Page 34 of Date Knight (Roll for Romance #2)

Amy

I hadn’t really known what to expect from the fantasy festival.

Sure, I’d looked at the website, but it was hard to tell what the vibe would be just from a list of vendors.

The others had said it would be like a Renaissance Faire, like the one they’d been to the year before, but given that I hadn’t been there, that was only so helpful to me.

Plus, they hadn’t actually been to this festival before, so they were really just guessing.

But after being there for less than five minutes, I fully understood the hype.

In reality, it was probably only about half of the people we passed, but it seemed like nearly everyone was dressed up in varying levels of cosplay.

There were people who looked like they’d been working on their costumes for years, like the full-on angel with massive, feathered wings and golden skin, and others whose had probably been store bought.

And all of them were having an equally great time from the look of it.

The festival was in full swing by the time we got there, since we’d had to drive in that morning.

We’d all met at Fatima and Morgan’s house and piled into Jack’s and my respective cars; they weren’t the most economical on the road, but they had the most space for all of us and our bags, which were many given the sheer number of costumes.

Phil rode with Chloe and me, but just like the other six days since our little river misadventure, things were off between us.

After I’d brought up the breakup strategy like I’d planned to, which felt nearly impossible with how close we’d gotten to doing something ill-advised, he’d just grumbled something about circling back after the festival and gotten out of the water.

We’d walked back to his in relative silence, and he’d gone straight to his room as I said hello to Ethel and Anil.

Both D “She’s a playable character in League of Legends ”; “I think they’re just meant to be a normal jellyfish”– the more in awe I was of the vast swathe of nerd culture I’d never even dipped a toe into.

I’d thought Jack and his friends– they’re my friends, too , I reminded myself– were pretty nerdy.

But it seemed they were just the very tip of the iceberg, and as it turned out, I didn’t hate getting to peek under the surface.

It had always felt painfully uncool, and my life’s mission had been to avoid feeling ostracised, so I’d always avoided it.

But here, surrounded by so many people passionate about their favourite things, I was definitely the uncool one.

We’d decided to save the Shrek costumes for the next day when it would be a bit cooler to spare Grey and Fatima having to sweat through their green body painting.

Phil had asked what sort of other costume I wanted when I’d been invited along, and not wanting to give him more to do, I’d said to make whatever was easiest, or even just to tell me what to buy so he didn’t have to make anything.

But he’d clearly not been okay with that, and I’d ended up with two handmade skirts, the top one of which was a lovely brown and black tartan that he’d frayed slightly at the edges to give it a well-worn look.

I had a pair of things called skirt hikes holding it up at the front, bunching it up with my underskirt, which had a raw linen look.

He’d made me a plain black lace-up bodice, which I wore over an off-the-shoulder white blouse I already owned, and a tartan shawl that matched my skirt, which I could wrap over my shoulders to keep them out of the sun, wear as a hood if it started to rain, or tie around my waist for extra volume on my skirt if I wanted it out of the way.

Chloe had loaned me a leather bag that clipped to my belt, big enough to hold my phone, my card, and the cash I’d stopped for on the way into town that morning.

I’d offered to just bring a purse, but Phil had insisted that would have ruined the look, and he’d been right.

Now I felt like I’d stepped straight out of Outlander or something– like I should be hitching up my skirt even further to run through a meadow– and after just fifteen minutes at the festival, I’d been complimented half a dozen times.

The others, however, were where Phil’s creativity had really shone. I knew Jack’s outfit was left over from the Ren Faire, but it was still amazing to see the intricacy of the brocade jerkin, a lopsided metal crown atop his head like some sort of wayward prince.

Grey wore the crocheted chain mail over a white tunic, their wrists wrapped in leather bracers, matching pauldrons on their shoulders.

Phil hadn’t made the leathers, but I knew how much trial and error had gone into that chain mail, and it looked perfect.

It was hard to believe it was made of yarn, the way it shone in the sun, but I was sure Grey was grateful for the lighter material, as it was already quite warm.

Chloe and Fatima were dressed as slutty pink and purple versions of some Lord of the Rings villains– “Oh my god, Nazgul , it’s not that hard,” Chloe had said more than once– with big pointy helmets, semi-sheer corseted mini dresses, and knee-high platform boots.

They looked fucking hot, and clearly I wasn’t the only one who thought so, based on how many people stopped them for pictures.

Morgan had gone for a piratey look, with an off-the-shoulder top with huge sleeves, a waist cincher, three different skirts layered over one another, and a bunch of scarves and belts tied haphazardly around her waist. She’d topped it off with a tricorn hat, perched atop her mess of curls.

All she was missing was a peg leg and a parrot.

Phil looked obnoxiously sexy, probably even more so for how aloof he was acting, which said a lot about my people-pleasing urges.

He wore a dark brown pair of trousers with a fake sword holstered at his hip, a billowing white shirt, and a sort of cloak-shawl hybrid made of the same tartan he’d used for my costume, which hung bunched over one shoulder and long over the other.

His beard and untrimmed hair only added to the effect, making him look like an adventurer who’d just stumbled into town, and I was but a lowly tavern wench swooning over him.

Which annoyed the shit out of me, of course, so I tried my best to ignore him, focusing on everyone and everything buzzing around me instead.

The maze of tents opened up into different areas, some centred around stages with musical acts and comedians performing, and some holding activities, including people having literal sword fights in a little arena.

I assumed at first, when I saw the battle, that the fighters were performers, but as I got closer, I realised that they were attendees like me, yet they’d apparently come prepared to have full-contact battles with one another.

I really was in so much deeper than I would have thought possible after just a couple of months.

I was stood at the barrier watching them, marvelling at the difference between the brute force they were using and the swooping, elegant, choreographed fights I’d seen in films, when disaster struck.

One pair of fighters had positioned themselves just in front of me, and when one of them lunged, the other ducked out of the way, sending their assailant straight towards me.

I shrieked and tried to dodge out of the way as he careened towards me, but the dull blade tore through the measly fabric barrier and caught my skirts, slicing straight through them.

I fell to the ground, not because I’d been hurt, but because the tug on my skirts had thrown me off balance.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Chloe asked, dropping to the ground next to me.

“Oh my god,” the fighter said, pulling off his helmet to have what seemed like a full-on panic attack.

He looked to be about my age, and his face went completely white.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I promise.

The blade shouldn’t be able to do any damage.

” He leaned over the barrier and grasped at my skirts, presumably looking for blood, but with his giant gauntlets and forearm guards on, and trying to move his sword and shield out the way at the same time, he was managing fuck all.

“Fuck off,” Chloe snapped at him, glaring until he took a few steps back, then turned to crouch down next to me. “Are you hurt?”