Rowan took it without looking at him.
The second knight entered the arena on a black destrier, his armor gleaming silver. He took position at the opposite end from Rowan. Earlier, Ben had called him Sir Geoffrey. Local guy who had been doing this for years. A good rider who knew his stuff.
“And now,” the herald announced, “let the tournament begin!”
The crowd erupted.
Charlie's eyes found Ben again. He'd moved to the sideline, arms crossed, watching. Even from here she could see the tension in his shoulders.
He felt it too. Something off.
Their eyes met across the arena. Ben's expression shifted to concern. He'd caught her watching him, and seen something inher face. They immediately shared the rapport that had kept them alive in the attack months ago.
Charlie gave the smallest shake of her head.I don't know. Just... watch.
Ben nodded once.I've got your back.
The herald raised a flag. “First pass! Riders, take your marks!”
Both knights spurred their horses to opposite ends of the list—the long wooden fence running down the center of the arena that kept the riders separated but close enough to joust without the horses running into each other.
Rowan settled into position, lance couched. Through the helmet's visor, Charlie could just make out his eyes. Focused. Ready.
The flag dropped.
“Charge!”
Both horses exploded forward, hooves thundering, sand flying. The crowd's roar turned deafening.
Charlie's heart hammered. She forced herself to breathe.
The knights closed the distance impossibly fast—forty feet, thirty, twenty?—
Impact.
Rowan’s lance struck Geoffrey’s gritted grand guard with a crack that echoed across the arena. His lance shattered spectacularly. It was designed to break safely. Geoffrey’s glanced off Rowan’s guard.
“Five points for Sir Aldric!”
The crowd went wild.
Both riders circled back to their starting positions. Rowan tossed aside the broken lance. Duke ran forward with a replacement.
Charlie watched the exchange as Rowan took the new weapon and adjusted his seat in the saddle.
Was it her imagination, or did he shift his weight differently that time?
“Second pass!” the herald called.
The riders turned and faced each other again. Charlie noticed Rowan's posture had changed. Subtle, but there. He was sitting differently, compensating for something, the way someone adjusted when their chair wasn't quite stable, when their footing wasn't quite sure.
The saddle. Something's wrong with the saddle.
She saw it now—the way it sat slightly off-center on the horse's back, the way Rowan kept shifting his weight to compensate. The way the leather girth strap looked... wrong. Too loose? Too tight? She couldn't tell from here, but Ben had seen it and Benknewhorses and tack and?—
The flag dropped.
“Stop!” Charlie heard herself shout, but the herald's voice drowned her out.
