I nod at his explanation. To him, jousting was a form of validation. It reinforced his kingly image. A monarch’s ego is a beast that needs constant feeding, and this is an ideal stage for that.
“Tell me what you—”
My attempt to dig deeper is cut off when Henry’s attention is caught by someone entering the royal box. “Ah, Thomas, my boy! There you are.”
A young man in an impeccably tailored outfit bows in front of us. “Good morning, Your Majesty. Lady Catherine.”
He briefly blocks Henry’s view, prompting the king to nudge him over in my direction. The young man squeezes into a small open spot on the bench beside me, and I glance back at Bessie, who’s sitting in the row just behind us.
“Thomas Culpepper,” she stealthily whispers into my ear. “The two of you used to be quite close.”
“How close?” I ask.
She tips her head noncommittally. “I wasn’t present in the room.”
Well, that’s an ominous statement.
I turn back around to face the celebrated bloodshed on the jousting grounds, just as warning bells begin to sound in my head. Thomas Culpepper. I remember the name. That’s the name of the second suspected lover of Catherine Howard—my other beheading buddy.
“And how is our future queen on this fine day?”
I glance over at him at his question, wondering if now is the right time to tell him that we share a future death day. The first thing I notice is that he’s absurdly good-looking. His coiffed brown hair is spattered with natural streaks of gold, and his roguish blue eyes are actively trying to seduce my soul. Build wise, he’s strong enough to carry me to safety, but I can walk, thank you. Face wise, he’s an AI-generated photo of a Disney prince.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, inching over in the opposite direction.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?” At close range, he has the voice and charisma of Henry Cavill. He’s not my type, but I can understand why Catherine was ready to risk it all.
“How are you?” I decide to ask.
He shakes his head. “Not well, at the moment. A woman who is very important to me is getting married tomorrow, and I fear I’m rather jealous and heartsick.”
The audacity! It’s flattering, but still...
“I hear doctors use leeches therapeutically around here. Maybe you should give it a go.”
They’re dragging a half-dead body off the grounds, but Thomas doesn’t notice. “Have I done something to upset you, Catherine?” he asks. Then quietly, “You haven’t written to me in several days.”
We just took a hard left turn out of flirty banter, and I whip around to face him. “Listen, friend. Trust me on this one, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I’m what?” My words of caution confuse him, but he gets the hint and walks off as Henry excitedly grips my hand, calling my attention back to the tournament.
“Here now, Catherine. Here’s our champion. Come on, Gainsford!”
My eyes shoot to the pitch. The king’s shouts roar in my ears as a knot grips my stomach. It takes a few seconds, but I find Simon entering the jousting area on horseback. He’s in full armor, save for his helmet, and he’s looking across the field at his opponent in calm readiness.
My pulse thuds in my ears and I stand without meaning to. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Can we call pause? Can we think this through for a minute?”
Bessie pushes me back into my chair by the shoulder. “You cannot pause the joust.”
I watch as Simon is handed a lance the size of a regulation basketball hoop. He turns to the royal box and holds it up in salute before facing his opponent again. He’s sliding his helmet on when I anxiously tap Henry’s arm.
“Should he really be doing this? I mean, couldn’t he die?”
“He’ll be fine,” Henry says, taking a gulp of wine and leaning forward for a better view. “Gainsford is a sturdy lad.”
“But what if...”
Before I can say anything else, the flag is waved. Simon erupts from his side of the field, barreling forward full force on his dapple gray as he lowers his lance and takes aim. My heart is hammering hard in my chest as I clench my eyes shut, waiting for the sound of impact.
