I grab his hand before he leaves. “Irving, thank you.”
He winks before he slips into the crowd. With renewed spirits, I dance across the hall. I twirl and shake the tambourine high in the air, but as I turn, I lose my footing and bump into someone. As I look over my shoulder to apologize, I gasp.
The man’s tray of cider tilts sideways. I reach for him, trying to help, but the tips of my fingers hit the tray, sending it careening down and over. Helpless, I watch as the goblets slide from the falling tray and crash over the head of a dark-haired man at the table next to us. He looks up just before the liquid hits.
The cider spills over his hair, down his neck, and soaks his tunic. He gapes at the serving man. When the server motions in my direction, the drenched man turns to me.
I’m pinned to the spot when his furious, piercingly-blue eyes meet mine.
Chapter Three
I watch, amazed, as the ire falls from his face, and his gaze drops to his lap. The man must be in shock; he makes no move to clean the cider from himself.
I step forward, reach for a cloth napkin from the table, and dab the liquid from his face. “I’m so sorry—”
He waves his hand. “It was an accident.”
“Still…” I lean down to wipe his dripping chin.
He looks up, and our eyes meet once again. His are truly the deepest blue imaginable. Even dripping with cider, he is striking—more than striking. With dark hair and a knightly build, he may be the most handsome man I have ever seen.
And I just knocked a tray of cider on him.
There is something in his eyes, though. He looks like a whipped puppy. I want to wrap my arms around him and soothe him. I resist this urge, but only barely.
“I am sorry,” I whisper.
A drip of cider trails from his brow and down his nose. Suddenly, and for no explicable reason, I giggle. He gives me a look that is so incredulous, I try to stop myself. That makes it all the more amusing, and it bubbles out again. I bite my lip and try to stop.
A crowd hovers around us, and I wish they would leave. No one steps in to help, but they goggle at us, whispering amongst themselves.
Irving pushes through the crowd, sees the two of us, and then bursts out laughing. “Ah, Galinor, I see you have met Lady Anwen.”
There are a few incredulous whispers due to the use of my title, but soon the spectators disperse. I recognize the name from the conversation with the couple in the carriage. This is Galinor—the prince who cheated in the tournament. I narrow my eyes. He doesn’t look like a man who would need to cheat.
“Lady?” Galinor asks, finally finding his voice. He glances at my gypsy clothing.
I shrug. “Long story.”
He nods but doesn’t ask me to elaborate.
Irving tosses Galinor another napkin. “Dry your hair. You look like a drowned rat.”
Galinor obliges, running the fabric over his head. I catch myself staring, and I look away.
“Still moping?” Irving asks Galinor.
Galinor groans and reaches for his mead, but he finds his chalice empty.
Irving looks at me. “Galinor’s love was married today.”
I glance around, looking for the princess. I haven’t seen her, but word has it she and her Lord Archer slipped away.
“How awful,” I say to the table, feeling awkward.
“She wasn’t my love,” Galinor says and then motions around the hall. “But this is a reminder of my greatest failure.” He lays his head on the table.
I glance at Irving and cringe. Irving grins and slaps Galinor on the shoulder. “Don’t be fooled, Anwen. This man here is one of the best you’ll ever meet.” Galinor groans, and Irving leans down. “Tell me, Galinor, how much have you had to drink?”
No response.
“Have you ever had mead before?” Irving prods.
“First time,” Galinor says, still not raising his head.
Irving grins and slides the empty chalice away. “Wonderful. You see, this is Lady Anwen’s first night as a tambourine girl, and it’s obviously not going well for her either. How about you tell her all about the tournament? You’ll feel better, and we’ll keep her here so she can’t cause any more casualties this evening.”
“Irving,” I protest. “I don’t—”
Irving winks and disappears once again into the crowd.
“You don’t have to stay,” Galinor mumbles.
“I don’t mind.” I sigh. “I really am a terrible performer.”
