The Beholder

by Anna Bright

  I would never be his wife. That future would never arrive. But this—this present, with Bear at my elbow, close enough to hear his breathing—was at hand.

  I had it in my grasp. I would not release it until it was ripped from me.

  So with Bear’s palm on my knee and Lang’s eyes accusing me silently, I smiled at the prince and lied to the whole room.

  “A book from your library. I’m looking forward to reading it.”

  “And that’s all?” Bertilak’s brow furrowed, even as he smiled pleasantly. Bear squeezed my knee, shaking beneath the table.

  “Yes.” I swallowed, hoping the truth would live quietly in my stomach and not make me sick with guilt and fear. “That’s all I’ve got to share.”

  32

  One more day.

  The thought persisted in my head as I dressed for the final tournament Saturday morning. One more day in Winchester, and then I’d leave. I would leave Bear.

  One tick mark in the book the night before. One single mark left to me.

  I’d known all along what I’d have to do, but knowing didn’t soften the edges of the hard facts. My pitiful crush had never had a chance.

  One more day with Bear began with one more knock, one more meeting in the doorway. My guilty insides were gray, but he was beaming, buoyant, downright sunny. “Why so glum, Seneschal-elect?”

  I folded my arms and looked away, throat tight. “How can you be so cheerful?”

  Bear ignored my question, eyes glowing as he traced my cheekbones with his thumbs, cupped my face in his hands. “You must think me the worst kind of traitor. Prince Bertilak—”

  “I don’t want to think about any of them.” I swallowed hard and shook my head. “Just us.”

  Bear’s laugh stirred my hair and eyelashes. “Don’t worry, Selah,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine. “Today is going to be a perfect day.”

  How badly I wanted to believe him.

  Though it had been nothing two nights before but a bitter sky over drenched grass, the village green was a riot of color and cheer. The breeze was clean and fresh and dry; vendors tempted the crowds with flowers, treats, and toys beneath tents and a blue sky shot with pink. I was the only rain cloud in sight.

  We walked on and found the lists already crowded with horses and riders. Though I knew it was probably my imagination, I felt their eyes on Bear and me as we passed.

  I tried to ignore their stares, but my guilty conscience pricked my skin, sang in my ears.

  They know what you’ve done. Both of you.

  I feared them. I feared the prince. I feared everyone at home finding out I could have done my duty, but I hadn’t.

  “Did you know Igraine rode in the joust when she was a girl?” Bear whispered as we climbed the dais steps. A crown of roses waited on my chair beside a note signed in Gemma’s scrawl. I couldn’t help but smile as Bear slipped the crown over my ponytail. “Lord knows how she convinced her father.”

  “Did Constantine disapprove?” I asked. “That surprises me.”

  Bear frowned and opened his mouth as if to answer, but seemed to think better of his reply.

  I imagined Igraine among the men and women now making ready to ride, tightening girths, adjusting armor, talking quietly to their horses. As I watched, one of the women saddling up to ride slipped a ribbon from her hair and tied it to a nobleman’s lance. Another lady tugged a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and pressed it into the hand of a tall man on horseback. He tucked the handkerchief next to his chest, beneath his armor, and bent to kiss her.

  “Ladies’ favors,” Bear said softly in my ear. “Little remembrances. That ribbon’s going to come off the lance before the Earl of Norfolk rides, but the idea is nice.” I bit my lip, smiling when he pronounced idea as though it ended in an r. I’d found his accent so cold when we’d first met. Now, I found it unbearably attractive.

  “And why don’t the ladies get favors themselves?” I asked, smiling.

  “Because they don’t want the distraction.”

  I shivered at his breath on my cheek; his lips had been nearly close enough to brush my ear.

  The chair beside me moved, and Bertilak took his seat. I straightened, away from Bear.

  One more day.

  I’d been bored out of my skull the Saturday before, but today, the sun tore through the sky, cruel and unfeeling as a cannonball. The joust was over in a few merciless heartbeats, lances crashing against shields again and again with the speed of a furious cymbal player. My heart ached as precious minutes stole away from me, crumbling like firewood turned to ash.

