A hush fell across the Great Hall as Gabrielle rose to her feet, walked around the royal table to the edge of the dais, and beckoned Bastien to approach with a gesture of her slender hand.
Silence stretched across the room. All eyes fixed upon Bastien as he stood and strode briskly to stand before the royal dais.
Bristling with fury and indignant humiliation, Sir Tréguier was forced to step aside and cede his place before the Princess of Finstère.
“Sir Bastien de Landuc, present your sword.” Gabrielle’s melodic voice floated across the hushed chamber, clear as a clarion bell.
Bastien unsheathed his sword, laid it flat across his outstretched palms, and offered it to Gabrielle. His head bowed in humility, he lowered himself to kneel upon one knee.
Gabrielle unfastened the emerald silk ribbon from her long, cascading red tresses. Leaning carefully over the edge of the elevated dais, she gently placed the satiny sash upon the proffered blade. “I grant you my favor,Sir Bastien de Landuc.Wear my colors in tomorrow’s Yuletide Joust. I wish you good luck,Monsieur le Marquis de Cornouaille.”
With chivalrous panache, Bastien tied Gabrielle’s ribbon to the hilt of his sword and sheathed it at his hip. “I am honored to wear your colors, my princess. May your royal favor grant me victory in tomorrow’s Yuletide Joust.”
Commotion carried through the Great Hall as Bastien returned to the table where Lancelot, Gaultier, Cardin, and Esclados clasped his shoulders with congratulatory cheers.
Heavy brows furrowed in a sullen scowl, Sir Tréguier lumbered across the room to the table where Ugolin le Clou and his knights glowered at Bastien in disgust and outrage. When the Black Knight seated himself among his fellow soldiers, Ugolin huddled with his champion and several soldiers fromla Tour de Kerloch, as if conspiring against the fortunate contender who had won Princess Gabrielle’s royal favor.
Upon the elevated wooden dais where Gabrielle sat with Béatrice and other visiting nobles, King Guillemin rose to his feet to address the assembled crowd. With a respectful nod to Prince Kaherdin and Princess Gargeolaine, the king announced, “Honored royal guests, distinguished nobles, and challengers competing in the upcoming tournament, I hope you have enjoyed today’s opening ceremony ofles commençailles, the splendid performances of theatrical and musical entertainment, and tonight’s festive feast.” Raising his chalice in tribute to propose a toast, his deep voice carried across the Great Hall with restored vim and vigor. “Let us drink to tomorrow’s Yuletide Joust. May each knight compete with chivalrous honor and prowess. And may the champion be worthy of my beautiful daughter’s hand in marriage. And the kingdom of Finistère.”
Goblets raised amid shouts of “Hear, hear” —royal guests, dignitaries, and knights alike all drank to the success of the Yuletide Joust.
Standing beside his throne upon the royal dais, King Guillemin bowed to dismiss the crowd and conclude the Yuletide Feast. “And now,messieurs dames,as we part company, I bid you a fond farewell. To the challengers in the Yuletide Joust, the best of luck to all. Until tomorrow. Goodnight, everyone.”
Attendants ushered royal sovereigns to private chambers within the castle and other noble guests and competing knights excited the Great Hall to return to their respective pavilions. Bastien—as Gabrielle’s personal royal guard—escorted her up the stone spiral stairs, down the candlelit corridor, to the golden oak door where she dismissed two dutiful knights.
And led Bastien in.
Locking the door behind them, she spun toward him, threw her arms around his neck, and pulled his impassioned face down to hers. She sucked his lips into her own and fervently kissed his bristled chin as he wrapped his arms behind her back and drew her body firmly against his. Gazing up into his fierce, feral eyes, she whispered breathlessly, “You’ve already won my heart, Bastien. But tomorrow, you must win my hand.”
He nuzzled her neck and raised a savage, haggard face. Desperation and desire blazed in his intense, anguished gaze.
She gently pushed the tousled dark hair away from his stubbled cheeks.
“Wearing your colors…bearing your favor…how could I not prevail?” His ravenous lips sought hers, his possessive tongue probing and claiming every soft, succumbing recess. Nimble fingers unlaced her bodice and slid the velvet down her shoulders. Panting, his breath ragged, his skilled mouth suckled a tingling nipple, sending warm pulsations and a throbbing ache deep inside her very core.
He quickly shed his armor, his sheathed sword clattering to the floor. Enveloping her with corded, muscled arms, he laid her upon the rose-scented bed. Worshipped every inch of her quivering body with his wicked, wonderful tongue. And filled her empty ache with the liquid essence of his soul.
****
Gaultier, the First Knight ofle Château de Beaufort, stationed four royal guards outside King Guillemin’s private chambers and headed down the dimly lit corridor to inspect the rest of the castle. As he strode toward the stone stairwell leading to the lower level, he was joined by his father, Sir Esclados le Ros, Lancelot, and Gaspard. The three men had just escorted Viviane, Laudine, and Ghislaine to their guest quarters and were now returning to the tents on the tournament field to rejoin their knights, horses, and the three young squires—Quentin, Gaston, and Max.
“I pray that Bastien prevails tomorrow,” Gaultier said cautiously to his father as they strode down the hall. “But Ugolin’s Black Knight is undefeated. He’s half a head taller… at least forty pounds heavier.” He met Lancelot’s grim stare. “Tréguier wants to win at any cost. And after tonight—when Gabrielle refused to grant him her favor and bestowed her colors instead on Bastien in front of the entire court…he’ll want revenge for that public humiliation.” Gaultier abruptly stopped walking and locked eyes with his distraught father. “I’m afraid Tréguier will kill him. Not just for Ugolin. But for his wounded pride.”
Lancelot gripped Gaultier’s shoulder, his deep voice echoing against the cold stone walls. “Bastien is the finest horseman I’ve ever trained. Incomparable in the saddle. Unerring with the lance. He’ll win the joust.” Warrior eyes blazing with conviction fixed him with a steadfast gaze. “He loves Gabrielle. He cannot bear losing her to another. Have faith in your brother. Bastien will triumph in the Yuletide Joust.”
Gaultier nodded, exhaling heavily. “You’re right. I must have faith.”
Esclados wrapped a chain mail clad arm around his oldest son’s neck, his white teeth gleaming against his coppery skin. “He’ll win the joust. Save Gabrielle. And the entire kingdom of Finistère.”
Despite his gnawing apprehension, Gaultier grinned, and the four knights continued their trek down the long, dark hall.
As they turned the corner, Gaultier spotted a trio of unfamiliar knights lurking in the shadows. He grasped his father’s arm, halting their approach. In a barely audible voice, he announced warily: “Three soldiers up ahead. Just outside the door.”
With the keen eye of a warrior, Lancelot scrutinized and assessed the soldiers. “They’re waiting to ambush Bastien. He must be inside, with Gabrielle.” A swift whisper of metal sang softly as Lancelot unsheathed his sword.
Following his lead, Gaultier, Esclados, and Gaspard bared their blades and prepared to engage. Gaultier’s deep baritone bellowed down the hall. “Sortez!Get out!Now!”
The three nefarious knights disappeared into the dark.
