Later, when the room grew too dim to see the wooden soldiers clearly, Abel stood up and stretched. He held out his hand again.
"Come," he said. "I want to show you something."
Orion let himself be pulled to his feet. His body was stiff from sitting on the floor, but a strange calm had settled over him. The raw hurt of the morning was now a dull, manageable ache.
Abel led him out of their chambers, down a different hallway than the one to the dining hall. This one was narrower, stone-walled, and sloped slightly downward. The air grew cooler, carrying the clean, dry scent of hay and leather.
The stables.
They emerged into a vast, vaulted space lit by high windows. It was warm, alive with the soft sounds of shifting hooves, gentle snorts, and the rustle of straw. Rows of stalls lined either side, housing horses of every color and size—elegant greys, deep chestnuts, dappled palominos. Grooms moved quietly, brushing glossy coats.
Abel walked with purpose, his earlier vulnerability gone, replaced by a quiet confidence. He knew this place. This was his territory.
He stopped before a stall at the very end, separate from the others. It was larger, its iron gate heavier.
Inside stood a horse.
It was not like the others. It was massive, a full hand taller than the largest destrier Orion had ever seen. Its coat was the pure, deep black of a starless midnight, so dark it seemed to swallow the light. Its mane and tail were thick, flowing like spilled ink. It stood perfectly still, its head high, its dark eyes watching them approach with an intelligence that felt almost human.
This was no gentleman’s riding horse. This was a creature of war.
As Abel stepped closer to the gate, the great head turned. The horse’s ears pricked forward. Then, slowly, with a grace that belied its size, it lowered its head and bowed, dipping its muzzle toward the ground in a gesture of profound respect.
It bowed to Abel.
Abel reached through the bars, not with fear, but with a gentle familiarity. He laid his palm flat against the velvet-soft nose. "Hello, Angel," he whispered.
Orion stared. Angel. The name was so incongruous for such a fierce animal it was almost laughable.
A man in a leather apron, the stablemaster, came hurrying over, his face pale. "My lord! Please, step back!"
Abel didn’t move his hand from the horse’s nose. "It’s okay. He knows me."
"That’s not the concern, my lord," the stablemaster said, wringing his hands. He glanced nervously at the horse. "It’s... he’s not yours to handle anymore."
Abel’s hand stilled. He looked at the stablemaster, confusion clouding his eyes. "What do you mean? He’s my Angel."
The stablemaster shifted his weight, uncomfortable. "After your... after the accident, my lord, the Duke decreed you were not in a fit state to manage a beast of this temperament. The horse was reassigned."
"To who?" Orion asked, his voice quiet but clear.
Abel’s face fell. The light in his eyes dimmed. He looked from the stablemaster back to the horse. The horse nudged his hand gently, as if sensing his distress.
"Ashford took him?" Abel asked, his voice small.
"For his safekeeping, my lord," the stablemaster said quickly, though the words sounded rehearsed, hollow. "Lord Ashford is an accomplished rider. It was thought best..."
"Why?" Orion interrupted. He kept his tone level, but a coldness had entered it. "Why would it be best to take Abel’s horse?"
The stablemaster floundered. "Well... the horse is a handful. Requires a firm, experienced hand. Lord Abel, in his current... condition... it was deemed unsafe. For him, and for the animal."
Orion looked at the horse. It stood calmly under Abel’s touch, its powerful muscles relaxed. It showed no sign of being a ’handful.’ It showed reverence.
"He doesn’t look unsafe," Orion said softly.
Before the stablemaster could reply, a familiar, drawling voice cut through the stable air.
"Oh, but he is. Just not in the way you think."
Ashford sauntered into the aisle, dressed in fine riding breeches and a tailored coat. He carried a crop, tapping it lightly against his thigh. His gaze swept over Abel’s hand on the horse’s nose, and a smirk touched his lips.
"Brother," Ashford said. "Trying to relive the glory days? I’d be careful. Angel has grown accustomed to a real master’s touch."
Abel’s hand dropped from the gate. He took a small step back, his shoulders hunching slightly.
Orion felt the cold anger from the dining hall return, but now it was sharper, more focused. It wasn’t a hot humiliation; it was a slow, icy fury.
Ashford leaned against a post, looking at Orion. "And you’ve brought your little shadow. Come to see the mighty warhorse your husband can no longer ride? It’s a fitting metaphor, isn’t it? A magnificent beast, utterly useless in the hands of someone who can’t use it." His eyes flicked pointedly from the horse to Orion, and back again. The insinuation was clear, crude, and deliberate.