  “I’m going to slip away for a moment,” Bear suddenly whispered.

  “Where are you going?”

  He waved a hand. “I’ll come back straightaway.” Then he hesitated, tracing one of the blooms in my wreath. “May I?”

  I nodded, and with one finger on my chin, he turned my head and tugged one half-blown white rose from the crown beneath my ponytail, grazing the skin of my neck. Captain Lang and Yu were talking privately, eyes on the crowd, and Perrault was trying to ingratiate himself with every titled person on the dais, and Cobie was busy being stony, as usual; but I sensed them all watching. Watching me.

  The melee soon began, and Bear didn’t come back. Skop and Igraine tried to engage me amid the sounds of the battle, but I was distracted from the warriors in green and gold, glancing over at every sound on the dais steps, expecting to see him. Lang’s shoulders grew tenser with my every stealthy look.

  Unlike his sister, Bertilak on my left didn’t speak to me. He hadn’t addressed me at all since dinner the night before.

  A creak on the stairs made me jump—but it was only Alexander chasing Gemma over the dais. I slouched, disappointed.

  Bear still hadn’t reappeared, and if the joust had been short, the melee’s pace was downright frantic. Time was slipping away from me, like water through my cupped hands.

  But the pace of the event wasn’t in my imagination. The crowd sensed it, too, and they roared their approval.

  The excitement centered around a tall, rangy warrior in green with an impossibly fast sword arm. The design of his shield—three stacked golden crowns on a blue field—was familiar, but I couldn’t place it, and his helmet’s visor hid his face.

  I wasn’t sure who had commanded the green army the week before, but he was clearly leading them today. Seven knights in green surrounded him, identities likewise hidden beneath their helmets. They worked rapidly through the field, voices feral and fierce with strain, weapons flashing as their owners charged and retreated. Like a flower opening and closing they advanced and withdrew, returning always to circle their leader. And though he fought whatever enemy came his way, his gaze returned again and again to the leader of the gold army.

  Cornwall. He was fighting well enough, I guessed. My stomach turned at the sight of him.

  When the green knight was the last mounted fighter remaining, he jumped down and sent his horse away with a slap on the rump, earning him another almighty cheer from the crowd. The din only rose as a trio of warriors in gold attacked, and he flung away his shield to grasp the dagger at his belt, subduing his enemies even more skillfully on foot than he had on horseback.

  The field was looking distinctly green.

  “What’s happening?” I hollered in Skop’s ear.

  I don’t know how she heard me over the mob and the mystery warrior’s horn, calling to his scattered knights, but Princess Igraine answered, eyes still on the fight unfolding before us. “His men listen for his every word. They’re one unit, with one opponent.”

  “What? Who?” I shouted.

  “Haven’t you noticed?” Igraine gestured wildly at a knight in a gold jersey.

  “Yeah,” Skop bellowed. “They’ve been fighting their way to the leader of the gold army all this time. Drilling him. The guy with the long hair who won last week.”

  “Right.” Igraine nodded appreciatively. “It’s as though they don’t care what h
appens, as long as Cornwall is forced off the field. He’s determined Mark will not be the champion. And yet,” she added with a grin, “they’re fighting so hard, the green armies are sure to claim the victory. My, but he’s quick—been practicing, I see—”

  The princess was still speaking, but I suddenly couldn’t hear, couldn’t reply, couldn’t breathe. Her answer had knocked the wind out of me.

  I just hope the duke doesn’t win next week.

  He won’t. I’m certain.

  Cornwall had loomed over me at the previous ball, like a shadow I couldn’t seem to escape. The very idea of another dance with him—the prize for his victory—had made me ill.

  But Bear had promised me that wouldn’t happen.

  Somehow, I clung to calm, restrained the smile that wanted to break over my face like the sun from behind clouds. I kept my composure even when Veery tore his helmet from his head, even when Sir Mark, Duke of Cornwall, lifted his visor to scream at Tristan for catching a blow meant for Kay.

  I propped my head in my hand and hid my grin behind my curled fingers, because I knew where Bear had gone. Because, on the inside, I was like everyone else, throwing flowers and cheering for the mystery green knight.

