“I know that all he wants to talk about is setting the wedding date,” Elowen said shortly, irritation flaring in her again regarding the stilted conversation over breakfast.
“So…” Sophia spoke carefully, wary of her friend’s bad mood. “So you’renotglad that he’s eager to marry you?”
“It has nothing to do with him being eager to marry me,” Elowen said. “He just wants to be done with all the fuss and go home.”
“And you…don’t want that?” Sophia asked.
Annoyed with her own chaotic emotions, Elowen turned to face her friend. “To be blunt, Sophia, I don’t want to talk to you about matters of the heart. I’m not sure I can trust that what I say won’t make it back to your brother.”
Sophia’s eyes widened in shock, guilt flashing momentarily across her face before confusion replaced it.
“What…what do you mean?”
“Yesterday,” Elowen said tartly, “Bertrand threw in my face a very specific account of some of the sillier daydreams we used to joke about when we were younger. I’d half forgotten the wild stories we used to construct, about the romantic men who would one day sweep us off our feet. But he was kind enough to remind me in detail, and he did it in front of Prince Theodore. It was mortifying.”
“Elowen, I’m so sorry.”
Sophia sounded genuinely tearful, but Elowen couldn’t bring herself to look at her friend this time. She was still stiff with the tension of finally getting the reproach off her chest.
“I…I should never have repeated any of that to Bertrand, I know,” Sophia tried again. “But he asked me about your ideal man, and…”
She trailed off, so Elowen finished the sentence, her tone bitter and a little scathing.
“And no one ever says no to Bertrand.”
“It’s not like that,” Sophia insisted. “He asked because he cares about you, and…and he’s worried that you won’t be happy in Siqual, truly.”
Elowen just shook her head, in no mood for her friend’s willful blindness when it came to her brother.
“I wanted to help him,” Sophia insisted. “He’s my brother, and I—”
“Never mind,” Elowen cut her off. “I’d rather not discuss it further.”
They sat in painful silence for several minutes, while Theo performed very creditably in the second round of archery. A number of the other competitors looked around after each shot, to see if the princess for whom the tournament was being held was watching, and if she approved of their performance. She greeted these silent tributes with a wave or a smile.
Theo didn’t look around at her once.
After his third attempt, Elowen was sure he was going to come out in first place. But of course he waited on the field with the rest of those competing, waiting for the remaining challengers to take their last shots.
On the other side of the large field, another group was simultaneously undertaking the same archery event. The winners of that event would face the winners of Theo’s event in the following round on a different day. Elowen tried not to watch the other group, Bertrand’s lithe figure too infuriating even from a distance. They were finishing up a little ahead of Theo’s group, and she could see the archers filing from the field.
Refusing to let the meddling viscount poison her friendships as well as her courtship, she averted her eyes and forced a cheerful tone for Sophia.
“Come on,” she said. “It’s almost done, let’s get down from the stands before the stampede starts.”
Sophia obediently followed her, the two of them picking their way down the makeshift steps.
“Archery is all very well,” Elowen commented, “but not nearly as interesting as magic. I’m looking forward to watching the craftsmen’s competition.”
“Yes.” Sophia’s voice was faint and unhappy. “So am I.”
“Do you know if Simeon plans to compete?” Elowen asked.
“No, I’m sure he won’t,” Sophia said, shaking her head.
“That’s a shame, I think he’d have a real chance.” They’d reached the grass, and Elowen glanced around to make sure no one could hear as she lowered her voice. “How do you think we’d do? Did you know that unlike the court events, the commoners’ events allow women to enter? Imagine if you and I competed. I’m not saying we’d be amazing, but we might get through the first round.”
“But we’re not commoners,” Sophia said, alarmed.