The stablemaster looked at the ground, wishing to disappear.
Abel was staring at his brother, a pained understanding dawning in his eyes. He was connecting the dots. The horse. Him. Orion. All ’useless’ in Ashford’s eyes.
Orion watched Ashford’s smug face. He watched Abel’s defeated posture. He felt the silent, watchful presence of the great black horse.
Then, Orion smiled.
It was a sweet smile. Too sweet. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes, which remained a cool, steady grey-green.
"Stablemaster," Orion said, his voice light and pleasant.
The man jumped. "Yes, my lord?"
"Saddle Angel for us, please."
The stablemaster blinked. "My... my lord?"
"You heard him," Ashford scoffed, laughing. "He wants you to saddle the horse. Go on then. Let’s see the madman and his bride try to mount a destrier. This should be entertaining." You are reading on novelping.com, the official source.
Orion ignored him. He kept his gaze on the stunned stablemaster. "Now, please."
There was a quiet command in his tone that brooked no argument. It was the voice of someone used to being obeyed, even if he rarely used it. The stablemaster, after a frantic glance at Ashford—who waved a dismissive hand, still smirking—scurried to fetch a saddle and bridle.
Ashford watched, amused. "Do you even know how to ride, Omega? Or are you just planning to cling to my brother while he pretends to remember how?"
Orion finally turned his smile fully on Ashford. It was radiant. Genuine-looking. It made Ashford’s smirk falter for a second.
"Thank you, Ashford," Orion said, his voice dripping with sincere gratitude.
Ashford frowned. "For what?"
"For taking such good care of Angel all this time. It was so... kind of you." Orion took a step closer to the stall, watching as the stablemaster, with practiced reverence, began to tack up the enormous horse. "We appreciate you keeping him safe and well-exercised. It must have been quite a responsibility."
Ashford’s eyes narrowed, suspicious of the praise but unable to find the barb in it.
Orion continued, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. "But you can rest easy now. We’re here. We can manage my husband’s things from now on." He placed a gentle, possessive hand on Abel’s arm. "Isn’t that right, my love?"
Abel, who had been watching Orion with a mixture of confusion and awe, straightened his shoulders. He looked at Orion’s hand on his arm, then back at his brother. Something shifted in his face. A spark of the old pride, fanned by Orion’s unwavering confidence.
"Yes," Abel said, his voice stronger. "We can manage."
The stablemaster led Angel out of the stall. Fully tacked, the horse seemed even larger, a mountain of gleaming black muscle and polished leather. He stood patiently, but his dark eye held a keen awareness. He nuzzled Abel’s shoulder.
Ashford’s smirk had vanished. He was staring at the scene, his knuckles white around the crop. The joke wasn’t going as planned. They weren’t cowering. They were... taking.
Orion walked up to Angel’s side. He didn’t hesitate. He put a foot in the stirrup, gathered the reins in one hand, and swung himself up into the saddle with a smooth, practiced motion. He settled into the seat as if he’d been born there. He looked down at Abel, then extended a hand.
"Coming?" he asked.
Abel looked up at him, his golden eyes wide. Then a slow, real smile spread across his face. He took Orion’s hand. With a boost from the stablemaster—and a surprising, fluid strength of his own—Abel swung up behind Orion in the saddle. He settled close, his chest against Orion’s back, his arms coming around Orion’s waist to hold on.
From the ground, Ashford watched, his face a mask of stunned fury. The image was undeniable: the ’useless’ Omega, seated confidently on the ’unmanageable’ warhorse, with the ’mad’ heir holding him securely, protectively.
Orion gathered the reins. He looked down at Ashford one last time, his sweet smile still in place.
"Thank you again for your... stewardship," Orion said politely. Then he clicked his tongue, gave Angel the slightest nudge with his heels, and the great horse turned as smoothly as a dancer.
They walked calmly down the long stable aisle, past the rows of stalls, past the gaping grooms, and out into the fading afternoon light of the courtyard. The last thing Ashford saw was the proud arch of Angel’s neck, the set of Orion’s shoulders, and the way Abel’s head was tilted, resting trustingly against his husband’s back as they rode away together, leaving only the sound of receding hoofbeats and the echo of a lesson not in cruelty, but in quiet, unassailable claim.