Master Draeger clears his throat from behind me, and he extends his hand. “The tambourine, please.” Like a scolded child, I give him the instrument. He snaps it out of my hand. “Don’t expect pay for the evening.”
I attempt a smile, but I’m sure it looks more like a grimace. “I don’t, sir.”
Master Draeger scowls at me, his bushy eyebrows drawing tight, and then he leaves. Feeling foolish, I set my head on the table as well.
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Galinor says.
I look up and find him sitting again, this time with his elbows propped on the table. “What leads a lady to the path of a tambourine girl?”
What leads a man that looks like Galinor to cheat in a tournament?
“I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours,” I answer.
He shares his tale with me—of how Princess Pippa chose him as her knight so she wouldn’t have to marry Prince Lionel of Vernow, who at the time was favored to win. It started with Pippa and Archer helping with the scavenger hunt, but Archer also collected the dragon treasure when Galinor could not. And it was Archer who donned Galinor’s armor and won the joust and competed in the hand-to-hand when the prince was poisoned by Lionel.
The story isn’t a short one, and by the time he’s finished, the wedding feast is nearing its end.
“Feel better?” I ask.
He doesn’t look as forlorn as he did before. He even smiles a little. “No.”
I laugh, but it’s soft. “What you did for Pippa and Archer was kind. You were the only one who knew the extent of Archer’s involvement in the tournament. You may still have won if you hadn’t shared it. You are a good friend.”
He stares off into the crowds. There aren’t as many guests as there were earlier. People are retiring for the night.
His eyes are distant. “If I could have won the scavenger hunt myself, things would have gone differently.”
“Archer found all the items?”
I’m sure Galinor found a few.
He sighs. “He found all but the eldentimber resin. Pippa retrieved that.” A smile plays at his lips. “She held a fairy king at knife-point for it.”
I inhale sharply. “A what?”
Galinor laughs. “I know—it’s hard to believe—but it was a real fairy. An entire tree of them.”
I grasp his shoulders, turning him toward me. “You must take me to them. Please, Galinor—please say you will.”
He’s surprised by the gesture, and he glances at my hands. I should let go, but I don’t.
“I’m sorry, Anwen, I will not go back in that forest.”
“Please.” I meet his eyes. “I need you.”
He laughs, and it’s such a tired, sad sound, my heart aches for him. His hands rise to mine, and he gently pulls my fingers from his shoulders. “I’ve been here before, Your Ladyship, and though you are just as lovely as the first girl who begged for my help, I am not stepping foot in that forest again.”
I yank my hands away from his, frustrated. Surely if Father received the changeling stone from the fairies, they would be able to give me another. I’m so close, but if Galinor won’t take me, I have no way to find them.
“Are you all right?” Galinor asks as I clench and unclench my fingers. “Anwen?”
I look up and attempt a smile. “Yes, but I’m sticky from touching you.”
He laughs, and I’m startled by how genuine it is. He meets my eyes again. “You don’t want your hopes riding on me. Anyone but me.”
I shake my head, refusing to give in. If it’s not Galinor, who will it be?
***
Galinor stands with his men, and they are ready to ride. The morning sun is warm, and I linger under a tree, watching them. I haven’t spoken with him this morning. I’m afraid if I approach him, he will wonder why I thought I should.
Galinor says something to his men, hands a boy his reins, and strides in my direction. “You are hovering,” he says when he reaches me. His voice is clear this morning and his eyes are sharp.
I look up at him—he’s very tall when he’s standing—and feel awkward. “I had hoped…I mean, I wondered…” I look at the stones under my feet.
He places a finger under my chin and gently tilts my face up. “You want me to change my mind.”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t,” he says, dashing my hopes.
I look away, frustrated, and bite my lip to keep from begging.
He groans and steps closer. “Why is this so important to you?”
I cross my arms and look back. “I’ve lost something dear to my family. I can’t go home until I replace it.”
His features sharpen. “Your family won’t let you come home?”
