Omisha | Princess of Menahem

As she glided towards the exit of the hall, it was all Omi could do to not pull a face or break character at the taste that lingered in her mouth. She suspected that she wasn’t going to be used to this strange way of preparing food for a while. If only they had had something that it was impossible to mess up. Like a salad or something similar to that. Resisting the urge to scoff at the thought that followed, Omisha only allowed her smile to grow slightly. With the way the cooks had messed up the other food, she wouldn’t be able to trust them to make a salad.

Taking neat, ladylike steps, Omisha kept her head facing forward, hair falling in front of her face slightly to conceal the way her eyes were darting about in search of a servant to complete her small plan. A maid passed them, entering the hall then coming back out again with an armful of plates. As she was about to pass them, the princess turned her head as if she was wondering who was following them before stopping the maid with a delicate hand gesture. “Hello. Please send my thanks to the chefs who prepared this meal, and of course my thanks to you and your fellow servants for bringing the food to us.”

She allowed sincerity to blossom in her voice, dismissing the maid with a gentle smile before resuming her steady walk. It would be seen as suspicious for a while, all this kindness pouring out of Arathorn’s enemy but if she kept it up they would come to understand that this was just Menahem’s heir’s personality. Nobody from Arathorn had seen her personality, most servants in the castle rarely saw Omi to ensure that spies would be unable to truly tell what she was like, and they would just assume that she was different from her parents.

As they entered the gardens, Omi allowed herself to lighten up with the manners. Here, her emotions would most likely not be faked. They had some plants that she rarely saw, though many that were quite common in Menahem. Of course, they had no poisonous plants here but even if they had Omisha would have steered clear of them. She didn’t want to do anything that could be linked to however she would kill the prince.

“It is very nicely kept. You have plenty of plants that are rare to come by in Menahem, it is lovely to be able to see them in abundance here.”

A polite smile rested on her face, copying the one that Peregrine had given her when he had introduced the gardens to her. He had said it like they were nothing special, part of why she had chosen to compliment but not gush over them. That would seem too forced and she was determined to make everything seem as natural as it could be. When he told the guards to stay out of hearing range, Omisha kept her satisfied smile from popping up onto her face. That meant that he was about to do something he didn’t want his parents to know about.

For the first time, Omisha allowed herself to dispose of the manners for a second, simply frowning and fixing the prince with a confused but annoyed glare. She kept it up for only a matter of seconds before turning around to sniff one of the roses that were behind her. She was making sure that the guards that couldn’t hear, wouldn’t be able to tell that anything was really wrong, as when she turned around to look at him again a placid smile was fixed on her face.

“You shouldn’t make your outbursts so clear.”

This was all she said before she spoke in a much louder tone. “Walk, if it pleases you my lord.” She bobbed up and down before beginning to walk. It was always harder to hear somebody when they are on the move with their backs to you, and Omisha was determined to make it as hard as possible for the guards to hear her next words.

“I’m just trying to prevent my mother from biting my head off. This may seem perfect to you but I slipped up so many times when we were eating. The fact that you thought I was being ‘perfect’ will help somewhat, but I am bound to get a telling off when we retire to our respective rooms.”

She could tell that Peregrine hadn’t caught her hint when they had been dining, so with a wry smile she stopped to admire a flower for a moment before continuing her walk. Everything needed to look as natural as possible.

“Do you ever go on midnight horse rides?”

Omisha | Princess of Menahem

Boy was Peregrine making her life hard.

She could tell that he was getting annoyed at her for a stupid peace treaty that she had no control over. His outburst earlier, his tight-lipped smiles, his overall frustrated tone of voice all pointed to the same thing. And it was incredibly hard to not kill, or at least injure, him right then and there. If there was one thing Omi hated, it was people who took their anger out on others. Otherwise known as bullies.

Because of her assassin training, Omisha had been trained to only kill who needed to be killed and then vanish. That meant no killing of the guards, the servants, the random child from next door. Her anger needed to only be channelled at the person responsible. To further drill this in, she had been allowed to get angry at her parents, to slap them, spit at them, scream at them. It all had the desired effect. Omisha never took her anger out at somebody who wasn’t responsible.

She had to keep reminding herself that not everyone had been afforded that luxury. Not everyone was an assassin. Not everyone had to stand in front of the person they’re meant to kill, act all nice yet daring, and marry them.

