Chapter Text
The Equestrian Festival was in full swing—streamers fluttering from every stall, music echoing from the main ring, and horses prancing with polished hooves and braided manes. And yet, here you were, slapping up Alex’s half-assed posters for a druid info table that you also had to set up.
So much for showing off your riding skills at a festival. Instead, you were doing Soul Rider grunt work. Again.
You guided your dressage horse up the path that wrapped around Jarlaheim’s outer wall, poster tube bumping against your back. Dismounting with a sigh, you pulled out one of the last wrinkled flyers and slapped it up with a crooked piece of tape. Not your best work, but Alex hadn’t said how to put them up—just that they needed to be up. Done was done.
Wiping your hands on your dark riding pants, you turned to glance out at the rolling farmland. And then—movement. A shadow on horseback. Fast. Galloping straight down the dirt road, like they owned it.
You squinted.
Sabine.
Your lips twitched, just slightly. Of course she’d show up now. Chaos had arrived.
Swinging back into the saddle, you urged your horse into a quick canter toward the stables. As you approached, you reined in fast, leapt down, and nearly gasped the words:
“You—I—Sabine—I saw her—she’s coming.”
Linda gave you a sideways look. “Breathe.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Of course she’s here. Why can’t she just not for once?”
You finally caught your breath, shrugging. “Maybe she just wants to compete?”
“No shot,” Linda said, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. “There’s definitely an ulterior motive.”
You muttered, half to yourself, “Didn’t think Jay had an ulterior motive when she flirted with you that one time at Fort Maria…”
“That’s—not the point,” Linda snapped, face going a bit red. “Sabine knows who we are. She barely knows you. Go see what she’s planning.”
You hesitated. “Okay…” you said, not hiding the doubt in your voice, but mounting up anyway, and riding towards the dark rider..
“Well, well,” Sabine drawled, circling you lazily. “They’re really letting anyone into the festival these days.”
“I could say the same,” you shot back, forcing your voice into something casual. “Didn’t realize pest control was one of the events.”
Sabine grinned, slow and razor-sharp. “Cute. Did you come up with that all by yourself, or did Linda hold your hand through it?”
You didn’t rise to the bait. “You here to actually compete, or just stalk the Soul Riders and make ominous threats?”
“Why not both?”
She swung her leg over her saddle and dismounted in one smooth motion. Her boots hit the ground like punctuation, and suddenly she was standing closer than you liked—close enough to see the shine of sweat on her cheekbone, the glint of challenge in her eyes.
“You look a little rattled,” she said, voice low. “Am I making you nervous?”
You scoffed. “Please. I’ve seen scarier things in the stables at night. You ever seen Alex try to braid a tail?”
Sabine laughed—a soft, surprised sound that made your heart betray you by thumping once, stupidly, in your chest.
“Oh, I missed you,” she said with a wicked smile. “You always did have the most bark and the least bite.”
You leaned forward in your saddle, chin raised. “Try me.”
That smile widened, something dangerous flickering beneath it. “Alright, then. Let’s see if you’ve got any actual skill under all that attitude.”
You raised an eyebrow. “What, you want to race?”
She tilted her head. “Please. I’d win before you even figured out which way to steer. No—I have something better in mind.”
She turned on her heel and whistled sharply. A nearby stablehand, clearly under her thumb, led over a second horse—sleek and built like it was born to run.
Sabine looked at you. “Three tests. You pass them, I’ll tell you what I’m really doing here.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you go back to playing errand girl and putting up posters. Deal?”
You hesitated—but only for a second. “Fine. What’s the first one?”
Sabine climbed back into her saddle with infuriating grace. “Show jumping. There’s a course already set up just outside the festival grounds. Let’s see if your horse can actually fly—or just trip over his own feet.”
The jump course was quiet, tucked away from the chaos of the festival. The sun cast long shadows over the poles and obstacles, and you rolled your shoulders, trying not to let her get to you.
Sabine gestured grandly. “Ladies first.”
You narrowed your eyes but urged your horse forward, heart pounding with focus as you lined up for the first jump. The moment your horse lifted off the ground, instinct took over.
You cleared the first, then the second, pushing your horse faster as you gained rhythm. Wind in your hair. Eyes sharp. You hit every jump clean.
When you finally pulled up at the end, breathing hard, Sabine was waiting with an unreadable expression.
“Not terrible,” she said.
“Coming from you, that’s practically a standing ovation.”