I shake my head. “No, of course they would have me, but they would be so disappointed.” My voice trembles, but I try to hide it. “I’ve messed up so badly.”
“And if I help you, and we by some miracle stumble on this tree again, the fairies will give you what you need?”
He’s wavering.
“Yes.” I nod so vigorously a curl escapes my braid and falls in front of my eyes.
He grumbles under his breath. “Fine. I’ll try to find it, but I make no—”
I jump up, wrap my arms around his neck, and squeal in his ear. “Thank you, Galinor!”
He laughs at my spontaneity, holds me for just a moment, and then pulls me loose.
“What is this?” Irving says from behind me. Next to him, the girl at his side looks embarrassed.
“Marigold!” I gasp, surprised to see my friend here in Lauramore. I step forward to embrace her. “Did you come with Irving for the tournament?”
She smiles at me but her eyes wander to Galinor. “Yes.”
Oh.
Marigold looks different. It takes me a moment to realize how my childhood friend has changed. Her light brown hair is down and soft on her shoulders instead of pulled tight, and she’s not fidgeting or looking at the ground. The last time I saw her she was as timid as a mouse.
I glance again at Galinor. Marigold’s always sworn she will never marry—that she’d rather spend her time in Primewood’s library than with a man. I wonder if she has changed her mind.
Galinor smiles at Marigold with soft affection. I look away, feeling foolish for my display of enthusiasm.
Marigold glances around the courtyard. “Where’s Danver?”
Galinor narrows his eyes at me. “Who’s Danver?”
Still embarrassed, I flush and look away. “He’s my fox, and he was here a moment ago.”
“You have a fox?” Galinor’s voice is full of disbelief. “As a pet?”
“Yes, he’s quite tame.”
Galinor looks at Irving, but Irving only shrugs. “It’s better than the skunk she had when we were young.”
Galinor gapes at me.
“What?” I ask.
I whistle for Danver. While I wait for him, I watch a little squirrel scamper up the fruit tree next to me. As I coo at it, Danver runs from the stables. I turn to Galinor. “See? He was hunting mice. Foxes are lovely, helpful creatures.”
“Until they get into the animal pens,” Galinor says.
I pick up Danver and glare at the prince. “Danver would never.”
Galinor shakes his head, dismissing the conversation. “If we’re going to track down this tree, we need to leave now.”
A man with light blond hair joins our group. “What tree? Where are we going?”
“Anwen, this is Prince Bran of Triblue,” Irving says. “Bran, this is Lady Anwen of Primewood.”
“A pleasure,” the man says, taking my hand. I bite my lip to hide my smile as he presses a kiss to my knuckles.
Galinor clears his throat. “I’m taking Lady Anwen to the eldentimber tree, and we need to leave now if I’m going to be back before dark.”
Irving laughs. “You mean we are taking Anwen to the eldentimber tree. I just sent a message to her family stating I’m taking full responsibility for her safety and wellbeing.”
Galinor furrows his brow, about to argue with Irving, but Bran cuts him off, saying, “Dristan and I were planning on riding back to Triblue today, but I can accompany you on your ride instead. We can leave tomorrow.”
“How is Dristan?” Marigold asks.
“Excellent,” Bran answers. “Physician Clarion is a miracle worker, and Dristan’s leg wasn’t injured as badly as we had first thought. He tires easily, and he still walks with a slight limp, but he is better than we could have ever hoped.”
I’m about to ask who Dristan is when Galinor cuts the conversation short. “Whoever is going, we need to leave. We will meet you outside the stables by the next bell. If you’re not there, I will go without you.” He sets his hand on my shoulder and guides me forward. “Lady Anwen, you will come with me.”
I glance over my shoulder and shrug at Irving and Marigold as we walk away.
“Your horse will need to be saddled, and I must introduce myself to your guard,” Galinor says.
I open my mouth but then close it and shake my head.
“You don’t want to tell your guard you’re leaving?” His voice is disapproving.
“I don’t have a guard.”
