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The morning classes went on as usual, following the same subjects as Monday and Tuesday. However, for their Etiquette and Diplomacy lesson that afternoon, instead of another ballroom session, the class would be held on the equestrian grounds, where they would train for horseback riding.

After witnessing Randall and Aster’s dance the previous day, Flavia and her friends were burning with jealousy. They plotted to humiliate Aster during the riding lesson. What they plotted that day was to ruin Aster’s equestrian uniform. 

They arrived earlier at the changing chambers while most students were still taking their lunch. The dressing chambers of Celentine Academy were every bit as grand as its reputation—lined with polished oak lockers, velvet-upholstered benches, and a neat row of curtained alcoves for privacy. The ladies’ and gentlemen’s changing rooms were situated on opposite wings of the building, ensuring proper decorum befitting the academy’s prestige.

The moment they spotted Aster’s nameplate on a locker tucked in the corner, Flavia’s smirk deepened. She pulled a silver pin from her hair, slipped it into the latch, and twisted until the lock clicked open. Inside was Aster’s neatly folded equestrian uniform.

“Hand me the scissors,” she murmured. 

Isadora giggled and passed her a pair of small embroidery scissors from her satchel, while Renie stood guard by the door.

Flavia snipped through the seams of the jacket and trousers with quick, precise strokes, cutting close enough that the tears would only show when worn. 

“Let’s see how the little commoner handles this,” she whispered, folding the clothes neatly back into place.

They retrieved their own uniforms from their lockers and stepped into the curtained alcoves to change. Just as they finished, the sound of footsteps and chatter signaled the arrival of other students.

Flavia and her friends, already dressed, headed toward the stables. On their way, they crossed paths with Aster and Katharina, who were just arriving at the dressing room. The three girls laughed immediately, making Aster feel uneasy. She brushed it off and paid no mind until they reached the changing area.

Inside, Aster and Katharina walked toward their lockers, chatting casually as they retrieved their equestrian uniforms. They entered the curtained alcoves to change, their conversation light and unbothered.The other ladies finished dressing and left shortly after. But when Aster slipped on her uniform, her fingers froze. Something was wrong—the fabric tugged unevenly against her skin. The sleeves hung in tatters, the jacket split at the seam, and the trousers bore rough, deliberate tears.

Her equestrian uniform had been made by Aunt Sally. Though the fabric wasn’t the finest, Aster knew her aunt’s craftsmanship was always sturdy. Anger welled in her chest—not only because her clothes were ruined, but because the uniform had been made with love. Now she understood the reason behind Flavia and her friends’ malicious laughter.

“Ready, Aster? It’s almost time,” Katharina called from outside the alcove.

“Katharina,” Aster replied, her voice strained as she tried to hold back tears of frustration. “You go ahead. I still need to mend my clothes.”

“What do you mean?”

Aster opened the curtain, and Katharina’s eyes widened when she saw the state of her friend’s outfit. “Those witches! I knew they were up to no good. They have to pay for this!”

“I… I want to get even with them, Katharina,” Aster said, her voice trembling. “But Aunt Sally always told me that if we stoop to the level of those who do wrong to us, we become like them. I’m so angry, but I need to stay logical and control my emotions. Crying won’t help. Mending this is my only solution. At least I still have ten minutes left to fix it, and—”

“Wait,” Katharina interrupted. “I have an extra jacket and sleeves. Good thing I always keep a spare. You’ll only need to mend your trousers, then.”

“Thank you, as always,” Aster said softly. “You have to go now or both of us will be in trouble. Go and get your horse.”

“But…” Katharina hesitated, then brightened. “Alright, but you’d better hurry. I’ll tell Professor Theo what happened so he’ll understand. And they still need to be punished for this.”

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Neither of them knew that Flavia and her friends had already finished executing their next plan.

Noble students owned their own horses, stabled at the academy since the day they enrolled. While Aster and Katharina were still changing, one by one, the students went to fetch their mounts—sleek, proud creatures clearly accustomed to their riders.

Flavia and her friends lingered until the others had gone, their eyes sharp with intent.

