By now the great hall is packed with people hoping to grab a good seat for the upcoming crown round, and I have a hard time making my way through the crowd to the room’s main entrance. After almost ten minutes of polite shoving I finally make it out into the corridor.
I dash down the hallway to the ladies’ room, my bladder almost ready to burst. The marble-tiled bathroom is empty. I’m in the last stall rearranging my skirts to sit down on the toilet when I hear someone else enter the restroom.
“Well, you just never know what Phil is going to do, even if he does become King,” I hear one familiar female voice whisper. I can’t quite make out whose voice it belongs to, but it’s pretty obvious that whoever it is, she’s talking about Syr Phillip.
“I suppose he’s always going to have problems with the ladies,” another familiar whispering voice replies. “He’s just had way too many of them over the years not to.” That voice might belong to Barlonda, but I can’t be sure.
The first voice coughs, or perhaps laughs. “Phil’s always gonna be a heartbreaker. He’s been lovin’ ‘em and leavin’ ‘em for years, and if he becomes King you betcha a lot of the ex-girlfriends are gonna start comin’ outa the woodwork. That’s just the simple facts. He’s his father’s son, after all. I should know. I was sleepin’ with Phil’s dad before little Phil could shave.” That can’t be anyone but Duchess Danyel.
The whispered gossip against my lord and knight is enough to start my temples to throbbing and my jaws to clenching. I finally relax enough to pee, and once the two women hear the tinkling and realize they’re not alone, they lower their voices even more. I strain to hear them, but can’t from my spot on the toilet. I finish peeing and decide to try eavesdropping a little more before I flush. I rearrange my skirts carefully so I can lean against the metal stall door, hoping it will serve as an amplifier of sorts.
“—it’s just that I don’t want to see Lisa get hurt.” Barlonda’s mature, gravelly voice now is unmistakable through the cold aluminum of the stall door. “She’s a nice, sweet girl, naïve as she is.”
“Well, you’re right, she is a sweet girl, if a little dumb.” Danyel replies. “You’d have to be pretty dumb to be going along with becoming Queen this soon after joining SCA. Especially with someone like Phil.”
Dumb? Naïve? I’m dumb and naïve?
Oh, that does it.
I mash the toilet’s flush lever with a vengeance and jerk open the stall door. I stomp up to Barlonda and Danyel, who take one look at me and go quiet as lizards.
“Is there something you ladies need to discuss with me?” I demand, stamping my foot—although given my soft satin slippers it doesn’t exactly make much of a noise.
“Now—-now Lisa, don’t take what you just overheard the wrong way, hon,” Barlonda stammers. Duchess Danyel says nothing. She just plucks off the tri-leafed brass circlet of her rank and starts polishing it with the hem of her gown.
“You both just basically implied that Syr Phillip is cheating on me, and always has been,” I shoot back. “How the hell else am I supposed to take it?”
“Lisa, that’s not what we said at all,” Danyel protests. “You’re twisting our words all around.”
“Oh yeah? Then what exactly were you saying?”
Barlonda and the bawdy old duchess exchange bewildered looks, but say nothing. Barlonda’s palms are sweating. I can tell because she keeps wiping them on her houppelande and they leave dark marks on the green velvet. Danyel fiddles with the gaudy Renaissance-style rings on her chubby fingers and says nothing.
“Well?” I seethe.
Barlonda heaves a heavy sigh. “It’s just that there are a lot of complicated. . .interkingdom politics going on right now, and Syr Phillip’s getting caught up in them, that’s all. That’s all we were talking about, Lisa. Really it was.” Duchess Danyel nods her head emphatically in agreement.
“Please. I wasn’t born yesterday. I distinctly heard the two of you call me dumb and naïve.” Two words that are usually reserved for abandoned housewives and cuckolded husbands. “Is that really what the two of you think of me?” I ask, feeling my voice breaking a little. “I may be new to the SCA, but I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, either. What else are you two trying to hide from me?”
“Lisa, sweetheart, you wouldn’t understand,” Duchess Danyel says, gently. “Just concentrate on cheering on your lord on to victory today, and forget all about what you overheard in here.”
