Prince Henry the HorseBoy
          Henry enjoys the all-consuming focus required to play polo, even enjoys the competitiveness. He prefers to do some of the grooming and handling when he can, finding it fulfilling and meditative (although a bevy of stablehands and a restrictively full schedule often take that option away from him). But at the core of things, he really just likes the Horses.
          Polo ponies, in particular, are a unique type of horse. They're not a singular breed, but instead are chosen based on a few core traits: natural agility and a quick mind, an inherent ambition to outperform their peers, the willingness to assert themselves on the field, and -- above all -- an absolutely fearless "no fucks given" attitude.
          Polo ponies do not care about status, or money, or propriety. The rider on their back could be a king or a convenience store worker, it's all the same to them as long as said rider isn't a complete bellend that makes the pony's job harder. They have no patience for idiots or passive "passengers," they cannot be bullied or cowed like other breeds, and they absolutely will let a person know the instant something displeases them.
          It's refreshing for Henry, who has had a lifetime of deferential treatment and people at a loss for how to speak to him like he's a actual human being. From very early on, the Prince was treated as something fascinating and other, a spectacle to be gawked at or admired or resented, but only from afar. By comparison, his relationship with horses is... uncomplicated, in a way. Infused with nonverbal cues and instinct-driven behaviors that Henry doesn't need to second guess, that feel more genuine than most of the interactions he has with... anyone. On a horse, he feels like he can breathe and move freely, that there is no need for posturing or pretending (indeed, it's rather unwelcome), and that being entirely himself isn't something considered shameful or lacking.
          Do your fucking job up there, Henry can hear his horse say, hoofbeats matching the thundering of his heart as they tear down the length of the polo field. --And I'll do mine. And we'll get along fine.
