I take Galinor’s hand, letting him pull me up.
“Tell me, Princess, there’s a fantastic story circling. Did you truly take on a glasseln with a stick?”
***
“Philippa, you could at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself.” Lionel raises a goblet to his lips and stares at me.
I offer him a forced smile. His face doesn’t move, but he sneers at me with his eyes. I look away, pretending indifference. My gaze lands on Archer. He’s been careful to stay away, and it’s killing me. I haven’t spoken with him all day.
I’m tired of being careful.
Dancing has begun, but Lionel has not asked me. I’m thankful for that. I rise from my seat but am stilled by Lionel’s hand on my wrist. “Where are you going?”
Flashbacks of my hallucinations from the cave flash in my memory, filling me with a fear that is out of proportion to the situation. I yank my hand away. Without a word of explanation, I leave him.
“Dance with me after this song,” I whisper to Archer’s back as I pass him.
He doesn’t miss a beat in his conversation, but I know he’s heard me. I find Galinor speaking with Percival.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lionel grabs me from behind. “The dragon hunt was my victory—you will dance with me and only me.”
Galinor steps forward, pulling me from Lionel’s grasp. He positions himself in front of me. It’s an impressive thing, the two of them facing off. The crowd draws back from them, noticing the anger in their expressions.
“The princess will dance with whomever she chooses.”
Lionel’s nostrils flare. It’s not pleasant.
“Enough.” Percival steps between them, pressing his palms against their chests and pushing them apart. He turns to me. “Pippa, Lionel is this event’s victor. You will dance with him first, and then you are free to dance with Galinor.”
I know he’s being diplomatic, but I hate him for this decision. I don’t want to dance with Lionel. The thought of his hands on me makes me ill. Lionel turns to me, and his hateful eyes shine with this small triumph. He puts his hand on my waist, pulling me much closer than I would like. I tilt my chin away, refusing to look at him.
His hand tightens on my waist. “Look at me.”
“You’re hurting me.” I try to squirm out of his grip.
He shakes me once, hard, and my eyes dart around the room to see if anyone has noticed. Father is speaking with Sir Kimble, and Percival is trying to calm Galinor—who looks livid. Archer is dutifully ignoring me.
“They can’t save you when we’re married. I will not lose. You are, and have always been, mine.” His hand crushes against my skin, and I’m afraid I’ll be bruised in the morning. I hate myself for it, but I begin to tremble—though I’m not sure if it’s because I’m scared or furious.
He smiles.
The song ends and I rip myself away from his grasp. He bows low, mocking me with his eyes, and disappears into the crowd.
I turn around, and Archer is waiting for me. I step into his arms, and I’m still shaking.
“Pippa?” Archer says, his voice hard. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I lie.
It doesn’t seem like he believes me, but I don’t care. I’m not wasting this time dwelling on Lionel. Even though we’re in a hall with over a hundred other people who would never let us be together, right now, he’s mine.
In no hurry, we slowly spin. We keep our distance—keep it light for the casual observers.
“Meet me by the back gate at noon tomorrow,” he whispers.
My stomach knots when I remember how it felt to be held by him last night. “All right.”
Lionel is back in his seat, watching us. I tense, and my waist still hurts from where he dug his fingers into my skin. Archer adjusts his hand at my side, and I wince.
“He did hurt you,” Archer says, appalled.
“Don’t let him win the tournament,” I answer. “Please, Archer.”
The song ends, and Archer has no choice but to release me. I feel cold as he steps away.
“I will do everything in my power, Pippa.”
Lionel is already making his way back through the crowd, ready to claim me. Before he can, Bran asks for a dance and then Galinor after him. It seems like I dance with everyone, and anytime there’s a lull, one of our knights whisks me away. I’m exhausted before the night is through, but I manage to avoid Lionel for the rest of the evening.
“Thank you,” I say to Sir Asher after our dance.
I’m relieved when the quartet of players stands up after the song, done for the evening. I excuse myself, passing Alexander as I leave. He smirks, and I know it wasn’t by chance the knights were keeping me busy tonight.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Besides those rousing in the kitchens, there’s no one up yet. I woke up feeling edgy. The feeling follows me out the palace and to Mother’s gardens. The morning is cool, and I know the water will be frigid. I wore a simple gown today, and I pull it over my head. I lean over the ledge and drop the dress and woven blanket to the rocky, moss covered terrace below.
Dressed only in my shift, I stand a moment, and breathe in the smell of the earthy mist. I pull myself up on the short wall, and the jagged, moist rock digs into my bare feet. Raising my hands above my head, I dive into the water.
It’s dark and disorienting, but I locate the surface and kick myself up. I gasp as I break through the barrier between water and air. I was right. The pool is freezing. I swim behind the waterfall and pull myself up and into the cave. I pass through the curtain of hanging ferns and make my way through the darkness. My shoulder, which throbbed in pain when I first made contact with the water, is now blessedly numb from the cold. There’s only a dull ache as I walk.
I wince as little pebbles dig into my feet, but I know where the large holes and boulders are so I don’t trip or stub a toe. Maid-of-the-shadows grow in abundance toward the middle of the cave. I make my way past them. I have a new appreciation of their potency, and I am especially careful to keep away from them now.
