I can feel the chill of the morning seeping through the high stable windows as I lean against the wooden stall. The scent of hay and leather surrounds me – familiar and soothing. It was here, among the shadows and the smell of horses, that I first felt truly alive. That I first felt like myself.
He stands just a few steps away, barefoot on the straw-covered floor, his hands darkened from work. His smile – shy but sincere – ignited something in me I could no longer ignore. It was wrong, I knew that. I was a Duke, married to a man of stature, a union of not just love but political significance. But what were titles and duties when my soul cried out for something else?
I look at him. Micah. The stable boy. My secret. Our child. My hand instinctively moves to my stomach, where a new life grows, born from a single night when the world outside no longer existed.
“Micah,” I whisper, and he looks up at me with those eyes that understand far more of me than I have ever dared explain to anyone.
“Yes, Your Grace?” His voice is soft, but there is no distance between us. Not really.
“I… I am forbidden to ride anymore.” My voice falters. “My doctor says it is too dangerous now, because of the child.”
He steps closer. I feel the warmth of his presence, but it is a warmth I know I will soon lose. “Then I’ll come to you,” he says, and I want to believe him, truly. But we both know that isn’t possible. A stable boy cannot simply walk into a Duke’s chambers without raising suspicion. And I, with my growing belly, cannot come here much longer, not to the stables, where every glance, every whisper could expose our truth.
I look at him, trying to memorize every detail of his face – the line of his jaw, the way his lips move when he speaks. “Micah… what do we do?” I ask finally, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He reaches for my hand, a gesture both bold and perilous. “We’ll find a way,” he says, and for a moment, I almost believe him. But the world around us is not so forgiving.
I know our days of seeing each other are numbered. But in this moment, between the shadows of the stables and the smell of hay, I cling to his hope – fragile as it may be.
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