Common

Heart fluttering wildly against the walls of her chest, the golden-red tobiano watches the transformation in her two companions’ expressions. Cain’s dark gaze is perplexed; uncertain— as if the black-and-white stallion cannot fathom why anyone might wish to see the worst of another living creature. But after exchanging a glance with his rival, resolve hardens the gentle kindness that is all Chelle has seen until now. It’s a subtle shift— she can still read hesitation and an apology in his expression— but enough to make the young mare’s breath catch in her throat. For a moment, the piebald’s resemblance to her grandsire becomes more pronounced. And this is why she has pled for the very thing that most women would prefer to avoid, why she has challenged both men to lay their souls bare.

By inviting them to act on their darkest whims, the freckled girl will know what sort of life she faces… and whether it is worse than what she’s left behind.

Cain’s words are quick to break the oppressive fear of her memories— emphasizing how little pleasure he takes in releasing his inhibitions. In that moment, the cold fury of the dictator’s face fades from her vision, and the warmth and kindness of this stranger returns. Exhaling the air her lungs had been holding in a shaky sigh, Chelle feels the sweet impulse to laugh even as the stallion’s blunt teeth pinch shut on the skin of her shoulder. If Cain’s worst actions are to force himself to force her, then she has nothing to fear from the Gypsy-blooded male. Though his physical resemblance to the black-coated tyrant is still overwhelming, the Desert’s ruler is different from Judas where it truly counts.

You know where to find here if you want her. Meanwhile, I’ll be showing her my home...Shall we? If she were free to, the amber mare would have raced away gladly at Cain’s side, the thunder of her heartbeat lightening to a thrumming quiver of excitement. Her lips parting, spilling out the carefree laughter of the child that she still is, if only in spirit. But before she can move, Chelle feels Solomon curl himself against her other side, pressing so close that she is trapped between the walls of the two stallions’ bodies.

Until now, the two monarchs have concealed their struggle for supremacy beneath an air of civility. But now— breathless and frightened, the same girl who had faced exile those seasons ago— Chelle witnesses that cordial front fall away. It hadn’t even occurred to her that her words might invite them to fall upon one another. That their worst might not be the consequences that she is prepared to take upon herself. Yet as everything begins to unravel, the slender, spotted creature is powerless to stop it. Because from the first brush of Solomon’s mouth, she cannot bring herself to object to his closeness, to reject his advances. From that moment, she belongs to the champagne stallion as she has never belonged to anyone else; not even the one to whom she’d once been promised.

Chelle is not able to follow the entirety of their verbal spar, but fragments of it reach her through the twin veils of her dread and desire. If she says no to you… A shiver trails down her spine as the warmth of Solomon’s breath trails up to her mane. ...going to force her… She arches into the press of his lips at the base of her mane, watching the flash of his smile from some far distant place. In the dark pool of her mind, thoughts and emotions swirl so quickly that she cannot hope to follow their tangled strands. ...lock her in...spill your heart…abuse her… Her freckled face furrows in concentration, the pointed tips of her ears turning outward with uncertainty. Maybe you want to see what kinds of foals she makes, whether she wants to give them to you or not. And suddenly the amber tobiano is trembling, though she cannot say whether it is fear or anger or hunger that has taken hold of her.

There’s really only two paths forward, Solomon is saying as he turns to face down the more muscular stallion. Either she tells you she wants to come with me, and you let her. Or we can fight it out before you even leave the Common. Ash drifts down to smother the flow of heat through Chelle’s veins, and her head shakes numbly from side to side. She has dreamed of being wanted for more than what her bloodlines might offer, but now the young mare can see that there is a darkness to desire— a darkness that she herself had invited. I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you, and I generally don’t rest until I get the things that I want.

Despite the guilt that burns white-hot in her chest, the white-and-gold mare cannot deny Solomon. But neither can she turn away from Cain, who has offered her nothing but kindness even at his worst. And though she doesn’t want this, perhaps it is best that the choice be removed from her own hands. She's only made a wretched mess of things. “I— I only wanted to know that I would be safe and happy. That I would be wanted,” Chelle whispers, her voice twisted with agony. “Please, I— I can’t. Decide as you will, and I will go. But please… if you must fight, don’t hurt each other.” Perhaps she should be more hardened to the prospect of violence; after all, Judas’s response to any obstacle has always been battle.

But it is far different to know that blood might be shed for her sake— and Chelle, squeezing her green eyes shut, cannot bear to watch it.