I didn’t stand.

  I failed to stand.

  That was how it began.

  At the trainer’s signal, I gathered what little coordination I had and tried to push my body up.

  My left front leg obeyed. My hind legs followed, trembling but responsive.

  Then my right front leg lagged behind.

  The moment my weight shifted forward, my body tilted, unstable and wrong.

  Instinct kicked in before panic could.

  My knees bent awkwardly, catching my fall before it became one.

  I ended up half-standing.

  Half-kneeling.

  My chest rose and fell hard as I held that position for only a few seconds before gravity won, forcing me back down onto the straw.

  So heavy.

  That was my first clear thought.

  A horse’s body wasn’t just big—

  it was dense.

  Every movement carried weight I wasn’t prepared for, a mass that demanded intention, not impulse.

  Still—

  I had gotten up.

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  Even if it was only like that.

  I heard a sharp intake of breath.

  Not from the trainer.

  From behind him.

  The prince was watching.

  I didn’t need to turn my head to know.

  I could feel it, attention pressing against my back, steady and unwavering.

  He hadn’t stepped closer.

  Also, he hadn’t spoken.

  He was simply there.

  And somehow, that mattered more than any command.

  I didn’t want to disappoint him.

  Not because he was a prince.

  But because this body—

  had never disappointed its master.

  Not even when its life had been on the line.

  And because, once upon a time, I had been a jockey.

  An athlete.

  Someone who didn’t stop just because the body said no.

  Nearby, the old doctor hovered anxiously, muttering warnings under his breath.

  His voice carried concern, layered thick with professional fear.

  Too soon.

  Too risky.

  The leg—

  I ignored it.

  I inhaled slowly and tried again.

  This time, I didn’t rush.

  I focused on balance instead of height.

  Left leg. Hind legs. Core... no, back.

  The long stretch of muscle along my spine tightened instinctively as I adjusted, correcting myself the way I used to mid-race.

  My knees held.

  Three seconds.

  Four.

  Then five.

  My legs shook violently, but they didn’t collapse.

  A quiet sound reached me.

  A breathless laugh.

  The prince.

  It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

  Just… genuine.

  The doctor’s voice rose in panic, but even he couldn’t hide the awe beneath it.

  “A war horse… missing a leg… standing on her own…”

  I didn’t hear the rest.

  I was too busy counting my breaths.

  Again.

  And again.

  Each attempt ended the same way, my body sinking back down, muscles screaming, vision blurring.

  But each time, the duration stretched a little longer.

  Seconds became moments.

  Moments became proof.

  By the time the trainer raised his hand to stop me, my body was drenched in sweat and my lungs burned with effort.

  “That’s enough for today,” he said.

  Reluctantly, I lowered myself to the ground.

  The prince finally stepped closer.

  He didn’t touch me.

  He just looked down, eyes shining with something quiet and fierce.

  “You did well,” he said.

  My ears twitched on their own.

  A soft, confused snort slipped out of me.

  "…Idiot. Control yourself."

  But as exhaustion pulled me under, one undeniable truth settled deep into my chest—

  Standing wasn’t the goal anymore.

  This body could rise.

  And now that I knew that—

  I wouldn’t be able to stop trying again.