I know he’s not serious, but for a just a moment I imagine it. It’s not bad.
“You weren’t supposed to take me seriously.” He gives me a wicked grin. “This punishment of yours must be weakening your resolve.”
“You have no idea.”
“Word has it you’ve selected your chosen. We shouldn’t tell them yet. They’ll just be jealous of me.”
I snort. It’s not a very ladylike sound, but something tells me Irving won’t care. “I’m choosing Galinor.”
He quirks his eyebrow at me. “Shocking. The man who brought a sheep.”
As we dance, I notice several young ladies look at us with unveiled envy. “You’ve made quite an impression on the women of our court.”
He grins. “All I care about is you, sweet princess.”
I glance across the room, and I see Archer is dancing with Lady Marigold. Irving follows my gaze. “She’s a kind girl, our Marigold. She’s been spending quite a bit of time with that Archer. Is he respectable?”
“Very.” My throat constricts. I watch the two of them and tell myself it’s not sadness I’m feeling, but rather, unbridled joy. It’s not working yet, but I’m hopeful. “Tell me about her.”
“Her family…died…in the Dragon Wars.”
I glance up at Irving. “You make that sound ominous.”
He shakes his head, more serious now than I’ve ever seen him. “It’s a horrible story. She’s quite alone in the world.”
“It was kind of your family to take her in.”
He gives me a funny look. “It’s never been talked about directly, but I’m rather positive she’s my half-sister, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh! You mean…your father…”
“That’s right.”
“How does your mother feel about all that?”
Irving grins. “All water under the bridge now. She loves Marigold. There are days I do believe she loves her more than me.”
“Bit of a troublemaker, are you?”
He winks. “You’re in good company, Princess.”
Our dance ends, and I’m truly disappointed. Who knows who will claim me next? At least Irving is fun.
Archer and Marigold part, and he walks her back to where they were standing earlier. I watch him, feeling a strange blend of wistfulness and nausea. It’s an unpleasant combination. His eyes scan the hall, and then they settle on me, as if I were the one he was looking for all along. I swallow, feeling oddly nervous.
He excuses himself from Marigold and strides to me. “How are you?”
“Fine,” I say, bobbing on my toes.
He glances around and then looks back at me. “Do you think I’m allowed to dance with you?”
I hold my hand out in answer. I don’t know if we’re allowed to dance, but I do know we had better hurry and do it before someone comes to stop us. Once we’re on the floor, Father won’t make a scene.
Archer’s hand is warm on my waist, and it reminds me of our night ride. I take his hand, and he leads me across the hall. I search for something to say. I should keep the conversation light, but I can only think of our shared moment in the cottage. We haven’t discussed it. I’m not sure he even remembers. He seemed lucid enough, but with a fever it’s hard to tell.
“Did you find yourself in any trouble?” I ask, relieved to find a safe topic.
Archer laughs. “No. King Ewan thanked me for keeping you safe.”
Silence settles between us like a thick blanket. It’s almost suffocating. I’ve never felt this way around Archer. I glance at Galinor, and see that he has rescued Lady Marigold from loneliness. I smile. He is kind.
“Thank you, by the way,” I say finally, realizing I haven’t acknowledged his help with the scavenger hunt. I add, my voice a whisper in the loud hall, “How did you know it was a sheep?”
“Just a hunch.”
“I thought I was going to die on the spot when Galinor came dragging it into the arena.”
Archer smiles, creating little creases around his eyes.
“Your eyes change depending on what you wear,” I say. Although I was thinking it, I’m not sure why I said it out loud.
He gives me a funny look. “What do you mean they change?”
“Sometimes they’re green. Sometimes they’re blue. Sometimes they’re a little of both.”
“What are they tonight?” he asks, and his voice is soft.
“A little bit of both.”
He’s watching me so intently that my breath catches in my throat. “Your eyes are always the same. The exact color of the sky immediately after sunrise—bright, light blue.”
I look away, unable to bear how intimate our conversation has become. When I do, I meet Rigel’s gaze. He’s scrutinizing us, and for a terror-filled second I believe he can see right into my heart. He narrows his eyes and turns away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Archery Tournament
She is very kind, and I do not hate her.
I keep repeating this over and over in my head, hoping it will sink in eventually.
I’m noticing little things about Lady Marigold I didn’t notice when I first met her. At first, I saw she had pretty eyes, but only now do I see she has long dark eyelashes too. Her hair, which looked mousy and plain the way she had it severely pulled back that first day, is shining and full as it falls past her shoulders. The maids have braided the front strands to make a crown around her face, and the effect is charming. This irks me.
But she is very kind, and I do not hate her.
“Pippa, you’re quiet today,” Marigold says, touching my shoulder.
Leonora laughs and responds before I can answer. “She’s very serious about archery.”
“I would be serious as well, if I had an instructor who looked like that.” Marigold motions to Archer, and then she blushes.
I cringe, but I don’t think either Leonora or Marigold notice.
Archer is speaking with the competitors, giving them instructions for the archery tournament. This tournament is on a much grander scale than the village competition, and he takes it very seriously.
