The clatter of hooves against stone announced our arrival at the stables. The sound mingled with the whisper of the night wind, carrying the harsh perfume of fresh hay, tanned leather saddles, and earth dampened by dew. Aromas that normally comforted me, that spoke of home and routine, but that night they only intensified my dizziness. My legs were still trembling, unable to distinguish whether it was from the liquor Stephan had slipped into my glass or from what had just happened on that same horse. The warmth of his body remained imprinted on my skin, a burning memory pressed against my back.
He lowered me from the mount with the same ease with which he had lifted me up, as if I were hardly any weight in his arms. My boots touched the ground, but firmness failed me; the world spun a bit faster than I could handle, and I almost fell to my knees on the hay. A clumsy little laugh escaped my throat when I had to cling to his arm to avoid collapsing on the ground.
