Elian's heart hammered. He stood rigid beside the massive animal, fists clenched at his sides.
So, the black horse that kept him company in the times he slept in the stable belonged to Lucien—of course.
The thought of being pressed against Lucien for the entire ride—trapped in that closeness, surrounded by his scent, his heat, his unrelenting control—made his stomach twist with a confusing mix of dread and something far more treacherous.
Lucien moved first, mounting the stallion with effortless grace, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he settled into the saddle. From above, he extended one gloved hand down to Elian, palm up, expression unreadable but his green eyes burning with quiet intensity.
"Take my hand."