The prince spoke and Omi laughed softly for a brief moment, copying his stance for a moment with a mocking face. “You look like a petulant child.” She turned back around to make the interaction seem like nothing big, humoured smile playing on her lips. Inside her mind was racing, desperately trying to come up with a weakness to casually throw out there. It had to be big, couldn’t be an actual weakness and couldn’t sound too far-fetched.

When she turned back around, the same smile was still playing on her lips, glint in her eyes as she began to glide through the gardens. She had had a chance to think of a weakness, and now she had one. It had elements of truth in it, which would make it all that harder to spot as a lie. The scent of flowers was overpowering here, clearly they had chosen the flowers that had the most scent. About to wrinkle her nose in an expression of slight disgust, she stopped herself before realising that it would make her seem more human and wrinkling it for a brief amount of time.

He was very bad at pretending things, much worse than she was. With the same smile, she laughed softly and shook her head slowly, acting like she was just tossing her hair to the guards behind her. She had slipped up, but with the quick mind she was blessed with, she thought of a way to save herself. “You think my mother would notice if I snuck out at midnight? She sleeps like a log, you could sneak in and kill both of us without her waking up once.” And there was a random weakness. It was better than the one she had thought of, interjected into the conversation smoothly. It was a common analogy, and she had exposed that it would ‘be easy’ to assassinate them. As big of a weakness as Peregrine had exposed.

She bent down to examine a flower once more before straightening and turning to him again. “It’s only a risk when she’s awake.”

She continued their walk, waiting for a bit before answering his next questions. These were easy to answer, and she forced a joyful and adventurous spark into her eyes. “Well I think that riding with your father from the day you were born till the day you turned twelve and then sneaking out every day to ride until you came here would make you a good rider but,” she shrugged, “who knows?”

With a wry smile she paused to sniff another flower before continuing on. “No I didn’t.” She was clearly being sarcastic, scoffing softly in a teasing manner. Raising her voice to a more normal volume, she began to nod. “Yes my lord, I agree with your words completely.” She couldn’t be for sure certain whether he would understand what she was doing, but she decided to see what he would do.

In a softer tone, she spoke again, “Riding is worth breaking rules for, don’t you agree? It’s a chance, for me at least, to get out of these horrible dresses and all those horrible rules and just be free.” A gentle smile rested on her face as she continued to walk, before she removed it and turned her head slightly towards Peregrine to see his reaction.

She wanted to scold him, tell him off for taking his anger out at her, tell him off for believing that this was what she wanted. But she had seen that he had relaxed, opened up, become human when she hadn’t scolded him. And right now, the most important thing was gaining his trust.

At least, that’s what she thought it was.

Omisha | Princess of Menahem

Omisha lay on her bed, hands stretched up to the ceiling as she fiddled with the hem of the gloves she had pulled onto her hands. Now she wasn’t so sure if it had been a good idea to coax Peregrine into committing this crime. She had proved herself daring and human, and it would be a chance to earn his trust and solidify their relationship but the risks it brought were large. There was always a chance that somebody came up behind her, spooked her and caused her to reveal her training and therefore purpose.. She didn’t spook easily, but there was always the risk.

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to go riding. No, that was a lie. The whole reason she had brought it up was because she had wanted to go riding. What her mother had done in the dining hall hadn’t been what she had wanted the Queen to say, but she supposed it had been for the best. She wanted to eliminate all chances of the Arathorn rulers suspecting that she wasn’t the sweet, polite, lady-like figure she had shown herself to be.

With a sigh, Omi sat up and removed the lavender from her hair. It went on the dresser, next to a small stack of books and all the ‘proper princess necessities’. Removing the gloves, she set them on the dresser before pulling them back on again. Would gloves be too risky? She didn’t need gloves, but the chance of her hands getting chaffed by the reins if something bad happened and the royals noticing might be an issue. And if she touched something shiny that fingerprints were obvious on, it was only a matter of time before her mother realised what had happened.

Her mother was all brains and no brawn, her father all brawn with a splattering of brains mixed in there. Omisha was a perfect mix of the two. Riding had come naturally to her, just like archery or swordsmanship had. Just like reading, writing, observing and calculating had all come naturally to her. She supposed that in this way she was lucky, she already had everything that an assassin would need, it just needed to be honed. But in the same way, she thought that she was unlucky because of it.

She had never wanted to become an assassin. But her father had brought up the matter when she was twelve. Before she had a say in anything that happened to her. Before she had the training to scare her father into submission. Before she had the guts to stand up against him. And Omisha wasn’t the type who liked letting things go to waste. She had gone through two years of training and she wasn’t about to let the hard work and dedication she had been forced to throw into it to waste. She’d never done that before, she wouldn’t do it then and she wouldn’t do it now.

