Before she could hit the dirt, a massive hand caught her by the back of her training leathers, hoisting her upright with the ease of a man picking up a stray kitten.
"The idea, Princess, is to stay on the beast," Dante rumbled from behind her. He didn't let go until he was sure she was centered. "Gravity is a harsh teacher in the North. Don't let it win the first round."
"Thank you, Prince Dante," Elissa gasped, her face flaming.
"Try again," Alistair stated from the sidelines. He hadn't moved to help; he simply stood with his arms crossed, his luminous blue eyes tracking her every wobble with the cold precision of a mathematician. "Try to exist in the same zip code as the saddle."
They made it another ten yards. The mare, perhaps bored by the slow pace, gave a sudden, playful toss of her head. Elissa, startled by the movement, leaned back too far. Her feet slipped from the stirrups, and she began a slow, graceful descent toward the horse's rear.
"Not again," Kestrel giggled from her own mount.
This time, it was Vane who blurred into motion. He caught her mid-air as she slid off the mare's flank, spinning her around before setting her back on her feet. "I must say, Princess, you have a very unique way of dismounting. Very theatrical. Most people wait for the horse to stop."
"I am... struggling with the physics!" Elissa snapped, brushing snow off her knees for the second time in five minutes.
"The physics are fine," Alistair noted, stepping closer. His face remained a mask of marble, his straight-faced sarcasm cutting through the cold. "It is the pilot that is the issue. At this rate, we will reach the Frozen Falls sometime in the next century."
They tried a third time. Elissa managed to stay seated for a full minute, even as the horses began the slow trek out of the courtyard and toward the forest path. But as the terrain shifted from flat stone to uneven permafrost, the mare stumbled on a hidden root. Elissa lurched forward, her chin nearly hitting the horse's neck, and then she began the inevitable slide to the right.
"I'm going—!"
Alistair was there instantly, his hand snapping out to brace her shoulder, preventing the fall but not the humiliation. He stared at her, his face inches from hers.
"I have seen fledglings with more coordination," he said, his voice a low, level hum.
"I told you I couldn't ride!" Elissa hissed, her eyes bright with frustration and cold. "If you want me to get to the falls, perhaps you should just drag me behind you in a net!"
Kestrel cleared her throat loudly, sharing a knowing look with Vane. "Alistair, this is ridiculous. Her legs are like jelly from training. At this rate, she's going to have more bruises than skin by the time we see the ice. It's her first day, and these horses are too big for her to manage alone on the Ridge. She's going to break a bone."
"I agree," Vane chimed in, hideously helpful. "Safety first. She needs to ride with someone. Since Dante's horse is a pack-beast and my mare is too flighty for two..." He trailed off, leaving the suggestion hanging in the air like a heavy frost.
Alistair's jaw tightened. He looked at the Shadow-Grey, his massive stallion, and then back at Elissa.
"It is an inefficient use of resources," Alistair stated, his voice a low, level hum.
"It's either that or we fetch the litter and sixteen very annoyed guards," Kestrel countered with a shrug.
Alistair remained silent for a beat, the wind whipping his black cloak. Finally, he gave a sharp, resigned nod. He didn't mount first. Instead, he stepped toward his stallion and reached down, offering his hand to Elissa.
"Come," he commanded. "And if you fall off this horse, Princess, I am leaving you in the snow for the foxes."
"You wouldn't," Elissa said, though she reached for his hand.
"Try me," Alistair replied, his luminous blue eyes flashing with a spark of dark humor as he hoisted her up into the saddle.
He didn't let go of her until he was sure she was settled, and then, with a fluid, terrifyingly graceful motion, he swung himself up behind her.
The change in atmosphere was instantaneous. The saddle, once spacious, now felt incredibly small. Elissa was forced forward, her back pressed against the cold, solid silk of Alistair's doublet. His arms came around her to take the reins, effectively framing her in a cage of iron and cedar-scented shadow.
"Hold the pommel," Alistair murmured near her ear, his breath a silver mist. "And try to stay still. My horse has even less patience for 'Southern nerves' than I do."
"Keep your weight forward," he told her naturally, his voice low so only she could hear over the horse's breathing. "Northern saddles are deep to protect against the wind. Grip with your knees, not your hands. The reins are for guidance, but the horse follows the shift of your balance."
"I'll try," Elissa whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs—not from the height, but from the sudden, overwhelming proximity.
"Don't try," Alistair replied, his voice a low vibration against her spine as he nudged the stallion forward. "Simply be. I have you."
As they moved off, Kestrel and Vane shared a silent, triumphant look behind them.