heroes, Lady Sparkles! Aren’t you excited?!” Eleonora proclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Lady Sparkles responded by giving her a big, slobbery lick across the cheek, leaving a shiny streak behind.

  “I knew it!” Eleonora declared triumphantly, spinning around to face her stoic shadow with the expression of someone who had just received divine guidance. “She’s totally excited, Isadora.” Isadora raised a single questioning eyebrow before a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “If you say so, my lady.” Lady Sparkles snorted as if in agreement with Eleonora, though it might be because she wanted treats.

  The day before Eleonora and Isadora had put the mare’s immaculate baby-blue satin barding, with its gold trim, which always glimmered in the light. Eleonora had even ensured every single one of the 13 ribbons she had commissioned for Lady Sparkles was perfectly placed on the mare's braided mane. Thanks to the care Eleonora had lavished on the mare, Lady Sparkles looked regal and striking.

  Eleonora then went through the process of putting Lady Sparkles saddle on the mare. The saddle was well made from leather that had been dyed red and made of a thick skinned monster with silver filigree and various other decorations that made the saddle look quite cute. As she took a step back to admire her work, Isadora casually pointed and said “that strap there is crooked”.

  Eleonora gasped, horrified. “WHERE?!” she frantically asked.

  Isadora pointed again. Eleonora lurched forward, fixed it, then leaned back with a huff, before thanking Isadora. “You have such a, like, good eye, Isadora.” Despite Eleonora’s apparent airheadness she took equestrian activities very seriously. After one more admiring look at Lady Sparkles, Eleonora retrieved her saddle bags, which, as she had proudly informed Isadora, contained “like, important knight things.”

  In reality, this meant two slightly squished cookies, one pink hairbrush, a lucky potato-shaped rock, and a map that had been enthusiastically scribbled over with purple crayon. Nestled among these useless items were the items Isadora had sternly insisted she bring: proper bandages, flint, a whistle, a small knife, a sharpening stone, and a metal flask of water. A perfect compromise between Eleonora’s idea of preparedness and Isadora’s refusal to let her charge enter the world armed only with baked goods and optimism. On the other hand, Isadora’s own saddlebags were neatly arranged, filled with practical supplies for survival, combat, and to help with all the trouble Eleonora tended to attract.

  Isadora’s black warhorse, Speed, was a large, cantankerous old brute with a notoriously bad temperament. He had been glaring at them from the moment they'd entered the stables, only a few stalls down from Lady Sparkles stall. He pinned his ears back as Isadora approached with his saddle, which was a much plainer, utilitarian affair compared to Eleonora’s ludicrously decorated gear.

  This would probably be the old horse’s last great adventure, Isadora thought with a quiet ache in her chest as she approached the old horse. She had been given Speed just before Eleonora was born, as a gift from the duke himself who wanted to repay the life debt, he felt he owed Isadora after she had thwarted an assassination attempt on his life. Though if you asked Isadora, she would tell you that she had just done her duty.

  Isadora had been on a routine patrol of the manor grounds when she spotted a half-elf assassin slipping through the shadows of the grounds. Without hesitation she had sounded the alarm by lighting a mage flare and began chasing the assassin, it had taken her and two other guards to corner and tackle the half elf to ground. Isadora strongly suspected she’d been given her current post as personal guard and maid to Eleonora, because of that same incident.

  Because of that she sometimes wished that the half-elf were still alive, so she could thank him, for entirely by accident, giving her the best job in the world. With both their horses saddled and their supplies secured to the both horses, Eleonora and Isadora headed to the manors main gate.