I shake my head. “No, you mustn’t tell—”
“I won’t.” He looks unusually serious and regal. “But they need to know you are all right.”
I nod in agreement.
He sets me free, waving me back to the crowd. “Go. Entertain.”
I grab his hand before he leaves. “Irving, thank you.”
He winks before he slips into the crowd. With renewed spirits, I dance across the hall. I twirl and shake the tambourine high in the air, but as I turn, I lose my footing and bump into someone. As I look over my shoulder to apologize, I gasp.
The servingman’s tray of cider tilts sideways. I reach for him, trying to help, but the tips of my fingers hit the ledge, sending it careening down and over. Helpless, I watch as the goblets slide from the falling tray and crash over the head of a dark-haired man at the table next to us. He looks up just before the liquid hits.
The cider spills over his hair, down his neck, and soaks his tunic. He gapes at the serving man. When the server motions in my direction, the drenched man turns to me.
I’m pinned to the spot when his furious, piercingly-blue eyes meet mine.
Chapter 3
Iwatch, amazed, as the anger falls from his face, and his gaze drops to his lap. The man must be in shock; he makes no move to clean the cider from himself.
I step forward, reach for a cloth napkin from the table, and dab the liquid from his face. “I’m so sorry—”
He waves his hand. “It was an accident.”
“Still…” I lean down to wipe his dripping chin.
He looks up, and our eyes meet once again. His are truly the deepest blue imaginable. Even dripping with cider, he is striking—more than striking. With dark hair and a knightly build, he may be the most handsome man I have ever seen.
And I just knocked a tray of cider on him.
There is something in his eyes, though. He looks like a whipped puppy. I want to wrap my arms around him and soothe him. I resist this urge, but only barely.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again.
A drip of cider trails from his brow and down his nose. Suddenly, and for no explicable reason, I giggle. Theman gives me a look that is so incredulous, I try to stop. But my embarrassment gets the best of me, and the laughter bubbles out again. I bite my lip, sternly telling myself this isn’t the time to get hysterical.
A crowd hovers around us, and I wish they would leave. No one steps in to help, but they goggle at us, whispering amongst themselves.
Irving pushes through the crowd, sees the two of us, and then bursts out laughing. “Ah, Galinor, I see you have met Lady Anwen.”
There are a few incredulous whispers due to the use of my title, but soon the spectators disperse. I recognize the name from the conversation with the couple in the carriage. This is Galinor—the prince who cheated in the tournament. I narrow my eyes. He doesn’t look like a man who would need to cheat.
“Lady?” Galinor asks, finally finding his voice. He glances at my clothing.
I shrug. “Long story.”
He nods but doesn’t ask me to elaborate.
Irving tosses Galinor another napkin. “Dry your hair. You look like a drowned rat.”
Galinor obliges, running the fabric over his head. I catch myself staring, and I look away.
“Still moping?” Irving asks Galinor.
Galinor groans and reaches for his mead, but he finds his chalice empty.
Irving looks at me. “Galinor’s love was married today.”