  For Bear, who led an entire army to victory to rescue me from a dance with Cornwall.

  By the time Bear’s blunted dagger ripped Cornwall’s gold jersey, leaving an angry welt on his neck, the entire crowd on the village green was on its feet.

  Everyone but Bertilak.

  The prince observed in a chilly calm as the boys tugged off their helmets, sat ramrod straight as they ran gauntleted hands through sweaty hair—Veery, and Tristan, and gangling, awkward Kay, as I’d suspected, but also Lord Geraint, the young jousting champion from the previous week, and the boys and the pretty dark-haired girl from the weekend before. They shambled toward the dais, whooping and laughing and slapping one another on the back, fierce and triumphant.

  Bertilak rose stiffly, mouth one thin line, and escorted me onto the green.

  “You chose to participate,” the prince said to Bear.

  “I did,” he panted.

  “I should have thought you’d be more careful,” Bertilak said tightly. “Accidents happen in the melee, you know.”

  Fear jolted through me. Were his words concern, or a threat?

  Bear lifted his visor. “And yet,” he said breezily, “all was well today.”

  “Indeed,” said Bertilak. “Today.”

  The prince’s expression didn’t change when Bear at last yanked off his helmet and shook out a head of shaggy dark hair. But the village green erupted in deafening approval, clapping and screaming, heedless of their aching hands and throats.

  “Congratulations, Bear Green, victor of the melee,” Bertilak called over the clamor. A man hurried forward to pass me the victor’s trophy and I handed it to my guard, biting my lip against the joy and admiration rioting in my chest.

  The roar of the crowd was earsplitting, but I was fixed on Bear as he pushed sweaty hair out of his eyes and dropped to one knee in the grass, friends kneeling likewise behind him.

  You are making a mistake.

  But he was utterly magnetic.

  From beneath his armor, near his heart, Bear produced the white rose he had taken from my wreath. He held it up to me, panting, a grin stretched across his face.

  My heart was a lit candle, a forest fire, a burning star.

  Doomed, but smiling.

  I took the flower from his fingers, and the crowds continued to cheer.

  33

  I got ready slowly, wondering if tonight Bear would be the one to knock on my door. If he would be the one to seek me out for a moment of quiet before the ball.

  Our time was up.

  I couldn’t stay with him. I couldn’t take a guard back to Potomac as my chosen fiancé and skip my other appointments. And I couldn’t very well take him with me to Norge, a rival to my last chance not to enter the Imperiya.

  I didn’t know what I would say to him. But I wanted to kiss him again, to feel his hands on mine one more time. I wanted him to say he had a plan.

  But his knock never came.

  I found Lang in the hallway, waiting in a charcoal suit. He studied the tiara on my head, dark eyes curious. “Is that new?”

  The box had been waiting on my bed when I returned from the tournament. I’d blinked, nearly dropping the tiny crown when I’d unearthed it, glittering with emeralds and pearls, from a rich swath of purple velvet. A note written on expensive stationery had been attached, stamped with the royal crest.

  Dear Seneschal-elect,

  For tonight only, or for always, if you like.

  To match your eyes.

  HRH Prince B.

  My stomach had dropped through the floor.

  Lang swallowed, jaw working. “It suits you.”

  “Prince Bertilak lent it to me.”

  Or for always, if you like.

  But I didn’t.

  I didn’t want his proposal. I didn’t want to be a princess. I was never born to wear a crown.

  I missed Potomac—its fields and its heavy heat and Daddy, always Daddy—in my very bones.

  The tiara wasn’t large, barely more than a crescent of jewels, but it felt weighty on my head. I smoothed my gown, silvery gray to match my borrowed finery. “Do you think I’m wearing it right?” I reached up, reangling it slightly over my hair.

  “You’re wearing it correctly. This is marvelous.” Perrault stepped smoothly into the corridor. “A proposal tonight, no doubt about it. An ace up our sleeve already, and we’ve barely begun,” he added to Yu and Skop and Cobie. The latter snorted as she stomped into the hall in her usual work boots, yanking on the hem of an out-of-style black dress.

  Bear’s door stayed closed.

