Deception fluttered between the lines of the large, thick stallion’s words. The golden bay was wary of him, and even more by Kore’s defensiveness of the excuse he readily gave. Even if it was true, ill-intent rippled beneath the surface of his statement and despite all of the dark bay Arabian’s sweetness and innocence, she was a horrible chess player. Perhaps if she had not been so ready to defend the stranger, he might have accepted the situation as it were, but she was obviously hiding something from the ‘Teke.

He twisted his head back toward her, his amber eyes glittering in the moonlight as he studied her face. Maslakhat can see how she cringed at his presence like a battered dog might cower at a raised hand, even if it were meant for affection. Someone had likely broken her when she was young, and he wanted nothing more than her to mend her wounds. He knew there was a sharp mind underneath the anxiousness she wore like a thin shawl, and the Akhal-Teke almost pitied her—but did not, he wanted her to bloom and thrive like a desert rose under the full moon that sparkled above them like a beacon.

Her pain radiated even brighter, and even her tossed head could not hide the tears that teased at the corners of her eyes. He frowned at such a sight, her sadness unbecoming of a such a proud creature that he knew she was inside.

“Go, Kore,” he said evenly, allowing her to depart without further imposition. Now was not the time to appear weak, and his words are meant to relive her of the weight she felt in her chest. She was not strong enough for reprimand, and he would not embarrass her.

He turned to the black stallion, once he was certain that Kore had heeded his request. Maslakhat’s eyes fixed upon him, his gaze steady and stance firm in the face of the other.

“Tread lightly,” he warned.


MASLAKHAT

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