Over the years she had grown accustomed to the death. Grown accustomed to the guilt that plagued her. Now she felt nothing. Perhaps she even enjoyed it when she saw the breath slow as the heart slowly grinded to a stop. Perhaps she hated it and was just covering up her hatred with the pretence of joy and had done that for so long she had fooled even herself. Not even Omisha knew how she really felt about it. How she felt about ruining families, kingdoms, monarchies, lives, all because her father told her to. Most of the assassins she had met didn’t know either. They didn’t think they ever would.

Neither did she.

Standing up, Omisha decided to leave the gloves on. She had sensible reasons, if Peregrine made fun of her she would just make his death all the more painful. He would die in the end anyway. She moved to her closed door, pressing an ear against it. Her little ‘exposed mistake’ hadn’t been entirely made up of lies. Perhaps that was why it had slipped so smoothly off of her tongue. There was a period of time, about a minute, where her mother was utterly dead to the world. Omisha had that trait as well, for only a minute she was entirely unaware of what was going on around her. Of course, Peregrine hadn’t needed to know that, so she wasn’t about to notify him of that fact.

Omisha had thought it safer to not tell her mother about what she was planning on doing. She would tell her some other time, but she had found that if she told her mother before or when she was planning on doing something her mother would always find some way to ruin something. Small or large, she would always manage to ruin it. So it was just easier to not tell her. It made telling whoever it was that her mother was unaware easier as well, for it would actually be the truth.

Glancing at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but feel satisfied with what she was wearing. Of course, when she was being an assassin without gaining trust first, just dropping in to kill somebody then leaving, she wore black for it made her blend into the shadows just that much more but she wasn’t stupid. Peregrine’s tip had been unnecessary but she hadn’t show that. Nor had she acted like she was totally unaware, a simple nod had sufficed.

Her outfit wasn’t a typical woman’s riding gown. She hated those things, they were just simplified versions of the fancy dresses she always had to wear anyway. No, instead it was of a male peasant’s riding outfit. Their typical hat would sometimes go onto her head, her hair tucked into it to give the illusion of her being masculine until she looked you in the eyes and spoke. Tonight she had decided to bring the hat but not wear it until they rode, it was easier that way. The outfit was mainly a dark brown with some grey, the cheapest outfit she had bought. It completed the illusion, for it really was something a peasant would be able to buy. She’d seen some buying them.

She didn’t really care what Peregrine thought of her get-up, it had worked before and it would work again. She wouldn’t be surprised if he wore some fancy prince gear, which wouldn’t serve him well if somebody spotted him. A smile came to her lips at the thought of Peregrine getting into trouble while she got off scot-free. She really didn’t like the male, though her dislike had begun before she had even met him it had just deepened when she had.

He was annoying, childish and just overall a not-very-perfect-perfect-prince. He wasn’t the worst prince she had ever met, but he was certainly far from the best. The best prince she had ever met wasn’t even that good, just better than the others. She was slightly ashamed of the male sex, every princess she had met had been wonderful yet all the princes sucked. She had been relieved to rid the world of their presence, the princesses sparked more guilt.

Grabbing the hat, she pressed her ear to the door again and was pleased when she was met with silence. Her mother would be dead to the world for just a while more, and opening her door, Omi strode out of the room and into the corridor. As soon as the door shut, she heard a soft snore start up behind her. She’d just escaped in time.

Now her assassin training really came into play. She made no noise as she crept through the halls, hiding in corners, against walls and the like when people passed. Nobody had ever spotted her when she was sneaking around places, and she doubted that anyone ever would. She was constantly improving, and when people weren’t expecting to see something they rarely ever saw it. Which meant that eyes tended to gloss over her, brains telling their owners that they hadn’t seen anybody sitting on that bench in the corner it had just been a trick of the light.

She had arranged to meet Peregrine by the stables, and with this in mind she made her way over there, still deathly silent as she glided through the gardens. The thick scent of flowers burst onto her again, and she shook her head, nose wrinkling once more in disgust. They really needed to learn which scents worked well together and which scents would just combine into an overwhelming, thick, scented smog.

