They stood that way, both gazes searching, both panting for breath. Isobelle was leaning against her, one of her hands curled around the top edge of Gwen’s armor, keeping hold of her. Gwen bit her lip, feeling blood rush to the spot; she saw Isobelle’s gaze flick down, dwell on her mouth, flick back up again.
There was a question in those blue, blue eyes—or, perhaps, the answer to a question.
Isobelle’s grip on her armor tightened, pulling Gwen down, or levering herself up, and she tilted her face to Gwen’s.
Isobelle’s lips were soft and tentative, but Gwen found herself paralyzed. She was so used to holding back around Isobelle that her dizzy mind could barely understand what was happening, how to let go again. She was holding her breath, afraid to move, to wake up from this dream—then Isobelle’s lips moved on hers, caressing, parting slightly.
Gwen gasped for breath with an audible half-swallowed sound and leaned into the kiss, her own mouth parting, falling into Isobellelike some poor, foolish creature walking into a faerie spell. Isobelle raised her other hand and cupped Gwen’s cheek, her fingers warm and possessive on her skin.
Gwen stepped into her, or tried to, realizing with a jolt that she was still wearing her armor, a cold metal barrier between them. Isobelle, reading her mind, had begun to scrabble helplessly at the straps, her breathing coming in quick, sharp pants.
“This one,” Gwen gasped, reaching for the buckle at her side, realizing she still had her gauntlets on, and then trying to remove them without any space between her and Isobelle.
By the time she had the cursed things off, Isobelle had gotten the buckle at her side free and was trying to pull the armor off over Gwen’s head. Gwen, with a gasp of laughter and frustration, slid one arm through the chest piece—Isobelle, realizing she was tugging in the wrong direction, let go so Gwen could manage it and burst into breathless laughter.
“This,” Isobelle giggled, panting, “goes a lot more smoothly in the ballads.”
Gwen, gritting her teeth against the pain shooting through her shoulder, shrugged the chest piece off and let it fall to the ground beside them. “That’s because the ballads draw a nice, socially acceptable veil across this portion of the story.”
Isobelle was already back up against her, and Gwen slid her good arm around her waist—but then she paused, biting her lip, looking down at the flushed features, the reddened lips. She felt her own heart pounding in her chest as hard as it had when she faced down her opponent in the joust.
“Isobelle...” Gwen managed, but there she stopped, words failing her. There were so many things she wanted to say, and they allrushed her at once, leaving her breathlessly trying to separate one thought from another.
Isobelle’s eyes had gone to her mouth when Gwen bit her lip, but now they slid back up again, meeting her gaze. “Don’t change your mind now,” she whispered, eyes flicking back and forth as she searched Gwen’s. “I... I’m sorry it took me so long to make up my own.”
Gwen curled her fingers against Isobelle’s lower back, noticing with wonder the way Isobelle responded to that touch, leaning harder against her. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she managed, grateful to have one thread to follow through the knotted tangle of things she wanted to tell the girl in front of her. “I’ve always known who I liked, who I wanted, and... it’s still scary for me.”
The truth of that admission tightened her throat, making it impossible for her to say more.
Isobelle brushed her thumb along Gwen’s cheekbone, her gaze understanding, for she knew about Gwen’s past, had seen it at the village bonfire. Gwen lifted her other hand, now free of its metal gauntlet, and slid her fingers into Isobelle’s hair. Isobelle drew in a quaking breath, her eyes darkening. Gwen could feel the tension building in Isobelle’s body, a tiny shiver up her spine that ended in a soft, muffled sound of longing.
They broke their stillness together, at the same time, meeting for a kiss that held no uncertainty this time, only a silent agreement to set their fears aside for as long as they could make this moment last.
Chapter Thirty-One
Did that really just happen?
None of Isobelle’s practice had ever prepared her for how truly glorious proper kissing was.
A thrill zinged straight down her spine, and the whole world receded as she focused on Gwen. Outside were distant bangs and clatters and shouts, but the inside of this tent was their fortress, and nobody would dare breach its walls.
Her whole world was the soft touch of Gwen’s lips, and the noise Gwen made when Isobelle curved a hand around the nape of her neck, finding the place where smooth skin met her silky hair. She ran her hand along Gwen’s collarbone, fingertips curling around her shoulder—until Gwen gave a muffled yelp of pain, making Isobelle drop her hands and break away with a gasp.
She was opening her mouth to apologize—of course Gwen would be sore after getting knocked off her horse—when Gwen’s arms went round her and pulled her back in, mumbling something about this being worth it. Isobelle abandoned her concerns... though she avoided Gwen’s poor shoulder as best she could.
Everything that Isobelle cared for, she threw her whole self into. It was what made her unstoppable—the ability to choose something and run toward it at full tilt. And now, her hesitation gone, she was running as fast as she knew how towardthis. This moment, this girl, this kiss.
When they finally drew apart long enough to breathe, Isobelle gave herself over to a foolish grin, her arms looped around the other girl’s neck. “You did it,” she whispered, needing to hear the words aloud to truly believe them. “He was out cold.” She shouldn’t delight in any sort of violence, she knew that. But truly, Sir Ralph had started it.
“I know,” Gwen whispered, her own disbelief and joy spilling over, her eyes wide. “I don’t even—but Idid. Did that really just happen?”
“It really happened,” Isobelle confirmed. “And now this is really happening.” She laid a hand over Gwen’s heart, marveling at the way it beat against her ribs. Watched Gwen match her giddy smile.
And then, because she could, and because she very much wanted to, she kissed her again.
It was at that moment that the tent flap whipped aside.
“Bro,” Orson called cheerfully. “Just checking you’re not stuck in your...” He slowed to a halt, staring open-mouthed at the two girls. “...armor,” he finished weakly, letting the tent flap fall closed behind him.
