Do You Always Do That?

Do What?

 Among the dozens of brown and black coats, he was hard to miss, his light fur an enchanting white. A beauty, it's shape seemed carved from marble purer than that which lined the floors of the Grand Palace. There was an elegance to him, lithe body making it look as though he might yet take flight, rather than run the course.

"That one," Vasily said on a breath, not daring to look away. He let himself into the open stable, where the horses were meant to rest before the race. It was larger than any stable he'd seen before. High-ceilings made of light-colored wood, the same which was used to separate each of the twenty horses from each other. Every mare or stallion was kept in its own quarters, given thrice as much hay as necessary, and at least one lad was to watch the animal, and tend to their needs.

Vasily took this all in as his long strides brought him to the one horse he wished to see. Its blue eyes bore into his, and he wondered, not for the first time, if horses had the ability to see someone's soul.

"-Mr. Lantsov!" A voice called, and Vasily felt himself stiffen. He didn't turn as the short, fat man left in charge of this place stomped his booted feet to meet him. The man was panting, his round face red.

"What do you want, Artur?" He said boredly, letting the palm of his hand meet the horse's snout. It leaned into the touch, closing its eyes.

Mine. Vasily decided.

"I'll take him. Prepare him for the race, and let me see the lad caring for him," he said, starting to turn away.

"I- Mr.Lantsov- I'm afraid I can't do that-" the man stuttered.

Vasily stilled. He turned slowly around, the way he'd his father respond to dignitaries who spoke out of line.

It had the desired affect, the man's face paling considerably.

"What?" Vasily asked quietly. The man's eyes were trained on the floor, and his voice was very small when he spoke again.

"You can't take it, sir. Owned by the Rider."

Vasily lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug "then I'll buy the horse and the man riding it," he said simply, and began to walk away again.

"I-im afraid that won't do either, the Rider comes with a company of their own" Artur explained.

Vasily heard this, and took it all in for a moment. The man had referred to him as 'Mr. Lantsov' repeatedly, and was likely from Ravka as well, judging by his name and features. Yet, he did not feel compelled to fulfill the wishes of the Crown Prince.

He frowned. This was new.

"Fetch me this Rider, I'll have a word with him myself." He said, fishing his riding gloves from his pocket and pulling them onto his hands.

"Well, actually-"

"Now, Artur." Vasily said impatiently. It didn't take long before he'd scurried off to find the bastard. The nerve of these people.

Vasily shook his head, flexing his fingers inside the leather of his gloves.

He turned back to the horse in question, his mind going to the first time he'd ever ridden a horse himself.

It was in the stables outside the Little Palace. He had never ventured into the place, thinking little of it but a place where dirty creatures and the horses they cared for lay to sleep.

But his brother was curious. Nikolai had snuck out after one of their lessons, and headed straight for the stables, where, Vasily suspected, he would meet up with his friend.

The villager.

More than glad to catch his brother in the act of something the King would surely disapprove of, he followed.