Her keen eyes soon spotted the building she was searching for, but Omisha didn’t enter it yet. She wanted to wait for a bit, see if Peregrine was already there, hear the horses move around, take in the beautiful horse scent she had grown to love. Her story hadn’t been fabricated, until her dad had told her to become an assassin she had ridden with him. After her training she had ridden alone. She had surpassed him in talent anyways, being an assassin meant riding to places on your own, sometimes for days on end. It had been horrible at first, but now Omisha loved riding through forests, towns and fields on her own, wind playing with her hair and a grim goal in her mind.

So she waited, hidden in the shadows outside of the building, eyes darting around as she hid near one of the windows to be able to peek in.

Though she didn’t want to be excited, Omisha really was.

Princess Omisha of Menahem was excited to break the rules and be free.

(Roughly three pages of Omisha being Omisha. How delightful XD)

Omisha | Princess of Menahem

Omisha moved from her crouch after the first person passed her. It looked stupid, and made her more obvious, yet it was something she tended to do when she got bored of simply standing still. Of course, when she was out to kill somebody she never got bored. That was different than waiting for some silly prince to show up. For some reason, her body found squatting and throwing her balance more to the front of her body to be a comfortable position. But it was stupid.

So she stood up, leaning against the wall of the stables with her left foot pressed against the brick. She’d seen servants and other…lower-class citizens, do this and right now she wanted to blend in as much as possible. If a servant came up to her, she knew that she could imitate a male long enough to get by and since she’d been here for a day they wouldn’t know her face. She’d purposely chosen an area where the shadow fell across half of her face, so that it didn’t look like she was trying to hide but still hid any noticeable features.

Mainly her eyes.

The sound of horses moving around made her wish for her own stallion. In modern times he would be called a shire horse, for he had the build of one, but in medieval times he was simply a large horse. Of course, being an assassin she needed her own horse. So she had been given King of The Night. He was a powerhouse, and a fierce one at that. Even she needed to be cautious around him, like a spoilt king he was capable of extreme mood swings. He had just given her practise with stressful, hard situations and she loved him for his firey personality. They wouldn’t have been able to bring him, he would cause havoc, but she still wished he were here.

Footsteps passed her, yet nobody paid any attention to the peasant boy standing in the corner. A satisfied smirk popped up onto her mouth, even if she had been stood up it was good to know that her disguise worked. She wasn’t afraid of being found out, she was a quick changer and could sneak away, change and act asleep before anybody found her out. And then of course Peregrine would be in trouble. The satisfied smirk widened into a smile, eyes glinting as the light hit them.

A different set of footsteps reached her ears, and Omi turned her head. It was different from the heavy, flat footstep of the common man, the weight was more balanced and lighter. More royal. She was sure that she could make out the form of Peregrine coming towards her, she had been able to memorise his shape when they had first met, and there was no one else that it could be.

The whisper that reached her ears only confirmed her suspicions, and a wry smile sprung up to replace the satisfied one. “Aye aye cap’n.” Her tone was light, clearly not apprehensive about what they were about to do. If asked she would just put it to the fact that they were about to go riding, her words that afternoon would only back up her point. Nobody would need to know that the fact that she knew she would be able to get out of trouble alleviated any stress she would otherwise be feeling.

His reaction was surprisingly better than she had expected of him. Of course he sounded surprised, who wouldn’t be? But he didn’t seem bothered by it at all. She had almost been expecting him to throw a fit at her outfit choice and tell her to change into ‘more suitable attire’. Instead, he hardly seemed to care. It was a pleasant surprise, but Peregrine was still annoying and childish in her mind, this one thing wasn’t going to suddenly change her opinion of him. That would be stupid.

Copying his raised brow, she glanced down at his boots but said nothing. Those boots could potentially make all the difference, but it was his loss not hers. If anything happened and he had to stop, nothing would stop her. He spoke yet she decided to take it as a simple statement and not a compliment nor a criticism. She didn’t want to waste breath on something so trivial as conversation. If they were being informal, she didn’t need to respond.

When he spoke next, Omi didn’t respond for she had no preference. He was already moving away from her and with slightly narrowed eyes she turned herself so that she could see all of the horses. She was used to a lively, fierce horse, one that was big and potentially dangerous. One that needed firm commands instead of gentle taps. Yet as she looked through the stalls, she found herself disappointed. None of the horses seemed to be the type of horse she was used to, and she wasn’t sure how quickly she would be able to adapt. All of the horses in Menahem were similar to King of The Night, but clearly Arathorn didn’t have the same kind. She’d just have to settle.

