Page 29 of Pippa of Lauramore (The Eldentimber #1)

T his is the first tournament breakfast I’ve been allowed to join with all the competitors attending. Instead of looking forward to it, I walk in filled with dread. I don’t want to tell Galinor, but I must.

My anxiety is temporarily forgotten when I see Irving has joined us this morning, but my mood falls a little when I realize Dristan is still absent. How these families must hate me for maiming their sons. Father agreed to the tournament because it brings kingdoms together.

I don’t see how.

I choose a seat next to Marigold, who looks much brighter now that Irving is up.

He’s still bandaged and bruised, but this is an improvement.

He wraps his arm around his sister, and his eyes are full of fire.

Someone must have broken the news of the kidnapping to him.

We kept it from him, thinking it best if we didn’t worry him while he was healing.

“I’m fine, Irving,” Marigold says.

I wish Yuven had something to wipe the nightmares from her mind. What would it be like to live with those memories?

Marigold’s eyes are on the other side of the room, and I follow them. Galinor is speaking with Rigel in the corner. They don’t look like they’re angry, but they are very solemn. My mouth goes dry. I take a drink of cider, but I have trouble swallowing.

Surely Rigel won’t tell Galinor. He can’t—I need to tell him.

Galinor joins the table after several nerve-wracking minutes. He greets everyone, but he doesn’t look at me when he says my name.

No. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

How will I explain this to him? I didn’t do it on purpose. I never meant to hurt him. I close my eyes, blocking everything else out. I have been selfish and cruel. It was bound to catch up with me.

“Pippa, are you all right?” Galinor’s gentle voice says from across the table.

I meet his gaze, and all I want is to tell him how sorry I am. He nods as if he understands.

When he looks away, I search for Rigel. He’s summoned his page. The young man nods, and Rigel speaks with urgency. The page leaves, and Rigel looks up. Once again, he’s the monster I knew he was. He doesn’t look remorseful as he strides from the hall. If anything, he looks quite satisfied.

The festival would be fun if I weren’t avoiding Galinor. Our silent conversation this morning said it all. I am heartless, and he forgives me.

I feel worse.

Leonora convinced Marigold to join her for the festivities, and I tag along for lack of anything else to do.

I think Marigold is enjoying herself, and that is something.

I feed off her enthusiasm, letting it lift my spirits.

We eat entirely too much food—Leonora eats more than any of us—and we play ridiculous games, winning prizes like leather bracelets and pouches of pretty but worthless rocks.

It’s midday, and the sun is hot. I excuse myself and promise to meet them later.

Even though Archer is most likely wandering the festival like we are, I decide to practice my archery instead of trying to find him.

I haven’t had a chance to shoot since the day I lost my bow, and I’m itching to feel one in my hands.

I scan the armory for one that is similar to mine, but when I test it at the practice targets, it doesn’t feel the same.

My shoulder aches, and if I’m not careful, I will tear the stitches.

I block out the pain and continue. There are other people milling nearby, but no one pays me much mind.

I see Galinor approach from the corner of my eye.

He watches several shots before he asks, “Where is your bow?”

“I assume the bandits stole it.” I’m surprised he noticed the difference. He continues to watch me, and, getting flustered, I do worse and worse.

“I already knew, Pippa,” he says, breaking the tension.

I let my bow drop to my side. “Galinor, I’m so?— ”

“I knew the night we met him in the stables.” He offers me a smile that almost looks guilty—which is ridiculous. I’m the guilty one.

I set my bow on the grass under the apple tree, and then I sit down next to it.

Galinor joins me. With his long, muscular frame, he should look awkward on the ground, but he doesn’t.

He’s so handsome with his dark hair and blue eyes.

He’s kind as well. It would have been so much easier to love him instead.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“What was there to say? You’re a princess, and he’s an archer. I knew there was no future there. You were going to wed one of the men in the tournament, and I wanted it to be me.” He gives me a rueful smile. His assessment of my relationship with Archer is painful to hear. He’s right, of course.

Galinor looks in the trees, studying a bird on a limb. His mood is different, and I can’t tell what’s out of place. He doesn’t seem heartbroken. He seems resigned.

“I should have told you,” I mumble. “I’m sorry it was Rigel.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t hate him, Pippa. He has his reasons.”

I’m sure he does. “Will you still compete?”

“Of course, I will compete.” He smiles, showing off the dimples in his cheeks, and leans forward in a move that should take my breath away, but sadly doesn’t. “You need me.”

“You will do this for me, even though you know where my heart is? ”

“Perhaps I’m romantic, but I still believe you could love me if we were married.”