Using my hands to navigate the tunnel, I brush my fingers against the cool cave walls as I go. The tunnel has a permanent just-rained smell, and I breathe it in. It will be something I miss when I am wed. The wall curves under my fingers, and I follow it to the right.
Soon the glowing bell flowers disappear, and there’s a circular patch of very dim morning light at the end of the tunnel. I come to the mouth of the cave, which is nearly flush with the face of a large terrace cliff except for a small, uneven ledge. I gaze at the valley beyond. In the barely-there light of morning, the valley is a wash of blues and grays.
Still dripping, I retrieve my flint and knife from a leather strap at my calf. I collect fallen pine needles, cones, and dead leaves from the crevices and ledges on the face of the cliff. Stretching up on my tiptoes to reach, I break several branches from a dead tree that hangs over the ledge above me.
Unlike the cave, the cliff face is dry, and the tinder is brittle from the winds that pass through the valley.
I cross my legs, make a little nest of pine needles, and strike the flint with my knife. Little sparks fly, and soon the needles catch. Careful to keep the tiny flame alive, I add sticks and then the larger branches.
The fire warms me, and I watch the sky lighten as the sun creeps closer to the top of the mountains. Keeping the water away from the flames, I wring out my hair.
The joust is tomorrow, and the day after that is the hand-to-hand combat. In two days, I will know the man I’m going to marry.
It won’t be Archer.
Galinor is in the lead with eleven points—not including his chosen points. Lionel is in second with ten, and Rigel and Irving are tied for third with six. Of course, Irving won’t be completing the tournament, so that just leaves Rigel.
There are another possible twelve points—six for the joust and six for the hand-to-hand, so it could be
anyone, but it will most likely be one of those three.
The joust and the hand-to-hand events are Galinor’s strengths. Archer and I have held his hand through the others, but these he will have to do on his own.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the hard stone, thinking.
Who will Archer eventually marry? I wonder what his son will look like. I imagine a little boy with serious eyes and light brown hair. His father will teach him to shoot and hunt, and at the end of each day they will return home to a beautiful woman. She will kiss Archer, welcoming him home, and he will wrap—
Stop.
Anna told me once when I was young that a girl can’t die from a broken heart. At the age of thirteen, after one of the stable boys I thought I’d loved kissed a milkmaid, I believed her.
Now, I’m not so sure. I tossed and turned all night, I’m achy, and I can’t eat. I can’t even breathe.
Finally, the first rays of morning travel over the valley. The cool shades of early dawn are swept away by yellows and greens and reds. The fire has dwindled down to nothing. I can’t stay any longer. Soon, if they aren’t already, villagers will be going about their daily business. I must leave before someone notices my gown at the water’s edge.
I follow the tunnels back to the waterfall and slip into the pool. Once again, the icy water takes my breath away. Careful to keep my head low, I swim to the rocky ledge. My fabric shift clings to my body as I rise from the water, and I pull it away from my skin, hoping to look decent in case someone were to glance down. Later in the day, mothers will bring their children to play by the water, but right now, with the village just rising, I think I’m safe.
As I reach for the blanket to dry with, someone clears their throat. “This is indecent, Philippa—even for you.”
I whip around to face Lionel. He’s seated by the pool’s edge, and he appears to have been here for a while.
He followed me here.
I hold the blanket in front of myself and shiver. Water drips from my hair down to my toes, and it pools at my feet.
His expression is unlike it’s ever been before. Cold, distant, and proud—yes, always—but he’s never looked at me like this.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice wavering.
He rises from the ground, his hulking body looking awkward as it strains to stand. He grins as he narrows his eyes. Suddenly, I know how Marigold felt at the cave. I’m frozen to the spot; I couldn’t move if I wanted to.
“I know about you and the archer.” He spits the last word out.
I suck in a breath. He might be bluffing. How would he know? Unless Rigel or Irving told him…or if he followed me the night I stole away to Archer’s room. I thought he’d gone to bed, but what if he hadn’t?
“What archer?” I ask, trying to sound disgusted.
Lionel chuckles, and as he comes forward I step back. There’s nowhere to go, and I meet the rock wall behind me. He runs a finger down my cheek, pulling a strand of wet hair away from my face. I want to cower away from him, but instead I raise my head higher, tilting my chin in the air.
“Not what archer—Archer.”
“There is nothing to know.”
He raises an eyebrow, and his lopsided forehead looks even more askew with the gesture. “There are whispers, Philippa. The servants, the maids, the guards—they’ve all seen you together. I’ve seen you together.”
He’s lying.
“I wonder what the punishment is for attempting to seduce a princess?” he continues, shifting his weight to one meaty leg. His pleasant voice is at odds with his wild eyes. “Especially a princess who’s already promised herself to the tournament?”
Lionel makes it sound calculating, like Archer planned what has happened between us to sabotage the tournament and bring war to the kingdom. I already know what would happen if I ran away with Archer—it’s the only reason I’m still here.
“Attempting to seduce a princess?” I force a laugh. “You think you can have someone hanged for an attempted seduction? An unsuccessful one at that.”