The first event will be a simple bull’s-eye match. Whoever hits the center will step back to the next distance and then the next after that. Anyone who doesn’t make it through the third distance won’t move on to the second event. The second event is mounted archery, shooting through rings. The third event is a mystery. Archer’s quite proud of it, and he wouldn’t give me as much as a hint.
Like the scavenger hunt, there’s a total of six points possible.
Galinor has assured me he’s good with a bow, so I hope he will place in the final three. Though I couldn’t watch, he practiced most of the day yesterday. Marigold and Leonora tell me his skill is impressive.
Irving, though, is the favorite to win this particular event. He struts through the arena, wearing a ridiculous hat with a huge plumed feather hanging from it. He has on tall black boots, black trousers, and a billowy white shirt. He looks like he’s borrowed an odd assortment of nautical clothing from Bran and Dristan’s trunks. Except, instead of a sailor prince, he has the odd look of a pirate.
He catches me studying him and gives me a wave and a wink. The girls around me sigh. If nothing else, he makes a handsome pirate.
The tournament is about to begin, and Archer has picked three men to start the competition: Bran, Peter of Coppel, and Lord Gregor of Lauramore.
Archer gives the signal, and they all shoot toward their target. All three arrows hit their bull’s-eye, and the crowd cheers. Galinor is in the next three along with two men I don’t know well. Archer gives the signal. The arrows fly, and all reach the red center.
I cheer for Galinor, and he waves to me before stepping aside for the next competitors.
All twenty-nine men, excluding the one still in Yuven’s care, pass the first third of the beginning event. It would have been tragic to miss at that close range, and I am glad none faced that humiliation.
With Archer giving
instructions, the targets are adjusted. He shoots a practice arrow. Then, happy with the placement, he calls the men again. Leonora and Marigold are already bored. They have been prattling on about music, and I have been studiously ignoring them.
My ears perk up when I hear Leonora say, “He’s never taken interest in anyone romantically. He’s very serious, actually. But he seemed quite taken with you last night.”
“He was only being kind,” Marigold protests.
Leonora laughs. “He’s very handsome, and though master archer isn’t as high as knight, he would still be a fine husband.”
I bite my tongue to keep quiet.
She’s very kind, and I do not hate her.
The men follow the same order as before. I cheer for Bran, I cheer for Galinor, and I cheer for both Irving and Dristan as they are out at the same time. I clap politely for Lionel and once again for Rigel.
I can’t help but smile a little when Lionel shoots. Archery is not his strong event. He’s sweating profusely, and though his arrow does make the bull’s-eye, it’s on the very edge.
So far, only one man has been disqualified when his arrow narrowly missed center.
The targets are moved, Archer takes a practice shot, and then the last round of the first event begins. Bran and Peter of Coppel both move on, but poor Lord Gregor misses center.
The sun is almost directly overhead, and the day is very warm. I’m glad I talked my maids into a simple puff-sleeved gown. Leonora looks like she’s overheating in her long-sleeved velvet. I’m about to suggest she move to shade, but it’s Galinor’s turn.
He and everyone with him make the shot and hit the bull’s-eye. Lady Marigold and I cheer, though she’s much quieter than I am. Leonora is fanning herself with her hand, and she looks faint.
“Leonora, you need to move out of the sun.” I’m worried about her. She’s never been frail and fragile.
“She’s right,” Marigold agrees, studying Leonora’s pale complexion.
Leonora doesn’t fight us but instead lets us help her up. Percival is immediately at her side, his brow knitted with concern. “Are you all right?”
She waves him away. “It’s the heat.”
I follow behind him as he leads her to the shaded awning my parents are seated under. I hear Archer signal another row of archers, but I don’t pay attention. A gasp runs through the crowd, and I turn to see what has happened.
Lionel looks murderous. His arrow not only missed the bull’s-eye, but has struck the outermost circle of the target. I glance at Archer. Whether he means to or not, he has a very satisfied look on his face. Lionel strides past him and out of the arena.
A few more groups go, and several more men are disqualified. Rigel passes to the next round. He acknowledges Archer’s congratulations with a nod, and he too leaves the arena. The sun is directly overhead now, and Father announces the next event will begin after we break for lunch.
***
I slip away from my family’s platform, hoping Father is too busy to notice my temporary absence. I follow the stairs down to the arena. Galinor, Irving, Archer, the Triblue princes, and a few others are discussing the rounds. Their men are waiting on the edge of the arena with their horses, which are all saddled and ready for the next event. They bow their heads when they see me.
“You did well,” I say, addressing the entire group, but my eyes settle on Galinor.
He looks more confident than he did during the scavenger hunt, and I have no doubt he’ll do better in this event.
“We’re about to begin again, Pippa,” Archer says. “I need to ride through it once.”
I meet his eye. In theory, he tests everything to make sure it’s correctly set up, but in truth—I think he likes to remind us why he’s master archer. His mouth twitches to the side, and I’m sure he knows what I’m thinking. I give them all a farewell wave and find my seat next to Marigold.
