Ragnar.
The name on the placard hit Ryley like a punch to the gut.
He swallowed hard, his expression unreadable—though something shifted behind his eyes.
"This horse… whose horse is it?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Oliver opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a familiar voice cut in, smooth and smug.
"That's my son's horse."
Ryley's eyes shut tight—not in surprise, but restraint. His jaw tensed.
Of course it was Mervyn.
And the only thing stopping him from reacting was knowing exactly who he was dealing with.
This wasn't worth giving Mervyn the satisfaction.
He turned slowly, gaze hardening as he watched Mervyn approach with that insufferable pride, Alfie walking beside him like a shadow.
Oliver stepped aside and bowed, showing the respect due to Mervyn's position.
But Alfie didn't even glance at Ryley. No bow, no nod. Nothing.
A quiet show of allegiance.
And disrespect.
