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Chapter Thirty-Five Meditations he learned on an ancient mountaintop

Gwen dismounted by her tent, her legs as shaky as they’d been after her first ride.

Her thoughts were racing, as unsteady

as her legs, and she stumbled through the tent flap with her mind awhirl.

She yanked off her helmet, sucking in lungfuls of

fresh air, and let out a quavering laugh of released tension and relief.

Only then did she register several distinct sets of footsteps squelching across the much-abused field toward her tent, and

the boisterous male voices hailing Sir Gawain.

Reality reasserted itself like a torrent of icy water, and she scrambled for her helmet, trying to pull it back over her sweaty

face and hair before the other knights entered.

Then a familiar voice called, “Hey, now, that’s far enough!” Orson’s tone was jovial but firm.

“I told you, Sir Gawain sees

no one before or after his jousts. He devotes his pregame and postgame rituals to meditations he learned on an ancient mountaintop.”

One of the other knights got out half a protest, but Orson cut him off.

“You’ll have to see him in the lists, like everyone else.”

The other footsteps sounded again, thudding away from the tent, and then Orson himself ducked inside.

Gwen had gotten halfway stuck inside her helmet.

“Thanks, Awesome,” she murmured, abandoning her attempt to hide her face.

“Er, Orson.”

Orson laughed and came over to take her helmet from her.

“No worries. Isobelle would have my hide if I stood by and did nothing

while you got found out. Need some help?” he added, gesturing to her armor.

“I promise not to kiss you like your last squire

did.”

Gwen gave an uneasy chuckle and nodded, turning so Orson could get to the straps keeping her chest piece in place.

“Thanks.

I’m used to doing it myself, but...”

“But it’s much harder when your muscles are screaming in agony?” Orson finished for her, working the buckle free and prying

the pieces apart so Gwen could squeeze out of them.

“Really, this armor is ingenious.” He squinted, inspecting the shoulder

articulation more closely.

“Thanks.” Gwen pulled her hands out of her gauntlets and began unbuckling her vambraces one by one.

“I meant what I said before.

When all this is done, I can show you how I make it. Make some for you too, if you want.”

Orson cast a sideways glance at her, hesitating, his expression saying clearly, When all this is done, you’re probably not going to be in a position to do anything.

But what he said was, “That’d be awesome, thanks.”

Once the rest of Gwen’s armor was on the stand, Orson turned his back so Gwen could change out of her padding and into her

costume as Céline.

“Look, I appreciate you covering for me with the other knights,” Gwen said, reaching out tentatively to touch Orson on the shoulder and let him know she was fully clothed again.

“But, uh, you might not want to make me sound so very mysterious.”

Orson turned and raised both blond eyebrows at her.

“Seriously? A brand-new knight who comes out of nowhere, who no one’s

seen at any of the feasts or salons, who absolutely demolishes the competition and vanishes again as soon as he’s done so?”

Orson shook his head, rolling his eyes skyward.

“Sir Gawain is a mystery, you can’t avoid it. All I’m doing is muddying the waters with more mysteries, in the hope that no one spots which

mysteries are the important ones to focus on.”

Gwen had to admit it wasn’t the worst idea.

“Just... maybe stop short of implying I’m half dragon or King of the Fae or

that I turn into a bat and go flying around by night.”

“Oh man, those are great ideas. Hang on, let me find something to write those down...” Orson burst into laughter when he

saw Gwen’s stricken face, and then held out his arm with perfect chivalry.

“Come on, Lady Céline. Let’s go find Isobelle.”

But they didn’t find Isobelle.

Her friends had already swept her off—Olivia told Gwen, when she reached Isobelle’s suite,

that they’d gone on a mission to try to find where in the castle Sir Gawain was staying, and lie in wait for him.

That night, as Gwen soaked and resoaked a cloth to bring the swelling down in her shoulder, she could not help but visualize

the moonlit living quarters stretching between her bedroom and Isobelle’s.

Gwen closed her eyes and tried to focus on the

wet cloth cooling her skin.

Instead, she could only think of her disappointment that Awesome was the one who came to celebrate with her afterward, and

not Isobelle.

With a sigh, Gwen tossed the rag back into the water basin and sat up.

She reached for the dressing gown slung across the foot of her bed and shrugged into it before easing silently out of her room.

She got two-thirds of the way across the sitting room before she stopped, heart pounding, ears straining for any telltale

sound from beyond Isobelle’s door.

There was only silence.

Gwen drew a long, slow breath, trying to calm her nerves.

Just because she couldn’t sleep knowing Isobelle was so near, didn’t

mean she had the right to wake her.

Still, she waited there for a long time, far too long, embarrassingly long, a single thought playing on repeat: Isobelle, are you there?

I’m right outside..

..

Eventually, swallowing her disappointment and feeling entirely too cowardly for someone who’d just won her second official

joust in a row, Gwen crept back into her room and shut the door.