She trotted past you for her turn, and it was annoying—infuriating, really—how good she was. Smooth. Fast. She made the jumps look like they barely existed.
But when she circled back, she smirked. “Don’t get jealous.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m just shocked you didn’t light the jumps on fire. You know, to match the whole evil aesthetic.”
Sabine leaned close in her saddle, voice low and dripping with amusement. “You keep calling me evil like it’s supposed to bother me.”
“I call it like I see it.”
“Oh, I’m counting on that.” Her eyes raked over you, sharp and appraising. “You see plenty, don’t you?”
Your mouth opened—then closed. You hated the flush rising to your face. You hated the way she smirked when she saw it.
“What’s the second test?” you snapped, needing the conversation to move before you shoved her off her horse.
Sabine looked absolutely delighted at your discomfort. “Patience, sweetheart. We’ve only just begun.”
“The next test,” she called over her shoulder, “is precision. Slalom the poles—clean, fast, and without touching a single one.”
You followed, pulling your horse’s reins tighter than necessary. “You’re just making these up as we go.”
Sabine smirked. “Welcome to my version of the Equestrian Festival. Isn’t it fun?”
You bit down the retort bubbling in your throat and rode up to the start of the course. The poles were spaced close together—barely room for mistakes. You exhaled and tapped your heels, your horse leaping into motion.
At first, it was smooth. You leaned and shifted, guiding your horse through the slalom with tight turns and clean lines. But halfway through, something changed.
One of the festival flags nearby snapped violently in the wind. The sound cracked like a whip, sharp and sudden.
Your horse reared.
You grabbed at the reins—but too late.
Time slowed as your balance slipped.
You felt the moment you lost control—the helpless, weightless second before impact. The world tilted sideways. Your leg caught the saddle horn wrong, and your shoulder slammed into the packed dirt with a sickening crunch. Pain exploded through your arm and side, and the breath whooshed out of your lungs.
You heard someone shouting—your name, maybe—but it was all muffled. Distant. Like being underwater.
Then footsteps. Fast. Angry.
“Idiot horse,” Sabine muttered, suddenly kneeling beside you, voice sharp but... shaken. “Stay still. Don’t move.”
You tried to sit up, groaning, but she pressed a hand to your good shoulder. “I said don’t move. You’re going to make it worse.”
Her touch was firm—but not rough. Her voice held that same scathing tone, but beneath it… was something else. Concern?
You blinked at her through the ache in your ribs and the ringing in your ears. Somehow, a small smirk was still on your face, “Sabine,” you rasped, “are you worried about me?”
She rolled her eyes like it physically hurt her. “Please. I just don’t want you dying on me before the last test. That would be so inconvenient.”
You tried to smirk, but the pain twisted it into a grimace. “Aw. You do care.”
Sabine didn’t answer. Instead, she looked away, jaw clenched, then whistled sharply. Khaan stepped forward obediently, and before you could argue, she slid an arm beneath your back and lifted you like you weighed nothing.
You gasped. “Sabine—what the hell are you—”
“You can’t ride,” she snapped, not looking at you. “Your shoulder’s probably dislocated, and you’re bleeding. Don’t be stupid.”
You weren’t sure if it was the pain or her holding you so close, but suddenly everything felt blurry. Your face pressed against the lapel of her dark riding jacket. She smelled like leather and musk. A dark smoky scent.
“You could’ve just… left me there,” you muttered.
“I should have,” she said through her teeth.
But she didn’t.
She mounted with you in her arms—awkward, tense, but careful—and held the reins one-handed, the other wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you from falling. The motion of the horse jarred your shoulder, and you winced, biting back a sound.
Sabine noticed.
“Don’t be a hero,” she muttered. “Just lean on me.”
You did. Because there was nothing else to do. And because for one strange, disorienting moment, it felt like safety.
Even if it came wrapped in sharp sarcasm and hate-flirting and an aura of barely restrained chaos.
You let your eyes close, just for a second, and whispered, “This better not be how I die.”
Sabine’s voice was quieter now. Almost soft.
“Not today. Or else I’d have no one to challenge.”
Your eyes fluttered open at that—just enough to catch her profile, sharp and unreadable against the darkening sky. She didn’t look at you. Didn’t need to.
But something in your chest twisted at her words.
Not today.
Not because she cared. No, of course not. Because she needed a rival. A worthy opponent. That was all.
