Olivia had identified a nobleman who was overseas for theseason, leaving his section of the stables—and his stableman—idle. Gwen took an instant liking to the stableman, who without hesitation reached into his pocket for a slightly withered apple and offered it to Achilles. Jeffers had little attention to spare for Olivia or Gwen, his attention immediately and wholeheartedly captured by the stallion.
Gwen left them, Jeffers murmuring a steady, unintelligible stream of sweet nothings to the massive bay horse, Achilles rolling his eyes and looking like the coyest of ladies batting her eyelashes and fanning herself.
Ruefully, Gwen couldn’t help but think she was the only one of the lot of them feeling rather sick as she walked away from the stables again, leaving behind the one friend she had in this massive, imposing place.
“My lady asked me to bring you to her quarters after finding a place for your horse,” said Olivia as she led Gwen up a winding set of stone steps. She’d brought Gwen in through a side entrance for servants, far less grand than the main doors at the front. “Then we’ll decide what to do about clothes.” Her head turned slightly, flashing her a sidelong glance. “And the rest of it.”
Gwen felt the tension lacing her shoulders tighten the tiniest bit more. “Believe me, I’m no more enthused about this than you are. Is— Lady Isobelle is the one who thinks it’ll be no problem passing me off as a noblewoman.”
They reached the top of the staircase, which opened out into a long corridor. The space was narrow, but the floor was adorned by long, fine carpets, and the torches lighting the way guttered and smoked far less than the ones downstairs.
Olivia paused for another look at Gwen. Grudgingly, shemurmured, “I guess you’ve got good hair, at least. You’re not planning on chopping it off for this ridiculous charade as Sir Gawain, are you?”
Gwen closed her fingers protectively around the braid hanging over her shoulder. “Of course not,” she replied hastily. She was all too aware that her long, thick black hair was one of her only feminine beauties. “It fits under my helmet.”
Olivia nodded, still watching Gwen with a measured gaze. “As far as my lady is concerned, she doesn’t always think through her schemes. With any luck, she’ll lose interest in this one quickly and we can all go back to our normal lives.”
A portion of the air in Gwen’s lungs whooshed out, like she’d been slammed with another of those blows from Sir Evonwald’s lance. Instinct planted her feet, balled her fists, went coursing through her system, telling her it was time to fight.
Except Olivia wasn’t wrong. It probablywouldbe better if they could all go back to their lives.
But then there was Isobelle herself. Even after Gwen had snuck back into her bedroom last night, she lay awake, unable to shake the torrent of thoughts and images invading her mind every time she closed her eyes. Isobelle had a face designed for openness and vulnerability, with delight and frivolity shining from every pore. Gwen had no doubt that the vast majority of people in Isobelle’s life dismissed her as a vapid, fashion-obsessed idiot—as Gwen herself had nearly done at the market, until the whirlwind that was Isobelle had swept down on top of her.
Isobelle was no idiot. She’d seen through Gwen’s masquerade in a heartbeat when no one else even questioned Sir Gawain’s existence. She’d come up with this entire plan, which was brilliant.Mad, but brilliant. Gwen couldn’t help but think that open, honest, charming face of Isobelle’s that seemed to show her every thought and whim might be a far better mask than any of Gwen’s scowls had ever been.
Her mind could not stop replaying one specific moment from that night, when Isobelle’s mask had slipped. A flicker of something deeper, gripping, consuming, had shown through when Gwen realized what Isobelle was proposing.
A white knight, Gwen had breathed.
Isobelle’s eyes had met hers.Like something out of a ballad.
Gwen blinked, swallowed, and lifted her head to meet Olivia’s gaze. “I don’t think this is one of those schemes,” she said slowly. “I don’t think she’ll lose interest.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “I know my lady a little better than you do, Gwen of Ellsdale.”
“But you don’t know me.” That tension in her shoulders that had been gathering since she left the village that morning snapped free.
“I suppose it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to play at being something more than you are,” said Olivia coolly. Suddenly, her animosity made sense.
“She asked me to help her,” Gwen replied simply. “I intend to do so.”
Olivia held her gaze, letting the silence draw out, her own eyes clearly scrutinizing the shabby, plain girl in front of her. Then, after an agony of waiting, the corner of her mouth lifted and a spark in her eyes hinted at the thawing of that icy attitude.
“That’s good,” she murmured. “You’re going to need to hold on to that. Your reason.”
She tipped her head, beckoning, and together they continued down the corridor. Gwen had only enough time to process that Olivia, too, excelled at the donning of masks, before they came to a halt in front of one of the doors.
“Last chance to say no.” The lady’s maid laid one hand on the latch and turned to look at Gwen, her eyebrows raised. “I can handle her, if you want to change your mind.”
Gwen shook her head, smiling a little to match that faint thawing of Olivia’s expression. “I think I was always going to end up here, after she decided to track me down.”
Olivia’s eyes gleamed again. “She does have that effect on people. My advice, if your mind is made up, is just... ride the whirlwind. Don’t try to fight it, you’ll only hurt yourself.”
Gwen huffed a faint laugh, amused but unsurprised that Olivia had chosen the very same word Gwen had thought of when facing the sheer force of will that was Isobelle. Then Olivia was lifting the latch and pulling the door open.
Outside, the hall was a dreary dark gray, lit at intervals by the dull orange of torchlight, barely warmed by the worn maroon of the carpeting. Inside...
Inside was a riot of colors and textures and light. Fabrics everywhere, tapestries on the walls, mirrors, sunlight, ornaments on tables—an absolute explosion of luxury, stunning Gwen where she stood. Pinks and turquoises and golds, more color than she’d ever seen in one place. It was like Olivia had opened the door to an entirely different world. For a moment, she could scarcely breathe.
