Gwen was muttering curses, still clutching her shift against herself, holding her body so gingerly that she managed to vibrate with fury without moving a muscle.
But Isobelle was hearing those words again and again.
They’ll kill anyone who tries to upset the order of things.
Gwen could die if she came off Achilles the wrong way. Gwen could be impaled by a lance, or break her neck, or get knocked out, never to wake again.
But if she survived all that, and they found out who she was—whatshe was...
They’ll kill anyone who tries to upset the order of things.
Isobelle’s own chest felt tight, as if it were her ribs that were compressed, as she met Olivia’s eyes. The knowledge was there waiting for her—this was what her maid had wanted her to understand.
Just as Gwen had truly become a knight, Isobelle was realizing that she’d led this girl she cared for into terrible danger.
And in four days, she would face it all over again.
Chapter Thirty-Four
A girl who knows exactly who she is
Gwen opened her door a crack, then eased it a crack wider. Her eyes fell on Isobelle’s door, across the large sitting room at the center of her suite. She’d not seen much of the other girl for the last four days, and to Gwen’s dismay, that lack ached worse than her healing bruises.
“Stop fidgeting,” Olivia commanded, tightening the strips of cloth she was binding around Gwen’s shoulder. “Unless you want your arm to fall off for real this time.”
Gwen abandoned her efforts to catch a glimpse of Isobelle and obediently held still. She ought to let Olivia’s warning guide her thoughts back to the present, and the next joust. But every time she tried—today’s opponent was named Sir Makarios, a heavyset man from the Mediterranean coast—she just thought of Isobelle’s face, stricken with horror as she saw the extent of Gwen’s injuries.
Gwen could walk from her door to Isobelle’s in a few long strides. And yet she’d seen so little of her. How was that possible, unless Isobelle was avoiding her? She gritted her teeth as Olivia wound another strip around her shoulder, and resolutely turned her eyes away from the door.
That wasn’t entirely fair. She’dseenIsobelle, sat with her, laughed with her, chatted amiably... but only with the other girls around. Gwen had come to enjoy Hilde’s cheeriness and Jane’s slyjokes, and even to understand why the others appreciated Sylvie’s needle-sharp wit. But now... now she would quite happily have dropped them off the balcony to get a moment alone with Isobelle. Instead, Gwen had to sit there demurely sipping her tea—actualtea, this time—while Isobelle and her friends gossiped and giggled about the charming, handsome, alluring mystery that was Sir Gawain.
And as much as Gwen thrilled at the sidelong looks and occasional sly winks from Isobelle when she’d wax eloquent about Gawain’s charms, a part of her chafed at the secrecy. Her friends were all so delighted to see Isobelle crushing on someone—evidently it was a rare enough thing, limited to traveling poets and famous knights.
Just never, apparently, a girl. Maybe Isobelle had simply been carried away by the romance of the tournament, of being rescued by a literal knight in shining armor. Maybe she was rethinking what she’d chosen, the leap she’d made. Maybe...
The only time she stopped thinking about Isobelle every ten seconds was during her training sessions with Dupont. They’d been focusing on stretching and protecting her shoulder, while learning to dodge. And then there was an awkward afternoon with Sir Orson, where he swung wildly between the easy camaraderie he would’ve offered another knight, and the confused distant courtesy he would’ve offered a lady. And an interminable feast at Lord Whimsitt’s table, offering Gwen one of her first good looks at Isobelle’s guardian, after which she was forced to agree with Isobelle’s eyerolls regarding him. And more training, and more tea, and dodging questions as Céline about her brother, and... and... and...
“Ow, easy!” Gwen flinched away as Olivia yanked the strap tight.
Olivia flashed her a look of satisfaction. “That’s what you get when you daydream,” she said sharply. “Keep your focus here, Sir Gawain.”
When Olivia had finished strapping her shoulder, Gwen carefully dressed herself in Céline’s clothes and slipped out while Isobelle and the girls bustled about in the room off the lounge area that served as Isobelle’s closet—though it was large enough to have fit the village smithy inside. She felt Isobelle’s eyes on her, begging her to look up, but Gwen hurried through the door.
She was halfway down the spiral stone stairs when she heard a rush of footsteps, and she turned in time to catch the flurry of blond hair and magenta skirts that came flying at her.
Gwen staggered, but tightened her arms as she felt Isobelle’s go round her neck.
“You were going down without me?” Isobelle gasped, coming to rest a step above Gwen, and looking down now instead of looking up a couple inches, as she usually did. “The absolute nerve!”
Gwen tried to cling to some form of dismay at being caught, but it was impossible to lie to herself when Isobelle was gazing at her with those ridiculously blue eyes. “I... I should have done a better job sneaking. But... I’m glad you came after me. I think I wanted you to come after me,” she admitted in a quieter voice.
Isobelle’s eyes lowered. “I should have come sooner. I just didn’t know what to say, or how to...” She swallowed audibly, an uncharacteristic tension tightening her features. “Gwen... are you sure this is a good idea?”
Gwen felt a sickening jolt of dismay clench inside her, silencing her. Perhaps that first kiss had just been adrenaline, joy at escaping Ralph, elation at a plan well executed... and now she didn’t know how to tell Gwen she didn’t want what she’d started. Perhapsthat was therealreason Isobelle had been avoiding her. She’d decided one kiss was enough. Gwen’s mind seemed to shatter into an infinite number of possibilities, each of them razor-sharp, more cutting than the last.
Isobelle, seeing some echo of this on her face, widened her eyes. She touched Gwen’s cheek, apologetic. “The joust, I mean! Not the kissing. You don’t get to be unsure about the kissing.”
Gwen started breathing again. “Oh. Good.” She paused, the rest of Isobelle’s words catching up to her. “Wait, what do you mean? Of course I want to joust.”
