In Favour |Clara Walseworth|

Kings will be forgotten ~ Chapter 10

Germany, 1818.

Clara stood at the edge of the courtyard, her gaze sweeping over the expansive grounds of the estate. The morning sun was warm, casting a soft glow over the sprawling lawns, and there was a gentle breeze in the air that made the leaves rustle in the trees. It was a peaceful day, the kind that begged for freedom, and Clara couldn't help but feel the urge to be outside, away from the heavy expectations of court life.

She turned her attention to the stables, where her new horse was housed—her wedding gift from Frederick and Ana. It was a fine creature, sleek and strong, with a glossy white coat and a kind, intelligent eye. She hadn't had the chance to ride it yet, having been caught up in the whirlwind of royal duties and the endless demands of court. But today, something inside her longed for the open air, the rhythm of hooves against the earth, the freedom that riding always gave her back home.

Without another thought, she made her way to the stables, her heels clicking softly against the cobblestones. She was met by the stable hand, who smiled when he saw her approaching.

"Good morning, Your Highness," he greeted her, bowing his head respectfully."Good morning, Sir" Clara replied with a smile, her voice carrying a warmth she didn't always feel in the formal settings of the palace. "I'd like to take the horse for a ride, if I may." The stable hand nodded. "Of course, Your Highness. I'll saddle her up for you."

Clara watched as he prepared the mare, her heart lifting at the familiar sight of the saddle and reins being placed on the horse's back. It was such a simple thing, but it brought back memories of her childhood, of the days spent riding freely across the fields of her home.

When the horse was ready, Clara mounted with practiced ease, feeling the familiar weight of the saddle beneath her and the comfort of the reins in her hands. She urged the horse forward, trotting down the path and out of the courtyard. The wind picked up as they moved, her hair whipping behind her, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Clara felt the tension in her chest begin to loosen.

She rode through the sprawling gardens, Beatrice hooves soft against the earth, and then out toward the open fields. The air was fresh, the land sprawling endlessly before her, and Clara could feel the weight of the world lifting with each stride. This was what she needed—this sense of freedom, of movement, of a moment where she was just Clara, not a royal figure bound by duty and expectation.

As she rode, Clara's thoughts drifted. She thought about her marriage, about the expectations that had been placed upon her, about the pressure to produce an heir. She thought about the conversation with William the night before, his carefree nature, his inability to fully understand the weight of the world she carried. But in that moment, none of that mattered. She was alone, with just her, Beatrice and the open air. For a few fleeting moments, she was free.

Beatrice moved effortlessly across the land, and Clara couldn't help but let out a small laugh, her heart lighter than it had been in days. She urged the mare into a canter, the wind rushing past her, the world blurring at the edges. It was just her and the horse, nothing else. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, savoring the feeling of freedom.

As she slowed the horse to a trot and finally brought it to a stop, Clara looked around at the landscape before her. The sun was high, the fields stretching out in every direction, and she felt something inside her stir—a sense of peace, of belonging, even if just for a moment. With a deep breath, she whispered to Beatrice, her voice soft. "Thank you." She knew that this small, fleeting moment of solitude, of escape, wouldn't last. But it was enough.

She had ridden horses from a young age back home, and the familiarity of the sensation—the feel of the reins in her hands, the wind against her face—was comforting. Clara guided Beatrice along a winding path through the woods, the trees rustling gently in the breeze. Her thoughts wandered, and she allowed herself a rare moment of solitude. The world felt smaller out here, quieter. There were no expectations, no duties—only the soft thud of Beatrice's hooves on the earth.