“I won’t forget about it!” I screech. “And I will find out the truth!” I shove past them out of the bathroom. And as much as I want to find out the truth behind the two older women’s gossip, I’m almost afraid to know. As the idea of Syr Phillip making me into yet another relationship of convenience starts taking shape in my confused brain, I start feeling a little faint. I step the rest of the way into the hallway and find Pegeen waiting for me there, tapping her velvet-slippered foot and checking her chrome Timex.
“Where the hell have you been?” she hisses in her best mother-hen voice.
“I should ask the same of you,” I retort. “Some fine lady-in-waiting you are.”
“Pardon me, Lees, but I’ve been busy working behind the scenes.”
I roll my eyes. “Doing what? Screwing Arundel up against a wall someplace? Because you’ve been missing in action ever since this morning.”
Pegeen/Pegonia clears her throat. “For your information, I have been busy lobbying on your and Syr Phillip’s behalf with the senior kingdom leadership all day long, not to mention trying to create a positive crowd buzz every time Syr Phillip has gone up to fight. It’s not enough to be a good fighter to win Crown Tournament, you know. You have to have the people behind you, too.”
“But—“
“And furthermore, Lisa, Arundel isn’t even here yet. His car broke down somewhere around Middletown. And if I weren’t so busy trying to make sure you become Crown Princess of the Midrealm today, I could have driven him up some jumper cables. And that doesn’t even cover how much sleep I’ve lost on your behalf this week—”
I bite my lip. “I’m—I’m sorry,” I mumble aloud. I’m starting to have trouble breathing. All the stress of Crown Tournament is sending me straight into a panic attack.
Pegeen’s expression softens and she taps me on the shoulder, gently. “Lisa? Lisa, are you okay? You look like you’re going to faint again.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. But I’m far from fine. I lean against the wood-paneled wall for support. Knight boyfriends who turn out to be scoundrels, my pending major celebrity in the SCA world—it’s all getting to be a little too much for me to take.
Whoa. Why is the paneling starting to spin around?
Pegeen/Pegonia grabs my arm. “Lisa, you really need to get a hold of yourself. The whole reason I came looking for you is because Syr Phillip just made it to the crown round. You have to be there beside him as his most favored lady when the King introduces the two of you to the crowd.”
“Wha? The King is going to introduce me? I mean, Syr Phillip? I mean, us?” The dark wood paneling isn’t just spinning now—it’s swaying, too.
“Yeah, Lees, and we’re going to be late!” Pegeen cries. “Let’s go!”
“Riggghhhhhhhhhtttt—“ I moan, and then everything goes black.
I come two a few minutes later. Danyel, Barlonda, and Pegeen are all standing over me. Barlonda is fanning me with a Champions’ Lists program again; Pegeen has dumped almost an entire bottle of Evian she's procured from somewhere onto my face.
“Hon, are you sure that corset’s not too tight?” Barlonda says, patting my hand. “That’s your second faint today.”
“You aren’t pregnant, are you?” Danyel asks, giving me a playful punch in the arm. “I know old Phil can be feisty in the sack, but—" I sit bold upright. There is a sharp, throbbing pain on the back of my skull, probably from where I wonked it against something on the way down. “I am NOT pregnant,” I hiss. Of that, I can be sure. My period ended the day before y
esterday and I haven’t been with Syr Phillip since—well, since about two hours ago. Can you get pregnant in two hours?
“Are you sure?” Pegeen asks, helping me stand up. “Because you sure are fainting a lot for someone who’s not.”
I shove Pegeen out of the way. “Will all of you just give me some air, please? I’m very stressed out right now. I pass out a lot when I’m stressed, that’s all.” Not exactly true, but I don’t have a better explanation.
“Well, whatever’s causin’ it hon, you’re holdin’ up the show. Everybody’s waitin’ on you.” Danyel pulls me the rest of the way up.
And even as I get the feeling I’m nothing more than a lamb being escorted to slaughter, Pegeen, Barlonda, and Danyel half-escort, half-carry me down the aisle of the tournament hall, where a nervous-looking Syr Phillip is waiting for me in the bear pit, his helm under his arm and his sword at his feet.
Chapter 22
Everything that happens next is kind of a blur. My walk down the aisle toward my favored knight and lord seems to happen in slow motion. Hundreds of Middle Kingdomers chant my name as I pass them.
