The horses thundered across the field, hooves pounding against the earth and the lances on both sides dipped lower. With an almighty smash, lances cracked against shields and one rider lurched backward so violently that the crowd gasped before they cheered.
I applauded along with everyone else. Despite my determination to scorn any tournament other than the one Father hosted, I had to admit that the events here were thrilling to watch. I had never attended a royal tournament before, and now that I was here, I was hooked. Even knowing I had come for information, I found myself gripping the rope as knight after knight matched his skill against the others.
Some lost their joust quickly and were eliminated from the competition. Some fought three or four rounds before they were knocked from their horses. One man hit the ground with suchforce that he had to be carried off, though he lifted one arm to prove he was alive as he was taken away.
By the end, only one knight remained.
He removed his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, and accepted a rose from the announcer proclaiming him the winner. The knight turned toward the crowd, searching until his gaze landed on a woman near the front. He strode to her, presented the rose, and she smiled, tucked the flower into her hair, and handed him a handkerchief.
“What’s all that about?” I asked Aalis.
“Oh, of course. You haven’t been to a tournament before. When a champion is crowned, he’s given a flower to award to the woman of his choice. She accepts it and gives him back a token of her affection, like a handkerchief. Then they will go to the dance together tonight.”
“What if she doesn’t accept it?”
Aalis goggled at me. “What reason would anyone have tonotaccept a rose from a champion?”
“Maybe she doesn’t like him. Maybe he’s a pretentious pig. Maybe he’s ugly.”
Aalis blinked several times, as if each possibility was more troubling than the last. “But he would be a champion knight.”
She said it so earnestly that I almost laughed. She truly couldn’t comprehend a situation in which someone would not want to accept a rose. I let the matter drop.
Archery followed jousting.
I watched keenly as man after man stepped up to the line, nocked his arrow, and took aim at the target at the far end ofthe field. With each shot, the crowd would collectively hold its breath then burst into cheers or groans depending on where the arrow struck. There were certainly skilled archers among them. Most had steady hands and good posture, and one or two even knew how to judge the wind before releasing, but none of them came close to Father and a fierce pride burned in my chest. Other girls might love their fathers, but Robin Hood only had one daughter, and it was me.
“Do women compete?” I asked Aalis interestedly.
I wasn’t up to Father’s skill, of course. Few people were. But I could shoot just as well as most of the competitors I had seen so far. Better than several of them, if I gave my best performance. And of course I wouldn’t actually compete. The last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself while posing as a servant. But even so, my fingers still itched for a bow.
If only I were back in Sherwood Forest, where the air smelled of leaves and moss instead of sweat and metal, and where I could compete in tournaments without worrying about whether people would recognize my heritage and turn me in because of it.
Aalis wrinkled her nose. “I suppose one could but why would she want to?”
“Maybe she wants to prove that she is the best at that sport. Or maybe she wants to give a rose to the man of her choice.”
Aalis laughed. “You’re so funny! Imagine, a woman giving a rose to a man…”
Before I could respond, Conrad sidled up beside her. Aalis turned to him at once, her cheeks flushing to pink, and whatever small part of her attention she had given me vanished entirely. I left them to their whispering and wandered back along the rope barrier.
The archery field was crowded, but it wasn’t as tightly packed as it had been during the jousting. Many people had drifted away to find food or shade or visit one of the manybooths speckled throughout the grounds. Children sat on their fathers’ shoulders, craning their necks for a better view. Servants moved through the edges of the crowd with trays of drinks, and somewhere behind me, a woman complained loudly that the dust was ruining the hem of her gown.
Near one of the wooden posts that held up the rope barrier, Leopold the Sixth leaned with one shoulder against the post, watching the archers with his arms crossed.
He was lean, with a narrow face and a trim mustache, and his nose was almost impossibly straight. His hair was so neatly parted that it looked painted rather than real. Even though we were outside, his clothing was still immaculate, from his collar all the way down to the polished shine of his boots.
One of the competitors stepped up to the line and lifted his bow at the same moment a cool breeze tugged at the flags above the viewing stands, pulling them steadily to one side. The archer didn’t adjust.
“His arrow is going to veer right,” I said from behind Leopold. “He isn’t compensating for the wind.”
Leopold startled slightly and looked around. For a moment, his eyes skimmed right past me, searching for whoever had spoken. Then he looked back at the target just as the arrow flew and struck the far right side of the target.
Only then did he turn fully toward me.
His grey eyes moved over my face, then down my dress, then back up again. He smiled in a way that left me with no doubt that this was a spoiled little boy in a man’s body who always got everything he wanted.
“Beautiful and intelligent,” he said. His voice was smooth in a way that made me want to scrub the sound of his voice out of my ears after hearing it. “May I ask your name, my lady?”