Only a single stable boy remained inside—a new recruit, still unsure of his duties. Sir Glen, the stablemaster, was not in the stables; he was at the training grounds under Professor Theo, supervising the setup for the day’s lesson. He oversaw the placement of jumps, inspected the fencing, and directed the stablehands who were grooming and saddling the nobles’ horses.

Isadora fetched her horse and led it outside, deliberately drawing the boy with her. She kept him occupied with light, innocent questions about saddles and bridles.

The boy, flustered and eager to be helpful, followed along, never noticing what Flavia and Renie were doing behind him.

“Look at that black horse,” Renie whispered to Flavia. Their gazes dipped knowingly toward its hindquarters. “That’s a young stallion, isn’t it? Barely grown…you might think it was a gelding.

“Perfect,” Flavia breathed, eyes glittering with malice. “No wonder it isn’t tagged… it’s still untrained. If our first plan didn’t work, then this might be better. Let’s see how long our little commoner lasts on it.”

Without hesitation, Flavia and Renie slipped the identification tag off a calm black gelding and fastened it to the stallion’s lead rope instead. Their scheme complete, they collected their own horses and left, unnoticed by the new stable boy—or anyone else.

It was just then that Katharina arrived to get her own horse and in a hurry to find and talk to the professor to even notice anything.

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When Aster finished mending her trousers, she quickly changed and hurried to the stables.

By the time she arrived, most of the horses had already been taken out. Only the two black horses remained in the row; the rest—those owned by the academy—were still being groomed in the other wing. The new stable boy straightened at her approach.

“Excuse me,” Aster said softly, still trying to catch her breath. “I’m the only student without an assigned horse. I… I don’t own one, so may I borrow one of the academy’s mounts for the class?”

The boy blinked, then nodded. He recalled the stablemaster’s earlier instructions: the tagged horses were the ones prepared for student use. Trusting the system, he brought forward the black stallion—unaware of the switch—and handed the reins to her.

“I… I’m not yet very accustomed to horses, you see,” Aster admitted shyly.

The boy offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, miss. I’ll lead it for you.”

Taking the reins, he led the stallion toward the equestrian grounds, where the class was already assembled. From a distance, it looked like Katharina was speaking to Professor Theo. All eyes turned when Aster and the stable boy arrived.

“Aster!” Katharina exclaimed in relief, rushing to her side. She grasped Aster’s hand and pulled her gently toward the group. 

“I’m glad you made it just in time. I haven’t had the chance to explain everything to the professor yet—he was calling for attendance, and I didn’t want to interrupt. But I managed to inform him that your uniform was ruined and needed mending.”

“That’s okay, Katharina. I appreciate your con—”

“Miss Aster Winslow.” Professor Theo’s voice cut through, calling for attendance.

“Present. I’m sorry for being late, Professor,” Aster replied, startled.

Flavia turned around, her voice slicing through the quiet. “My, even patchwork takes time, doesn’t it? I do hope your stitches hold during the ride.”

Aster’s jaw tightened. She shot Flavia a sharp glance, recalling the ruined uniform Aunt Sally had made with such care and love.

Professor Theo cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all here, we can begin.”

The stable boy tied the horse to a nearby tree just as Professor Theo began his introduction.

“Riding,” he started, his voice carrying across the grounds, “is not merely a pastime of nobility. It is a discipline that reflects one’s bearing, posture, and grace. A noble must remain composed in the saddle—whether in the hunt, in procession, or before envoys. Even a single misstep brings disgrace not only upon yourself, but upon the house you represent.” 

“Today, each of you will demonstrate your ability to mount, ride, and maintain form. You will do so one at a time, under observation,” Professor Theo continued. “For those with sufficient skill, optional jumps will be included. Performance will be evaluated not only by completion but by posture, control, and grace. The more refined your composure in motion, the higher your marks.”

His sharp gaze swept over the students. “I trust you all possess a foundation. Most of you, as nobles, were taught from childhood.”

A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the class.

Professor Theo’s eyes lingered on Aster. “Ah… but Miss Winslow.”

Aster stiffened. “I—I did learn the basics last year, Professor. I was able to mount and keep my balance during my first year here.” Her voice softened. “Though… not very gracefully.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the students at her honesty.