“LEE-SA! LEE-SA! LEE-SA!” Someone throws rose petals at my feet as I stumble onto the stage, and I almost banana-peel out on one of them. But Syr Phillip’s strong hand catches me just in time.
“I understand you’ve been falling down a lot today,” he whispers in my ear, his voice seeming very far away. “How about you save the lying down for our celebration tonight, milady?”
I don’t answer him. It’s all I can do just to keep standing.
Baron Grizzly announces our names and presents us to the King and Queen. Somehow, I remember that I’m supposed to curtsey. Then Syr Phillip puts on his helm, picks up his sword and shield, and goes to stand in the bear pit to await his opponent. Somebody—I think it’s Pegeen but I’m too dazed to know for sure—guides me over to my red satin chaise lounge, which has been moved to just downstage left of King Fallon and Queen Marguerite.
Baron Grizzly goes back to his spot in front of the bear pit and he begins pounding his staff. I start to feel faint again, so I stretch out on the chaise lounge as much as I can without actually lying down. I’m just getting comfortable when I’m stunned by Baron Grizzly’s words.
“OYEZ! OYEZ! OYEZ! BE IT KNOWN THAT SYR PHILLIP REGINALD OF BLACKSTAR’S CHALLENGER FOR THE CROWN OF THE MIDREALM IS MASTER STEPHEN BLACKHAWK OF THE TWO SHIRES, FORMERLY OF THE KINGDOM OF AETHELMARC, WHO FIGHTS TO SAVE THE HONOR OF LADY FIONA OF MIDDLE MARCHES!”
A collective “huh?” erupts from the crowd, followed by silence. Some of the older SCA members, including Barlonda and Danyel, start whispering furiously to one another.
Meanwhile, the mysterious black-armored fighter—who, apparently, is none other than Syr Phillip’s own brother, Master Stephen—strides into the bear pit with a pale, thin woman who must be Lady Fiona at his side. She gives the crowd a feeble wave just as Master Stephen pulls off his heavy black helm and shoots Syr Phillip the enigmatic love-meets-hate look that only a long-embedded sibling rivalry can create.
Syr Phillip drops his sword.
Master Stephen—I notice that he’s now wearing a white master-at-arms baldric, something he left off during the earlier competition—gives his older brother the most charismatic of smiles and puts his helm back on. I wonder what he’s doing here fighting for the Crown of the Midrealm, considering that just two weeks ago he was spying for the kingdom of Aethelmarc.
It seems Syr Phillip is wondering the same thing, because he just dropped his shield, too. It lands on his steel-encased foot with a clang. He stands in the middle of the bear pit, weaponless, shieldless, and frozen solid.
Master Stephen picks up his own sword and shield, taking a preparatory stance. Syr Phillip doesn’t move.
The Earl Marshal taps Syr Phillip on the shoulder. “Milord?” the old knight asks. “Are you all right, sir?”
Syr Phillip shakes his head back and forth rapidly, as if coming out of a trance. “Yes,” he mutters from underneath his helm, and after a long moment he goes to pick up his sword and shield.
The Earl Marshal steps forward. “Good gentles of the Midrealm!” he shouts, his voice roughened with age but still quite loud. “The final round of Crown Tournament is upon us! This will be a traditional sword-and-shield, single-elimination round! The first fighter to land a fatal blow shall win the Crown of the Middle Kingdom and he and his lady shall immediately become Crown Prince and Princess of the Midrealm. Gentles, I must respectfully ask for total silence during this fight. Please keep your cheers for the end. Before you stand the two best fighters in the kingdom, and they both must concentrate on the task at hand. Baron Griswold shall announce when the populace may cheer the winner. Until then, only he and I may speak.”
The Earl Marshal steps to the rear of the bear pit, just outside its boundaries. “Milords, prepare to engage!”
Syr Phillip and Master Stephen are already frozen in strike posture. They both nod at the Earl Marshal, who shouts, “Lay on!”
The two brothers start circling each other in the ring, but neither seems willing to make the first strike. After they spend almost a full minute dodging one another, the Earl Marshal intervenes. “Milords, I must implore you, please begin the duel. The feast is scheduled to begin in half an hour.”