I’m comfortable around Galinor, and I do care for him. Perhaps it would be enough. It has to be.

“Besides,” he says, sitting back. “I can’t bear to lose to Lionel.”

If nothing else, we agree on that.

“Come on.” He rises to his feet and holds his hand out to me. “Come enjoy the festival with me. Tonight, you will have to sit next to Lionel. It’s best to have some fun while you can.”

I’d almost forgotten about the feast and my place at it. We’ll sit at the head table, Lionel in the middle and me at his side like his queen. It’s going to be unbearable.

I take Galinor’s hand, letting him pull me up.

“Tell me, Princess, there’s a fantastic story circling. Did you truly take on a glasseln with a stick?”

“Philippa, you could at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself.” Lionel raises a goblet to his lips and stares at me.

I offer him a forced smile. His face doesn’t move, but he sneers at me with his eyes. I look away, pretending indifference. My gaze lands on Archer. He’s been careful to stay away, and it’s killing me. I haven’t spoken with him all day.

I’m tired of being careful.

Dancing has begun, but Lionel has not asked me. I’m thankful for that. I rise from my seat but am stilled by Lionel’s hand on my wrist. “Where are you going?”

Flashbacks of my hallucinations from the cave flash in my memory, filling me with a fear that is out of proportion to the situation. I yank my hand away. Without a word of explanation, I leave him.

“Dance with me after this song,” I whisper to Archer’s back as I pass him.

He doesn’t miss a beat in his conversation, but I know he’s heard me. I find Galinor speaking with Percival.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lionel grabs me from behind. “The dragon hunt was my victory—you will dance with me and only me.”

Galinor steps forward, pulling me from Lionel’s grasp. He positions himself in front of me. It’s an impressive thing, the two of them facing off. The crowd draws back from them, noticing the anger in their expressions.

“The princess will dance with whomever she chooses.”

Lionel’s nostrils flare. It’s not pleasant.

“Enough.” Percival steps between them, pressing his palms against their chests and pushing them apart. He turns to me. “Pippa, Lionel is this event’s victor. You will dance with him first, and then you are free to dance with Galinor.”

I know he’s being diplomatic, but I hate him for this decision.

I don’t want to dance with Lionel. The thought of his hands on me makes me ill.

Lionel turns to me, and his hateful eyes shine with this small triumph.

He puts his hand on my waist, pulling me much closer than I would like.

I tilt my chin away, refusing to look at him.

His hand tightens on my waist. “Look at me. ”

“You’re hurting me.” I try to squirm out of his grip.

He shakes me once, hard, and my eyes dart around the room to see if anyone noticed. Father speaks with Sir Kimble, and Percival is trying to calm Galinor—who looks livid. Archer is dutifully ignoring me.

“They can’t save you when we’re married. I will not lose. You are, and have always been, mine.” His hand crushes against my skin, and I’m afraid I’ll be bruised in the morning. I hate myself for it, but I begin to tremble—though I’m not sure if it’s because I’m scared or furious.

He smiles.

The song ends, and I rip myself away from his grasp. He bows low, mocking me with his eyes, and disappears into the crowd.

I turn around, and Archer is waiting for me. I step into his arms, and I’m still shaking.

“Pippa?” Archer says, his voice hard. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” I lie.

It doesn’t seem like he believes me, but I don’t care. I’m not wasting this time dwelling on Lionel. Even though we’re in a hall with over a hundred other people who would never let us be together, right now, he’s mine.

In no hurry, we slowly spin. We keep our distance—keep it light for the casual observers.

“Meet me by the back gate at noon tomorrow,” he whispers.

My stomach knots when I remember how it felt to be held by him last night. “All right.”

Lionel is back in his seat, watching us. I tense, and my waist still hurts from where he dug his fingers into my skin. Archer adjusts his hand at my side, and I wince.

“He did hurt you,” Archer says, appalled.

“Don’t let him win the tournament,” I answer. “Please, Archer.”

The song ends, and Archer has no choice but to release me. I feel cold as he steps away.

“I will do everything in my power, Pippa.”

Lionel is already making his way back through the crowd, ready to claim me.

Before he can, Bran asks for a dance and then Galinor after him.

It seems like I dance with everyone, and anytime there’s a lull, one of our knights whisks me away.

I’m exhausted before the night is through, but I manage to avoid Lionel for the rest of the evening.

“Thank you,” I say to Sir Asher after our dance.

I’m relieved when the quartet of players stands up after the song, done for the evening. I excuse myself, passing Alexander as I leave. He smirks, and I know it wasn’t by chance the knights were keeping me busy tonight.

“Thank you,” I whisper.