The Duchess's Daughters

Introduction

   "Peter?"

   "Mm?"

   "Wanna race?"

   "Ella, you know you can't beat me, let alone sidesaddle!" Peter smirks. I raise my chin high and give a fake 'Hmph."

Peter and I go way back, I can't remember a time when we weren't friends and getting ourselves into some kind of trouble. We are riding out in the apple tree field on two of the Palace stable's mounts. Him, on a powerful black stallion called Black Jack and I, on a slender dappled gray gelding by the name of Camelot.

I shake back my ginger ringlets of hair and swiftly swing my leg to the other side of Camelot, drop down the stirrups, and put my feet in. No more sidesaddle. As I do this, my heavy, layered blue and silver dress comes up to my calves. Peter sees this and opens his mouth to speak, but I start first.

   "Oh, Ella! You musn't show your ankles, all young women are taught this- you need to show some decency and this certainly isn't dignified!" I preach, a perfect imitation of my maid, Cecilia. Peter and I both giggle.

   "I wore a normal saddle for a reason, Pete. C'mon, let's go!" I plead.

   "Oh, all right," he smiles. "But don't think I'm giving you a head start because you're a lady."

   "You're the one who's going to need the head start." I joke as we position our steeds in the middle of one of the hundreds of perfect rows in this apple tree field.

   "Ready?" he says. I nod, look forward and at this point wish my corset was laced looser.

   "Set," I say, and we both stand up slightly in our stirrups.

The horses sense a run and tense themselves, ears pricked, hide quivering.

   "Go!" Peter yells, and we spur the horses to a gallop over the soft grass. We're neck and neck, and I urge Camelot faster, who in turn, extends his stride. We inch into first place, and I can hear Black Jack's fast breathing increase as the horses race each other, determined to be in front of the other.

My dress and hair whip around me wildly, and Camelot kicks up some dirt, which soils my shoes. They're not my best anyway.

I realize we've drifted to the right, closer to the row of apple trees lining our racetrack. Before I can act, a small branch snaps me on the cheek. It stings, my eyes water, and I assume it's bleeding, but push that thought aside. Peter and Black Jack have suddenly put on a burst of speed and as they pass, I swear there's a competitive glint in Black Jack's eye, as if he's looking right at Camelot and laughing inside.

Camelot drifts to the left now, towards Black Jack, until we're close enough that I could touch Peter. The horses have their own race, completely unaware of us on their backs. They breath faster and faster, their necks snapping forward and back with each stride. My bonnet unties from under my chin and flies behind me. I'll fetch it later and anyways, I'm glad to be rid of the thing. If only that would happen to my bloody corset.

Now, I bet you wouldn't have guessed that, well...

I'm the Duchess's daughter.