She resisted the impulse to cross her arms in annoyance, and instead just stood there placidly. “Your assumption is correct.” Of course she could saddle her own horse, she wasn’t an idiot. Years of having to ride out, sometimes in the middle of the night, to far-away places without anybody there to help her had taught her everything about caring for a horse. She was probably better suited to owning one than Mr. Childish.

As he pointed out horses, she let her eye fall on each one. None of them seemed suited to her taste. Used to riding stallions and mares, she wasn’t sure how different a gelding would be. Calmer, certainly. But she didn’t think that she wanted calmer. So deciding to casually drop in how their horses were different from her own, she walked up and down the row of stalls a couple of times before stopping near Peregrine, allowing the horse in the stall she had stopped by to sniff her hand before she moved away slightly. She didn’t want Peregrine to think she was choosing this horse.

“Your horses are very different to my own.”

(Ugh, this is so short, sorry!)

Peregrine | Prince of Arathorn

Peregrine was still more than a little confused by her appearance. He had never seen a female dress that way, and it honestly unsettled him. While he understood the reasoning, and so he wouldn’t criticize her, it was still odd, and he felt the need to investigate further. “Where did you manage to get a hand on your apparel?” he asked her. He was surprised that she had managed to hide that from her mother.

He was even more surprised that she had been able to take it with her unless she had bought it recently. If she had bought it recently he wasn't sure where she had gotten it. She hadn't been anywhere where she could buy stuff, so he found his first theory held more weight. She was taking his comments better than he had expected. From their first talk, she had seemed to be a bit prickly, and this seemed like the type of thing she would be sensitive about.

She didn't say anything, and she had begun to walk up and down the aisles. He noticed her mimicking his own facial expression. He involuntarily glanced down at his shoes, but he didn’t say anything. What could he say? He had made his decision and now he was stuck with it. Arathorn preferred to have well trained horses. In battle or in tense situations it was a relief not to have to bully your horse into obeying you.

Peregrine had a battle trained destrier, that was large muscular, and fully capable of trampling over smaller horses, but he preferred his smaller riding horse, which was a courser. He preferred his smaller horse unless he was trying to run over a shorter horse. Bjorn was large enough to do the work that Peregrine wanted, and he had better acceleration and breaks. Peregrine noted that she didn’t seem to be pleased with the variety of coursers.

She was walking from one to the next with narrowed eyes. She hardly gave most of them a chance. He wasn't quite sure what she was looking for in a horse. None of them were bad horse flesh. It wasn't like she was supposed to be creating an unbreakable bond with one of them. They reserved their destriers for war. She would just have to pick one. He felt a little annoyed by her finickiness.

While he didn't have a strong bond with any of them except for Bjorn and Castiel his battle stallion, he knew each of them by name. He knew many of their little quirks even though he felt odd, when he rode them. It offended him that she was being so critical over those he preferred to hang out with. Other than his father's horse, because he was the king, Peregrine had the best horse in the stable.

Because Peregrine enjoyed riding much more than his mother the queen, he was the heir, and he had no siblings, it made sense that he would have a good horse. Bjorn was a little larger and more hairy than his fellow horses, and he was very even tempered. He sighed, because he could tell that these horses didn’t live up to her standard, and there would be no pleasing her now. “Well, you need to decide which horse you’re going to ride, because most of them have their own tack,” he shrugged, “And I’ll have to get the ta...Wait. Never mind. You can get it yourself. They have the name plates on it,” he told her.

He knew it was polite to offer to get her tack for her, but he had sort of made it where she should get it herself. He quickly tried to amend the situation fully expecting her to bite his head off,“I can get it for you of course,” he told her. After a few minutes of knowing her, he was certain that she could get her own tack. Even though they were out in the barn secretly, he still felt a need to display some gallantry however bad he had done.

She could diplomatically say that she had forgotten the horses names, if she wanted him to get it. He began to saddle his own horse, because he was impatient, and he would want to be ready to go by the time Omisha decided what horse she wanted. He wanted to fuss, and tell her that they didn't have all night. There had been too many delays, but he had a feeling she would only look down upon him with slight disgust or pity, which he didn't like.

It poked at his pride. While she may have trained herself to go without sleep, he had a quota to fill or he wouldn't function normally. He gave her a playful grin, because it was in his nature. "Want to race?" he asked her. He wasn't sure where they could race, but he was a very good rider, and he knew the area better. There was also the fact that he had a superior horse, and he was accustomed to it.