Randall’s gaze flicked toward her, a faint spark glimmering in his icy eyes—but subtle, guarded, with Wren’s watchful presence nearby.

Professor Theo gave a curt nod. “Very well. Let us see how much you’ve all improved.”

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One by one, the students mounted and circled the arena under Professor Theo’s sharp eye. Then came Aster’s turn.

The stableboy led forward the black stallion. Its coat gleamed like polished onyx—deceptively calm, though its ears flicked restlessly. He thought nothing of it, assuming it was one of the academy’s trained mounts.

Remembering Aster’s earlier admission that she wasn’t accustomed to horses, the boy guided the stallion to the mounting block and held it steady by the bridle. “Whenever you’re ready, miss,” he said reassuringly.

Aster stepped forward nervously, tugging at the cuffs of her handmade trousers. She smoothed her braid back and offered a timid smile.

“Thank you,” she murmured. To her, the horse seemed no different from the others.

She climbed the steps, placed her foot in the stirrup, and with a slightly awkward swing of her leg, settled into the saddle. Her seat was stiff, but she managed without mishap—much to her quiet relief.

On the sidelines, Flavia and her friends watched with thinly veiled anticipation.

The stablemaster, arms full of harnesses, turned just in time to catch sight of the stallion. His face paled. “That horse—!”

Randall followed his gaze, alarm flashing across his usually stoic features. But before the stablemaster could act, Aster was already mounted.

A sharp flick of Flavia’s wrist sent a pebble skittering against the stallion’s flank.

The horse bolted. The stableboy was thrown to the ground, scrambling back in shock. Gasps erupted. Students screamed, some frozen in place.

“Aster—!” Katharina’s cry pierced the chaos.

Then, driven by fury, Katharina whirled around and slapped Flavia hard across the face. “You’ve gone too far!”

The sharp sound cracked through the arena, silencing even the screams. Flavia staggered back, clutching her cheek, eyes wide with disbelief.

Randall vaulted the fence in a single, fluid motion. Before anyone could react, the black stallion crashed through the outer gate and thundered toward the bordering woods.

Professor Theo barked for the students to stay put, but his voice was nearly lost in the uproar.

Randall’s sharp whistle cut through the chaos. His white stallion galloped to his side, and in one smooth motion, he mounted—silver hair catching the wind—as he spurred it forward toward the fleeing horse.

Wren reacted instantly, mounting his own horse and following close behind. He knew exactly what Randall intended and wasn’t about to let him face it alone.

The stablemaster also sprinted after them, guilt etched on his face.

Aster clung desperately to the reins, her hands trembling, body jolting with every violent buck. Her vision blurred, her grip slipping. She knew she couldn’t hold on much longer.

The wild stallion was too fast for her to control, its power overwhelming her frail strength. Randall urged his horse faster, determination burning in his eyes as the distance between them began to close.

Just then, Aster’s necklace flared beneath her blouse—its glow pulsing faintly. For some miracle, the stallion’s frenzy eased, as though soothed by an unseen force.

It slowed just enough for Randall to catch up—but Aster had already lost consciousness and was beginning to fall. Randall’s eyes narrowed. Without hesitation, he unleashed his magic, a silent force that slowed her descent and kept her from hitting the ground.

In the same instant, he caught her in his arms.

Wren, catching up, saw the shimmer of Randall’s spell. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head in frustration, but didn’t call him out. Instead, he wheeled his horse around before anyone could see, signaling the stablemaster that all was well.

Aster, unconscious from the fall, rested in Randall’s arms as he guided his horse back with practiced ease. Surprisingly, the once-wild stallion followed behind, now calm, as if tamed by unseen hands.

The sight was breathtaking: Randall astride his white stallion, silver hair gleaming beneath the sun, Aster unconscious yet safe in his arms. Her half-conscious mind registered warmth, strength, and the faint, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear.

Randall remained stoic, composed, yet unable to shake the thought that he had almost lost her.

From afar, the scene looked as though it had been torn straight from a storybook. Some students whispered dreamily, while Katharina nearly wept with relief.

Once again, Flavia, Isadora, and Renie seethed silently.

And behind the murmurs, Ranley scoffed under his breath, “Tch. Always trying to play the hero.”

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