Still… her arms didn’t loosen, and her horse’s gait had slowed, careful, like she didn’t want to jar you too much.
You rested your head against her anyway, letting your breathing match the rhythm of the ride.
Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was adrenaline. But for the first time, you weren’t sure if you hated Sabine as much as you wanted to.
And that was far more dangerous than a dislocated shoulder.
Sabine didn’t take you back to the festival grounds.
Instead, she steered her horse down a narrow alley behind the walls of Jarlaheim, weaving through shadowy side streets until you reached a small, weather-worn apartment tucked between an old bakery and an abandoned tailor’s shop. She dismounted with fluid ease, then slid off with you still in her arms, carrying you like some injured knight returning from battle.
You groaned as she unlocked the door with a hidden key and kicked it open. “So… this is your secret lair?”
“It’s a sublet,” she muttered, stepping inside. “The lair’s in a different region. Don’t get cocky.”
You blinked at the inside. It was small, definitely, but not what you expected—warm lighting, mismatched furniture, a half-made bed shoved in the corner with black sheets and red pillows. The walls were bare except for a single shelf with books—mostly old equestrian manuals, one or two dark tomes you didn’t dare squint at.
Sabine kicked the door shut behind her and dropped you gently onto the bed.
“You really should’ve dodged that flag,” she said, peeling off her riding gloves with practiced irritation. “Or do you just like being reckless?”
“I like getting under your skin,” you said through a hiss of pain. “Which I clearly did.”
She shot you a look and tossed her gloves aside. “I wouldn’t flatter yourself. You’re just irritating enough to keep alive.”
She rifled through a cabinet, pulling out a black med kit and a bottle of something strong-smelling. She tossed the bottle onto the bed beside you.
“Drink. It’s not poison. Unfortunately.”
You smirked as you uncorked it and took a sip. Burned like fire going down. “Wow. And here I thought you'd offer me a nice cup of tea and a backrub.”
“If you want tea,” Sabine said, rolling up her sleeves, “you can limp your way to the bakery and make enemies with someone more domestic.”
She knelt beside the bed, pulling your jacket off gently—but not too gently. Her fingers brushed your shoulder, and you flinched.
“Still hurts?” she asked, quieter now.
You nodded.
She set you gently on a worn couch with a faded red throw draped across the back, then disappeared for a second. You sat there, dizzy and aching, watching the shadow of her move through a narrow hallway.
When she returned, she had a small first-aid kit in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
You squinted. “Didn’t peg you as the ‘keep bandages in the house’ type.”
Sabine dropped the kit on the table and raised an eyebrow. “I get into fights. Not all of them end neatly.”
She knelt in front of you, tugging your jacket aside with practiced fingers. Her touch was cool and impersonal at first—clinical. Until it wasn’t.
Your eyes met briefly, something sharp and unspoken hanging there.
“You’re not exactly gentle,” you muttered, wincing as she checked your arm.
“You’re not exactly durable,” she countered. But the smirk softened a little. “Hold still. This might hurt.”
“I bet you like saying that,” you muttered under your breath.
Her lips twitched. “Only when I mean it.”
You hissed as she popped your shoulder back into place—clean, quick, and brutal. The pain made stars dance behind your eyelids, and when it cleared, Sabine was sitting back on her heels, arms crossed, watching you like she was gauging whether you’d pass out or start throwing punches.
You didn’t do either. You just met her gaze, breathing hard.
“Well,” you said finally. “That was fun.”
Sabine rolled her eyes. “You’re a menace.”
“And you carried me into your weird little villain apartment, patched me up, and didn’t stab me. So which one of us is more confusing, really?”
That earned you a sharp laugh, and Sabine stood, pacing a few steps away like she needed to create distance. She leaned against the window, arms crossed again, her profile outlined by the late sun like something painted in rust and gold.
“You talk too much,” she said.
Sabine was already dabbing at the scrapes on your arm with antiseptic. “You’re lucky I was there. You could’ve broken your neck.”
You laughed, hoarse. “And miss the pleasure of being nursed back to health by you? Perish the thought.”
She paused, just for a second, then met your eyes. “You joke a lot. Even when you’re bleeding.”
“Call it a coping mechanism. Or maybe it’s just that seeing you fuss over me is hilarious.”
“I’m not fussing.” But the way she was gently taping gauze to your skin said otherwise.
“I’m starting to think you like me, Sabine.”