He wondered if it was rude of him to take advantage of it. He knew racing was dangerous especially at night, but he desired to see how good of a rider she was. If she accepted this challenge, he knew she would do her best. It would rankle her to lose to him. Should he point out which of those horses was the fastest, or just let her choose? If she didn't choose soon, he would make an executive decision, and tack one horse himself.

"If you can't decide, I'll just tack one up," he told her. Would it seem like he was trying to get an obvious advantage? Would this merely serve to rile her competitiveness? He wondered if she would prefer to figure out the horse's idiosyncrasies or if she would like a little information on each of the horses. Before it might not have been too big of a deal which horse she picked, but he felt there would be more at stake now that he had issued his challenge.

(Sorry. I got tired of trying to fill it.)

Omisha | Princess of Menahem

Omisha turned her head towards Peregrine when he spoke. Her mind searched for something to say, an excuse, a reason as to how she had it, but surprisingly she found none. So she simply smiled and decided to tell him the truth. “Shop.” She just…left out a lot of details.

It was weird, walking through a stable without your own horse in it. It had been a while since she had ridden any other and now she was unsure if she could do so. She didn’t want to injure one of them because she was used to firm commands while they were used to gentle ones. It was getting to her, gnawing at her insides, the doubt that she wouldn’t be able to do this was strong. Injuring an animal would be worse than letting down a prince who would be dead soon anyway.

She wanted to choose a horse, but she was unsure which one would be best for her so she hid her uncertainty behind pickiness. It was odd, how she could be so calm in a situation that was quite alien to her yet freaked out at a situation that she should’ve been used to by now. She was angry at herself, and her hands tightened into fists before she forced them to relax. She had come so far, there was no point in her exposing herself now.

She wanted to scream in frustration, but of course that wouldn’t be helpful. So she just paced up and down and tried to hide her uncertainty in this whole thing. All she needed was to pick a horse and they’d be done with it. She needed nothing more but to pick a horse and go. All she had wanted was a horse ride, but clearly her mind was intent on making it difficult for her. She was running through every situation and what horse would be best for it, just like she had to do whenever she had to go snatch somebody’s life from them.

How many people had she killed? It was strange, how she had lost count but felt no guilt. She never dreamt about them at night, she never ‘saw’ their ghosts in rooms. She hadn’t gone crazy. She didn’t remember most of their names or faces. She had come so far that she had been desensitized to death. She supposed that that was a sad thing to be desensitized to, but at this point she didn’t care. What really was the point of doing this? He was going to die soon anyway so what was the point in doing all of this? It would’ve been easier to drop in, kill him then leave.

Her gaze turned to him, slightly annoyed when he began to say that he needed to get the tack. She wasn’t some weakling, she had killed more men than he could ever think of killing yet he wanted to get her tack? She felt like scoffing. But then he changed his sentence and a small smile appeared on her face. He tried to amend the situation, but the situation didn’t need fixing. It was odd, how he could be so annoying and like any other spoilt brat prince that she had met, but suddenly switch to have all the traits she could want in somebody.

“Thank you.”

She almost said nothing else before realising that what she had said wasn’t very clear and she should probably make it clear. “For understanding that a woman is perfectly capable of getting her own tack.” She almost began to rant before realising that it wouldn’t be very suitable to do so, they couldn’t waste any more time.

She brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose in annoyance at herself. “I’m sorry, I know we don’t have all night.” His playful grin surprised her, and what he said next even more so, but with a small smile she felt herself begin to be more comfortable in this setting. “I can’t think of a reason why I would ever say no.” There was more at stake now, but if she lost she didn’t really mind. Of course, she would still mind a little, but she supposed that it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Closing her eyes she began to spin around before stopping and moving to the first stall that she laid eyes on. It was an effective way of picking, and it certainly wouldn’t do any harm to pick like that. “It’s fine, I’ll just take…” She paused while she read the name plate. “Shadow.” Every horse would be fast enough, Arathorn wouldn’t have slow horses for the royals. No kingdom would do that, for it put them at an obvious disadvantage to have slower horses.

It took her a moment, but she eventually found Shadow’s tack and with quick, deft movements she began to saddle the mare. It was obvious that she had done this many times before. If King had been here she wouldn’t have bothered saddling him, she sometimes rode bareback since you never know when an assassin will need to escape without the time to saddle their horse and it felt much freer than with a saddle. But she didn’t know Shadow and it would be safer to ride with all the tack.

(Sorry, this isn't long or the best quality)