Syr Phillip finally makes the first move. He swings his sword in a textbook parry that easily lands itself on Master Stephen’s shoulder, “severing” his younger brother’s shield arm. Master Stephen drops his shield in accordance with SCA fighting procedure, and then Syr Phillip easily locks rattan with him, ricocheting his sword’s hilt off his brother’s wrist.
Remarkably, Master Stephen doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything to block his older brother’s blows. Or fight back much at all, for that matter. Syr Phillip is doing all the attacking, and Master Stephen’s parries are feeble at best. Within another minute, Syr Phillip has “severed” both his younger brother’s legs. Master Stephen is now reduced to fighting on his knees with only one arm, his defeat appearing inevitable.
Syr Phillip raises his sword over his head to strike the final blow. Master Stephen raises his own sword in defense only slightly, seemingly accepting his fate.
Before my lord and knight lands the final blow, he pauses, his sword frozen in midair. “This one’s for Holly, you bastard,” Syr Phillip hisses through the steel grating of his helm, and brings his sword down squarely on his younger brother’s head.
Wham.
The Earl Marshal steps forward. “Master Stephen Blackhawk of the Two Shires, you have received a decapitating blow to the head. You are now dead. Please die, milord.”
Master Stephen topples over onto the floor with great ceremony. Syr Phillip sets down his sword and shield and pulls off his helmet, revealing a huge grin. The Earl Marshal raises Syr Phillip’s right arm in a victory salute. “Winner!” he shouts, and pats Syr Phillip firmly on the back. Master Stephen stands up, pulls off his helm, and goes to embrace his older brother in a huge bear hug. Stunned and stiff, Syr Phillip doesn’t hug him back.
Baron Grizzly starts banging his staff on the floor. He’s smiling from ear to ear, too. “Behold your new Crown Prince, good gentles of the Midrealm!” he shouts. “Syr Phillip Reginald of Blackstar and his most-honored lady, Lisa Ladonna di Abbigliatura, shall ascend to the Throne of the great Middle Kingdom!”
Syr Phillip rushes to my side and drags me off my satin couch. In one swift motion, he scoops me into his arms and threshold-carries me onto the stage, where King Fallon and Queen Marguerite are waiting to receive us.
The crowd goes wild. Somehow, Syr Phillip bows deeply before the royal couple without dropping me on the floor. I start feeling dizzy again, and the faces in the crowd are all blending together into a fuzzy, colorful human quilt. It’s probably a good thing my lord and knight is carrying me. The king and queen approach us, and I vaguely notice through the deepening haze that King Fallon is waving a very real metal sword around over ou
r heads. Syr Phillip sets me gently down on my feet, and then nudges me lightly in the side.
“Kneel down, Lisa, so King Fallon can crown you,” he whispers.
Crown me? I get to wear a crown?
Hmm. I guess that’s why they call it Crown Princess.
Baron Grizzly appears out of nowhere carrying an elaborate red velvet pillow, on which two heavy silver crowns—slightly smaller, less elaborate versions of the golden ones that rest on King Fallon’s and Queen Marguerite’s heads—rest. King Fallon picks up the larger of the two and holds it over Syr Phillip’s head.
King Fallon’s rich, deep voice booms over the silent, awestruck tournament hall. “I, King Fallon, King by right of Arms of the Middle Kingdom, do enshrine you, Syr Phillip Reginald of Blackstar, as Crown Prince by right of Arms of the Middle Kingdom.”
I cast a sidelong glance at Syr Phillip as King Fallon places the crown on his head and see that my lord and knight has tears in his eyes.
Now it’s my turn. King Fallon picks up the Crown Princess coronet and holds it over my head. “I, King Fallon, King by right of Arms of the Middle Kingdom, do enshrine you, Lisa Ladonna di Abbigliatura, as Crown Princess Consort of the Middle Kingdom.”
With that, the gentle-voiced monarch places the crown on my head, carefully balancing it on top of my elaborate padded headdress.
Ow! What the hell does this thing weigh, twenty pounds?
It’s all I can do to hold my head upright under the weight of my new adornment as hundreds of “POOHBAHS!” shake the room. Syr Phillip stands up and tugs at me to follow him. I stand up and instantly feel like a very unstable, metal-headed lollipop. With as heavy as the princess crown is, I am going to have to look into some serious neck-strengthening exercises.
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Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 75