Chapter 4

Vespera

Sebastian's low murmur—"I never said I didn't like you"—hung in the air, and I froze where I stood.

I stared at him, stunned.

He was standing a few paces away, hands shoved into the pockets of his riding breeches, his jawline taut. Those deep green eyes bored into me without a trace of humor.

Alistair's gaze flickered back and forth between us, his amber irises brimming with curiosity. He raised an eyebrow and leaned toward me, probing.

"Oh? Sounds like there's some misunderstanding between you two." Alistair studied me with a grin. "What exactly did Seb do to make you afraid to even call him 'brother'? Does he bully you a lot at home?"

I looked at Sebastian. He kept up that icy composure, but there was a warning in his eyes.

Inwardly, I sneered. He was lying, of course. In my three months at the Vance estate, he hadn't so much as glanced at me straight on, let alone acknowledged me as his stepsister. Just last night he'd snarled that I wasn't fit to call him brother. Now, in front of his best friend, he probably didn't want to come across as too cruel, so he was putting on the act of a magnanimous older brother. He'd said it only to save face in front of Alistair.

Fine. If he wanted to perform, I'd play along. After all, my top priority today was to win Alistair over, to make him like me—that was how I'd secure this marriage, and my grandmother's medical bills along with it.

I let a sweet, innocent smile spread across my face and looked Sebastian dead in the eye.

"Sorry, brother." I made sure to enunciate the word crisply, my voice so honeyed it sounded foreign even to my own ears. "I misunderstood you. I thought you were still angry with me."

Sebastian's expression visibly darkened. Those beautiful green eyes locked onto mine as though he were forcing down some enormous restraint, his thin lips pressed into a hard line. Watching him swallow that bitterness with no way to lash out gave me an odd flicker of satisfaction.

Alistair didn't notice the undercurrent between us. He clapped his hands, cheerfully shattering the brief standoff.

"Well, now that the misunderstanding's cleared up, how about something more fun?" Alistair gestured toward the sprawling riding grounds, his eyes glinting with excitement. "Vespera, your riding is so good—how about a race? Three laps around the outer track. First one to the finish wins."

My eyes lit up. This was the perfect chance to prove myself. I was about to nod when Sebastian's cold voice cut in.

"No."

He strode over, his tall frame planting itself just in front of me and to the side, his brow furrowed. He turned to Alistair, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She's just a beginner. That mounting trick a moment ago was pure dumb luck. Alistair, don't be reckless—what if she takes a real fall out there?"

Then he lowered his head and, in a voice only the two of us could hear, delivered his warning.

"Don't embarrass yourself. Turn him down. Now."

I clenched my jaw. There he went, belittling me again. He simply didn't believe I could ride. He was certain I'd make a fool of myself in front of his friend and shame the Vance name. The more he acted this way, the less I wanted to give him what he wanted.

I straightened my spine and stepped out from behind him, meeting his stormy glare without flinching.

"Don't worry, brother. I won't bring shame on the family." I turned to Alistair and lifted my chin, my voice firm and confident. "I accept your challenge."

Alistair let out a low whistle, grinning wider than ever. He walked over and slung an arm around Sebastian's shoulders, giving him a rough shake, his tone dripping with teasing.

"Seb, you're way too tense. Just admit it—you're worried sick about your little sister, aren't you? Scared she'll get hurt?" Alistair winked at me. "Vespera, your brother actually adores you. He's just too stubborn to say it."

I stood there, dumbfounded. Worried? Sebastian, worried about me? Adoring me as a sister? It was the biggest joke of the century. He couldn't wait for me to vanish from the Vance estate—last night he'd nearly thrown me out.

Instinctively I opened my mouth to deny it, to tell Alistair he had it completely wrong. But out of the corner of my eye I caught the look on Sebastian's face, and the words died in my throat.

His already grim expression had turned as black as thunder. He didn't refute Alistair. He only fixed me with that suffocating, pressing stare, his chest rising and falling faintly. I took the hint and shut my mouth. Provoking him now clearly wasn't the smart move.

"Bring out Storm and Lightning," Alistair called to a nearby attendant.

Before long, the staff led over two tall thoroughbreds—one black, one chestnut. The horses snorted, their muscles rippling in sleek lines. They looked far wilder than the docile mount I'd ridden earlier.

Sebastian's gaze clung to me the whole time, and it left me deeply uncomfortable, as if my back had sprouted thorns. To escape that stifling scrutiny, I strode quickly toward the chestnut.

I didn't use the stirrup. Gripping the saddle, I used the strength of my arms and the momentum of my body to swing up in one clean, effortless motion. The whole movement flowed without a hitch, and I settled firmly onto the horse's back.

Alistair had just pulled on his gloves. Seeing what I'd done, he paused mid-motion. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes, and then he burst into unreserved praise.

"Whoa, Vespera, you're a real treasure! That was gorgeous—no beginner could ever pull that off."

I sat atop the horse, looking down at them. I expected Sebastian to sneer again, to call me crude or improper, but for once he stayed silent. He remained where he was, gazing up at me. Sunlight fell across his neatly cropped hair, and in those deep green eyes churned emotions I couldn't read. His thin lips stayed sealed. He simply watched me, quietly, without a single cutting word.

I ignored him and bent down to gently soothe the horse beneath me. I stroked its warm neck, feeling its steady breathing. This was a fine animal—spirited, yes, but manageable, so long as I worked with its temper rather than against it.

"Ready?" Alistair had mounted too, riding the black horse up beside me, flashing me a challenging grin.

"Whenever you are." I gripped the reins and lightly pressed my legs against the horse's flanks.

"Three, two, one—go!"

At Alistair's command, both horses shot forward like arrows loosed from a bow.

The wind howled past my ears, whipping my hair into disarray. The pounding of hooves struck the ground like a rapid drumbeat, kicking up clouds of dust. I bent low, rising and falling with the rhythm of the horse's gallop.

The feeling was achingly familiar.

During those years in the countryside, my father would always ride his old horse out in front while I chased after him on a little pony. Those had been the happiest times we ever shared, father and daughter. And now, galloping across the riding grounds, that long-lost sense of freedom wrapped itself around me all at once.