I flash him my ring.
“Enough people have seen you together. One stolen moment—one kiss, one embrace—is all it will take to have him hanged for treason against the crown. I only need one witness besides myself. Are you so confident I won’t find one?”
I stay silent.
He smiles. “Then you will do exactly as I say.”
***
I find Galinor and Archer speaking with Irving and Bran in Galinor’s tent just an hour before I am supposed to meet Archer at the back gate. I sweep in, Marigold and Leonora on my heels.
Irving is sitting in the corner, and he stops speaking mid-sentence and raises an eyebrow. “That was a beautifully dramatic entrance, Princess.”
I ignore him. “Lionel is demanding I announce him as my chosen.”
The girls gasp, not having been told what we were here for. The men, who I assume will rise up with fury, exchange glances, and then they laugh.
They laugh.
“This is not a joke,” I say, moving forward. “He’s threatening to have Archer hanged if I do not.”
The laughter dies, but they still don’t look terribly bothered.
“On what grounds?” Archer asks.
Everyone in the tent knows about us except for Bran, and I feel uncomfortable announcing it out loud. I look away and then meet Archer’s eyes.
“He knows.” I feel my cheeks going scarlet. “He says attempting to seduce a princess promised to the tournament is treason to the crown.”
The tent is silent. Bran opens his mouth as if to say something and then closes it, looking confused. Galinor’s gaze drops to the floor.
“He has no proof,” Leonora argues after a few awkward moments. She comes forward and sets her hand on my shoulder. “And goodness, Archer didn’t seduce you. Who would believe that?” She laughs. “If anything, people are more apt to believe you attempted to seduce him.”
I shake my head, lost for words. “He says rumors are already spreading. People know about us.”
“He’s right about that.” Irving stretches out his wrapped leg, gritting his teeth as he moves. “It’s on the wind.”
“You would know.”
“Yes.” His eyes are sharp. “I would.”
“This is ridiculous,” Archer says. “Tell us exactly what happened.”
I explain the events of the morning, and Galinor’s eyes go wide when I get to the part where I jump off the wall. Apparently he didn’t believe me when I told him I occasionally cliff dive.
Archer, though—there’s no disbelief in his expression. His eyes are hard, murderous. “Did he touch you?” he demands, stepping forward. “Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head.
“How confident are you in the joust and hand-to-hand?” Irving asks Galinor, who glances at me.
“They’re my best events.”
Leonora nods. “Percival says Galinor’s one of the best he’s ever seen.”
Irving shrugs. “Then do what Lionel wants. What’s two points?”
“Two points can decide the winner,” Archer argues. “And I’ve seen Lionel fight all my life. I’ve practiced against him myself several times—he’s good. These are his best events as well.”
The competition is too close. I can’t give him those points. But what choice do I have?
“What do I do?” I rub my fingers over my throbbing temples.
“I don’t care what he threatens to do to me,” Archer says, coming forward. “You will not give him those points.”
I toss my hands in the air. “Do you think I would let him do that to you? You think I would let you be hanged?”
He’s in front of me now, one hand on my good shoulder and the other soft on my cheek.
“I faced a dragon for you, Pippa,” he says, and though his voice is quiet, I know everyone can hear him. His eyes plead with me. “I would do it again—over and over. I would search the ends of the land for any it
em anywhere, no matter how dangerous. I would fight for you—even though I can’t be with you. You would die a slow death married to Lionel. I would rather die a quick one if it will keep you from that end.”
I’m shaking, but somehow I hold the tears back. I will not cry. I nod slowly, even though agreeing hurts. Relief washes over his face. He rests his forehead against mine, only briefly, and then pulls away.
Our audience is quiet. Tears pour down Leonora’s face and Marigold’s eyes glisten. Irving, Bran, and Galinor look uncomfortable.
Archer gives me one last long look, almost as if he’s debating pressing a kiss to my lips, and then steps past me.
“Where are you going?” I ask just before he steps out the tent.
He turns back. His eyes are hard. “I am going to speak with Percival. If Lionel presses this, he should have a warning.”
“Is that wise?” Galinor asks.
“Percival is your friend.” Leonora nods, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Tell him. He may be able to help. I’ll go with you.”
Archer looks as if he’s going to decline, but then he nods. She gives him an encouraging smile, and they exit the tent together, leaving the rest of us in silence.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I wake expecting sunshine and am instead greeted by the sound of a slow and steady drizzle of rain pattering against the window. The day is gray, and the clouds are low and thick. I open the balcony doors. I can barely make out the arena because the structure is hidden in fog.
It’s not an ideal day for a joust.
I shiver against the cool air and close the doors. Setting my hand on the cold glass, I watch the rain stream down the pane. The storm seems to have settled in around us. There’s no chance it will clear soon.
Someone has been in this morning and lit a fire. The pine pops and crackles in the stone hearth. I settle on the bench in front of it and wrap a blanket around my shoulders.
There’s a knock at my door, and Anna lets herself in without waiting for my answer. Her cheeks are rosy, and her eyes are bright. She narrows those bright eyes as she looks at my bed, not yet noticing me by the fire.
The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 19