  “Cobie, you look wonderful,” I offered.

  “Thanks.” She grasped her skirts in her tanned fists, limbs stiff as a board. “Let’s get going.”

  “Wait. What about Bear?” I blurted out. Yu and Cobie exchanged frowns as Captain Lang searched my face, forehead creased.

  “Bear has been removed,” said Perrault. “We depart tomorrow. There was no need for him to stay.”

  I stared at the protocol officer, but his mouth was smug, bleakly victorious.

  I’d promised him nothing would happen, and he’d made sure of it. Perrault had won.

  Loss wrenched through me as I nodded at him, trying to compose my features into an expression that said, Yes, of course, that makes sense. But my heart was a splinter in my chest.

  I’d known our time was short. That it was something I only possessed in present moments, not something I could hold for the future.

  But I hadn’t been ready for the present to be taken from me. And the future had arrived a few hours early, and my time with Bear was over.

  It hurt.

  Captain Lang did not look at me when he offered me his arm, Adam’s apple bobbing in the rigid lines of his neck.

  And as on the night we’d arrived, I pretended not to notice, and clasped my shaking hands behind my back.

  Every ball and banquet I’d attended in England had been an onslaught, from our first night in Winchester to the last tournament ball. Again and again I’d been overwhelmed, astonished by meeting Bertilak, dazzled with glitter and noise, overpowered by Bear’s touch.

  Tonight, though, I was numb. England had finally done me in.

  I didn’t care what happened tonight.

  I hardly touched my dinner and didn’t want to dance, but I opened the ball with Prince Bertilak anyway, only just remembering to thank him for the tiara, even as it pressed down on my skull. Constantine approached next. When he left me to rejoin his son and Myrddin at the head table, the Earl of Norfolk drew near, reminding me he’d won the joust. I recalled with a pang the ribbon tied to his lance and the rose I’d given Bear, now pressed between the pages of my copy of Beowulf.

  More than anything, I wished the melee’s victor were present to
claim me.

  As I danced with Norfolk, I watched Myrddin, Bertilak, and Constantine at their table. Were they planning Bear’s punishment at that very moment? Had they found us out? Or was the whole of our friendship—of whatever we meant to one another—beneath their notice entirely?

  Yu and Captain Lang stood in another corner, talking to a woman, their conference quiet but urgent. Though on first glance she seemed to be dressed like the other ladies at the ball, as I studied her more carefully I saw that her elegant blue cloak was drawn tight around a worn dress damp with rain. Pins poked haphazardly from the knot styled high on her head, as though she’d thrown herself together in a hurry.

  She glanced around and pressed a folded letter into Lang’s hands, marked with a green seal. With a jolt, I noticed the yellow cowslip bloom poking from beneath her cloak.

  My eyes met Lang’s across the crowded hall.

  Criminals?

  Not in England’s eyes.

  A rather reckless group.

  Lang’s face was pale. I shook my head and turned away.

  I wanted to shake him. I wanted to go to my room, to cry and lock my door, to fling the tiara against a wall and watch it shatter into a thousand pieces of emerald and pearl. But I couldn’t break down, couldn’t embarrass someone else or punish them for my foolishness.

  So I shook hands over and over as this earl or that baron introduced himself. I greeted Veery’s father, Lord Bedrawt, around the lump in my throat. As Myrddin and Sir Ector discussed his son Kay’s performance in the melee, I resisted thoughts of Bear kneeling in front of me, hoping they missed the forlorn note in my voice as I agreed the boys and their friends had fought exceptionally well.

  Finally, the clock began to chime midnight, and the crowds drifted off the dance floor. One by one, my crew came to surround me where I stood in the center of the room. Lang, his spare lips tense. Yu, keen eyes scanning the crowd. Cobie, sharp as a knife in her black dress. Skop, broad shoulders near to me, cracking his knuckles. And Perrault. Always Perrault, close by.

  Once the crowd stilled, King Constantine spoke.

  “Ladies. Gentlemen. A good evening to you,” he said. “To our guests, it has been our very great pleasure to host you these two weeks—especially you, Selah, Seneschal-elect.