Archer clears the arena then charges around the loop on his horse. He shoots through three sets of small hanging rings and into targets behind them. Of course, he not only collects the rings with his arrows, but he also hits the bull’s-eye each time. Satisfied with the setup, he walks his horse to the edge of the arena and hands her off to a stable boy.
He glances up at me, and I smirk at him and mouth, “Show off.”
He grins, a rare sight. Beside me, Marigold sighs.
I don’t have time to dwell on Marigold or Archer because the round begins. Irving is the first out, and his horse prances under him, just as arrogant as he. He rides fast, his body comfortable on his horse with no reins, and makes swift work of the rings. He ends his loop in front of the royal platform. He sweeps off his silly hat and gives us a grand bow. I cheer for him, as does Marigold, though she looks a little embarrassed at his cocky display.
Two more princes go, one missing two of the rings and the second only missing one, and then it’s Galinor’s turn. I shouldn’t be nervous; he seemed confident. I am, though.
He rides into the arena. His stallion glistens in the bright sunlight, and as always, he’s an impressive sight. He sits tall and proud on the horse. He may be second born, but he looks like a king.
I hold my breath as he urges his horse around the arena. Galinor nocks his first arrow and lets it fly through the first ring. With amazing power and finesse, he quickly nocks a second arrow and sends it through the next ring.
I clasp my hands in my lap. He nocks the third arrow, urges his horse a little faster, and aims for the third ring. I close my eyes, unable to watch. The crowd screams, and I open my eyes.
The third arrow is firmly centered in the bull’s-eye with the last ring settled right before the feather fletching.
I jump to my feet, cheering and hollering with the villagers.
“Pippa, sit down!” Father says.
I plop back into my seat with a huge grin on my face. Galinor stops in front of our platform, and his eyes are shining bright. He gives me a very royal nod and then rides out of the arena to make way for the next competitor.
Only seven make it past the second round, including Galinor and Irving. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is shining warm and orange in the western sky.
I watch, intrigued as Archer moves away all the targets but one. We still have no idea what the last event will be, but it’s worth an additional three points to the men who can accomplish it. There’s nothing complicated about the setup, the horses have been sent back to the stables, and the competitors look as perplexed as I feel.
Archer comes forward and tells Father we are ready. He doesn’t look at me, though I’m sure he can feel my curious gaze on him.
“Announce the event,” Father says.
Archer strides to the middle of the ring and addresses the men. “We are about to begin the final event of the archery tournament. We have measured and averaged your arrow placement from the last event to rank you. Right now Prince Irving of Primewood is in first, with three points. Lord Mador of Dorman is in second place, with two points. Prince Galinor of Glendon is in third, with one point. The last event is worth three points. In the event of a tie, there will be a long distance shoot to decide the winner.”
Even if he’s in third, I’m relieved Galinor has placed. If he wins this final event, he will finish with four, which will place him firmly in the lead for the tournament.
“This event is simple. I will shoot an arrow at the target, and you will shoot my arrow down before it hits the mark.”
The crowd is quiet. Alexander whistles low.
“Master Archer, what you ask is impossible,” Irving says, his face full of good cheer but unmistakable doubt.
Archer turns his gaze to him. “I assure you, Prince Irving, it is very possible.”
There are a few more grumbles from the competitors.
“Archer, would you demonstrate it for us?” my father calls.
It’s there on Archer’s face again, that little glimmer of a smile. “Galinor, would you send an arrow at the target?”
Galinor, who has been silent, nods and comes forward to take aim. Archer stands with his back to us, aiming toward the empty arena entrance.
It seems as though the arrow has only left Galinor’s bow when it falls to the ground, nowhere near the target. Archer turns and faces the dumbstruck men near him. Even Galinor looks a little shaken.
“Prince Irving, you will go first.” He takes Galinor’s place.
Irving misses. Mador misses. Galinor misses. They all miss, and there are no second chances.
My father stands up. “Prince Irving is our winner, with three points!”
The crowd is on their feet, yelling praises to the prince of Primewood.
Galinor is still leading the tournament with seven points, but Irving, at six points, has passed Lionel to claim a temporary second. I feel lighter than I did yesterday. The farther back Lionel is, the better. Rigel is way back with only the two points he earned in the scavenger hunt. He no longer seems to be an immediate threat.
Now I just have to make it through Irving’s feast without him convincing me to run away to tropical locations with him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Marigold
“He did not!” I exclaim at a whisper.
Irving shrugs and helps himself to another portion of roasted boar.
I shake my head. “Lionel bought the pearl?”
“That’s the rumor.”
Since Irving’s gorging himself tonight, I figure I might as well do the same. I reach for another scone and slather butter over its sugary, golden crust. I bite into it and moan in appreciation.
Irving raises his eyebrows.
“Have you tried one?” I ask, covering my mouth with my hand because I haven’t completely swallowed.
My mother will die on the spot if she sees me.
Irving doesn’t answer, his mouth too full of grim boar, but he does reach for a scone. After he finishes he says, “There is another interesting rumor floating around.” He wags his eyebrows for emphasis.
“Go on,” I encourage him.
He leans forward as if what he is going to say is a big secret and whispers, “There are tales that your master archer is smitten.”
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