Inside the stadium, there’s a dozen or so jousters warming up, riding loops or showing off for the crowd. The grandstand is divided into sections for various families and dignitaries. Sulnik has the largest cohort. Odessa is among them, in one of her usual stuffy, elaborate Sulish frocks and a big silver headpiece, but I don’t see Prince Roman—he must be participating.
I spot Sandria beneath banners of Ursandorn violet. She wears a dark, free-flowing gown and bangles on her wrists andis talking to a female knight who’s practically falling off her horse to get closer. The princess plucks a handkerchief from her cleavage to hand over as a favor, and I envy the ease with which she converses—how easily she does everything. I feel like a guest at the wrong party.
Despite my better judgment, I also search for Finn, but he’s not here. I wonder if he’s looking for me.
It doesn’t matter, I try to remind myself. Cygnus is right. He is my enemy, as much as I have tried to deny it.
Part of me wishes I had skipped the party and stayed back at the palace to work on the omnidraught. The sooner I figure it out, the sooner I can leave and hopefully heal from the heartbreak I’ve caused myself.
“That’s him.” Daisy points toward the ring, cutting into my internal despair. Following her sight line, I spot Damien, a rider in black on a huge palomino mare.
“Is Finneas jousting?” Daisy asks.
I fidget, still watching Damien. “I don’t think so.”
Having never attended a joust, I don’t know what to expect. So, when the first pair lines up, lances aimed, my heart jumps up into my throat. The knights urge their horses forward, and I can’t look away as they gallop closer, closer, and then smash into each other, splintering both their lances and toppling off their mounts.
“God Almighty,” Daisy says, burying her face in her sleeve but peeking one eye out to look down at the stadium.
I’m aghast. “Why would anyone want to do this?”
“The glory,” says Daisy. “And the gold.”
“There’s not enough gold in the world to make me sign up for that,” I say grimly.
Glory must be Damien’s motivation. When he emerges, the crowd goes wild. He rides a few laps of the stadium as his opponent trots out to meet him. I can’t see under Damien’shelmet, but I suspect he’s wearing that same arrogant smirk I’ve seen on Finn.
Damien’s challenger is from Sulnik. I recognize the pale blue banners and coat of arms with a howling wolf. There’s a frenetic cheer when the riders lap the stadium. Even Odessa is on her feet, looking uncharacteristically enthused, and I realize it is her brother Roman under the armor. My gaze quickly moves to find Sebastian. The prince wears a mild smile, broadcasting relaxation. I suspect it’s an act. If that were Finn in the ring, I’d be terrified.
I lean forward, intrigued.
Damien lines up, and I think Daisy’s holding her breath. Then the riders surge forward. There’s another explosion of splinters when Damien’s lance finds its target, but the prince of Sulnik holds his seat. A cheer rises from the crowd, Daisy’s voice among them. I suppose this is a favorable outcome. No injuries or international incident. But when Damien loops his horse around and yanks off his helmet, his fury is evident. Someone doesn’t like to lose.
The competition goes on for hours. After the jousting, Damien dominates every event. I keep scanning for Finn amid the revelers, but he’s nowhere to be found. Is he avoiding watching his brother? Is he avoiding me?
The sun is setting by the time the games are over, and we leave the stadium with the rest of the crowd. Dancers begin to gather. Daisy announces loudly that she’s starving, so we traipse off in search of food, securing sweet pies that we carry over to eat on the main lawn. The music drifting over us is lively and distracting. I can almost forget about Cygnus and Ruin and the plague and the whole complicated mess of my life.
Almost.
“I think I am going to head back,” I tell Daisy once we have finished our meal.
“Already?” She looks aghast. “Absolutely not! You have to at least enjoy one dance!”
Reluctantly, I humor her, and we stroll down to join the revelers dancing between bonfires. It takes a moment for me to settle my nerves, but eventually, we are spinning and laughing. I lose myself amid the crowd and let the fun crest and break over me. Drowning my melancholy.
This is a dance of trading partners, all whirling lines and playful spins. I’m so swept away by the music, I’m unsuspecting when a familiar body meets mine.
Cygnus.
I’m only with him for a moment—a quick brush—before the dance carries us apart.
At first, I think I might be mistaken. The skakabri seemed more inclined toward dancing than the Head Healer. But when the crowd shifts and I’m shuffled through a new series of partners, I catch sight of Cygnus again. He’s wearing a fine black doublet I’ve never seen before over a white undershirt with a loose neckline. I’ve never noticed he has chest hair. His chiseled face is as unreadable as always, those soaring cheekbones thrown into sharper relief by the firelight. The crowd around us ripples with responses to his presence. I notice how ladies and their partners blush and crane to stare, how whispers hiss around him, as they do around me. What an oddity Cygnus must have been: the ward of the Crown, the prodigy.
I fall back into step, tracking his movements. I expect him to ignore me.Maybe he didn’t even notice we made contact. But when the dance brings me back into Cygnus’s arms, he surprises me and doesn’t glide away as the steps demand. Instead, one of his dry, cool hands encircles mine. The other finds the small of my back.
“Mind if I steal you for a moment?” he murmurs, bringing his lips toward my ear. There’s a crescendo in the music, and we spin away from the group.
“I think you already have,” I mumble back, flushing. I should want to pull away right now, but I don’t.