“What about a horse?”
“I have a horse.” I nod and then rub my cheek. “She’s not here.”
Galinor narrows his eyes. “Where is she?”
“She was stolen.”
He leans down, his eyes sharp as he studies me. “You never told me your story, Anwen. Perhaps you should.”
I bite my cheek. I don’t want to tell him about Dimitri—it’s humiliating.
“I joined a gypsy troupe,” I say. “They robbed me during the night and left me in the woods.”
He looks down at my dress. Only now does he notice I’m in the same one as the night before. Incredulous, he asks, “You joined a gypsy troupe?”
I bite my lip and nod.
“Why?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”
He studies me, and I’m worried he may change his mind. I hold my breath, waiting.
“You’ll have to ride with me,” he says.
***
“What does a grim boar look like?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at Galinor.
He scans the area around us. The ground is wet here, and we pass bogs of thick, green-tinged mud. Lauramore’s forest is completely different from Primewood’s. There are deciduous trees growing amongst the firs, and their evergreens are nowhere near as large or as tall as ours. Up higher, where the palace sits, the terrain is beautiful, but here, below the terraces, the forest is dark and thick and seemingly malevolent.
“They’re like the boars in Glendon or Primewood,” Galinor answers. “But they are larger, gray, and emit a horrible stench.”
I lift my nose and sniff the air. I don’t smell anything except the pleasant horse scent of Galinor’s bay and the dark, forest soil.
“Do you think you could stop squirming?” Galinor asks.
Danver strains against my arms, but I don’t want to put him down in this part of the woods. I glance over my shoulder. Galinor gives Danver a pointed look.
“He’s restless,” I say.
“Let him go.”
I shift so I can look at Galinor better. “And let a grim boar eat him? I don’t think so.”
Galinor snorts. “They’re scavengers, not hunters.”
“Best not take any chances.”
Emery gave me a pack of food thi
s morning, and I twist back to pull a few strips of dried meat out of the pouch that is tucked in Galinor’s bag. If I can distract Danver with food, he may settle down.
Galinor clasps my arm as I stretch around him. “What are you doing?”
I have Danver in one arm, and he’s frantically squirming to get free. My opposite leg is in the air for balance, and I just need to reach a little farther…
Danver wriggles away. I wrench back and try to catch him before he darts to the ground. The fox jumps from my arms. I lunge for him, but from my already precarious position, I lose my balance. “Galinor!”
There is no way I’m going to right myself. Just before I topple off the horse, Galinor’s arm wraps around my waist, and he pulls me back. Once again firmly seated, I collapse against him and breathe a sigh of relief.
And then I giggle.
Galinor is irritated, and I try to stop. Instead, I end up snorting, and then I lose all composure. Still laughing, I twist around to apologize. His lips are set in a firm line, but his eyes give him away. He’s not as stern as he would like me to think.
“Thank you.” I smile even wider when he doesn’t respond. “Are you always this serious?”
“The fox stays on the ground from now on.”
Danver is ahead of us, darting in and out of the bushes. He seems much happier.
“Fine, but only if you promise to cheer up.”
He scrunches his forehead. “I am cheerful.”
I nudge his chest with my shoulder. “Then smile.”
He graces me with a fake, wide smile.
I laugh. “You can do better than that.”
Galinor looks away, shaking his head, but, despite himself, his lips quirk up on one side. Satisfied, I turn around, settle back, and once again scan the woods. Irving and Bran are somewhere ahead of us, scouting for boars. The two are excited at the prospect of flushing one out.
Galinor doesn’t share their enthusiasm. His sole focus is finding the eldentimber tree.
We pass a strange bush covered in blue leaves, and I think of Marigold. She would know what it is. I tried to persuade her to join us, but she was adamant about staying out of the woods.
“What is that?” I point to the bush. “I’ve never seen anything like it. There, up ahead, are more.”
Galinor shifts. “It means we are nearing the tree.”
The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 27