She snorted. “I like you the way a wolf likes the moon. From a distance. And mostly when it's quiet.”
Your lips curved into something dangerously close to a smile. “Oh? So I am your moon.”
“I swear,” she said, voice sharp, “if you say one more poetic thing, I’ll throw you out the window.”
You leaned forward, your face a breath from hers. “You’d miss me.”
Her eyes locked on yours—dangerous, unblinking. The air shifted. Charged. Like a summer storm gathering between you.
“I’d miss beating you,” she said, her voice low. But her gaze flicked to your lips for just a second. Just long enough.
You didn’t move. Neither did she.
Then she stood abruptly, tossing the med kit back onto the shelf.
“You’ll live,” she muttered. “Rest here. One more test tomorrow. Don’t break anything else in the meantime.”
You leaned back against her bed, lips curled lazily. “You’re not kicking me out?”
“It’s my own personal hell, but… no. You’ll stay. Can’t have my rival dying in the street.”
You closed your eyes, letting your body sink into her sheets, still warm from the ride.
“I knew you liked me.”
“Shut up and sleep.”
The silence between you stretched. The only sound was the faint ticking of a wall clock and the distant wind brushing past the shutters. Sabine had retreated to the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on something outside. Probably scanning for Soul Riders—or maybe just avoiding looking at you again.
You shifted under the covers she’d begrudgingly thrown over you. The shoulder throbbed less now, but the ache was still there—dull, persistent. Like your pride.
You watched her for a moment longer, then said, “They’ll be looking for me, you know.”
Sabine didn’t turn. “Let them.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem too concerned about hiding the Soul Riders’ newest little helper in your totally-not-evil hideout.”
“Jarlaheim’s big. They won’t find you.” She glanced back over her shoulder, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Not unless you start screaming my name out the window.”
You smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
That got her. Sabine rolled her eyes and stalked away from the window, tugging the curtains shut with more force than necessary. “Gods, you’re unbearable.”
“And yet… you didn’t dump me on the street.”
She stopped by the edge of the bed, leaning down slightly, arms resting on her thighs as she looked you over. “That’s because I need you.”
You blinked. “Need me?”
“For the final test.” Her voice was smooth, unreadable. “What else?”
“Right. Of course,” you said, smiling faintly. “Totally not because you enjoy my company or anything.”
She didn’t answer.
You studied her face—sharp and unreadable, but her eyes lingered on yours just a second too long.
“I’m serious,” you said, softer now. “Alex and Linda are probably combing the festival grounds by now. Frida might be with them. They’ll think I got jumped.”
Sabine’s jaw flexed. “Then maybe next time you shouldn’t wander off alone.”
“Maybe next time you shouldn’t show up like a drama queen on horseback and challenge me to a triathlon.”
A slow smile crept across her face. “You love it.”
You did. Saints help you—you really, really did.
You sighed, letting your head fall back onto the pillow, voice quieter now. “They’ll want me back.”
Her gaze darkened, something unreadable flitting across her face. “You’ll go back. When I’m finished with you.”
“That supposed to sound hot, or threatening?”
Sabine leaned closer, her breath brushing your cheek. “You tell me.”
The room buzzed with tension, hot and close. Your heart thudded somewhere between pain and thrill.
“You're playing a dangerous game,” you murmured.
She tilted her head, dangerously close now. “Then stop playing.”
But neither of you moved away.
You didn’t answer her.
Couldn’t, really. Not when she was that close, not when her voice dropped like that—low and velvet-edged and too close to your skin.
Sabine didn’t move either. Just watched you with that unreadable expression, something cold and careful flickering behind her eyes. A war she wasn’t ready to name yet. Maybe you weren’t either.
And then, just like that, she pulled back.
The warmth vanished. She stood straight again, face cool and composed, already retreating behind that wall she wore like armor.
“Get some sleep,” she said flatly. “You’ll need it.”
She turned away, boots silent on the wood floor as she crossed the room and disappeared behind a curtain that probably led to a spare space—or maybe she’d just sleep in a chair. You wouldn’t put it past her.
Left alone, you stared at the ceiling. The pain in your shoulder was dull now, fading behind the heavier weight in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion or something worse.
“They’ll be looking for me,” you whispered again to no one.
But Sabine hadn’t locked the door. She hadn’t told you to leave. And even though she hadn’t said it outright, her actions said it loud enough:
Stay.
So you did.