Page 35 of Pippa of Lauramore (The Eldentimber #1)

“ N ot once did he lift his visor. Not once! Look for yourselves—it is still down,” Lionel yells. A great many murmurs are muttered by the crowd.

Father appears to be losing his patience with Lionel. “Prince Galinor, would you please show us that it is indeed you under the helmet?”

Leonora inhales sharply, and I go cold. I’m about to make a spectacle of some sort to distract them, but just as I prepare to call out, Archer removes his helmet.

I gasp.

He still looks like death, but it is indeed Galinor, not Archer, on the horse.

“How?” Leonora breathes.

I stand, cheering for him with the others. I’m afraid he’s about to pass out.

“They must have used those few moments to switch,” I say, keeping my voice low so only Leonora can hear me. Then I hug her, the weight of the realization hitting me. “He’s awake! ”

Relieved tears prick my eyes.

Lionel stares at him in disbelief, and then, like a viper striking, he meets my eyes. The prince sneers at me—somehow he knows I’ve interfered once again.

I look away, cheering for Galinor and trying to ignore Lionel.

There will be no celebratory feast for Galinor. As far as everyone knows, he was injured by Rigel in the last joust—nothing life threatening, but Clarion declared he needed rest before the final competition tomorrow.

Instead of basking in the light of his—or Archer’s—victory, Galinor is in Yuven’s quarters, sleeping off the poison. Archer and I are with him. My brothers, Leonora, and Marigold are in the hall enjoying dinner with the others. I will join them soon.

I have an announcement to make.

It will be easier without Archer and Galinor there, and I hope Archer doesn’t try to follow me.

“He is recovering,” I hear Yuven say in hushed tones. “But he won’t be able to compete tomorrow.”

I had suspected as much, but it’s hard to hear.

“I’ll fight,” Archer answers.

I turn, joining the conversation. “No, Archer. It’s too dangerous. What if someone realizes?”

He comes to me, his face solemn, and sets his hand on my shoulder. “I did it today.”

Yuven, looking uncomfortable, disappears into the hall .

I shake my head. “You were almost found out.”

His thumb brushes my neck, and his fingers gently knead away the tension. “There is no other option, Pippa. Rigel and Lionel placed today. As of right now, Galinor is at seventeen points. Lionel is at fourteen. If he places tomorrow, he will win the tournament.”

And I’m about to hand him two more points. I turn away from Archer and brace my hand on the worktable, steadying my weary body while I try to think of a way out of this.

“Where does Rigel rank?” I ask, cringing at the thought even if he is the lesser of two evils.

“He has eleven, and he is the next closest. For him to win, Lionel can’t place at all tomorrow.”

“I don’t want him to win.”

Archer moves closer. His hand finds my hair, and he twirls it in his fingers. I can’t bear to look at him, not knowing in a few minutes I will break my promise. I don’t turn around.

“You need me,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. His arms wrap around my middle, and he pulls me against him, resting his chin on my shoulder.

I close my eyes. “I’ve always needed you. I don’t?—”

“Shhh,” he says. “We won’t think of it now.”

I lay my head back, resting it in the crook of his neck. Time passes, but neither he nor I move. I feel safe tucked against him like this. Just us—almost like it was before we admitted there was more between us, but better. Because there is more.

“I never thought I would get the chance to fight for you, Pippa,” he says softly. I can hear the smile in his voice. “Know that as you watch me tomorrow, I’m not fighting for Galinor—I’m fighting for you.”

I turn my head, and our eyes meet. His hair is disheveled, and he’s gone so many days without shaving that the stubble is thick on his jaw.

It scratches my neck, but I don’t move away.

Tentative at first, I run a hand through his hair.

It’s soft, and I like the way it feels between my fingers.

He closes his eyes and leans into my touch.

Now.

Tell him now.

Someone clears their throat from the door, and, startled, we pull apart. Leonora looks embarrassed, but there is something else in her expression, too.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes drop from mine, taking a tour of the room before they return. I can see her weighing her words before she finally answers, “Lionel has told me you have fifteen minutes to make the announcement—or he’ll make his.”

“Let him make it,” Archer snarls. He takes my hand to show he’s serious.

I shake my head. “No. He can’t. You’ve seen what he did to Galinor. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Archer pulls me to him. “Pippa, no.”

“There you are, saying it again,” I murmur, my voice soft. I try to smile as I pull away. “I have to.”

“No. You don’t.” He shakes his head, and my fingers fall from his.

“Yes, I do.”

If I thought Archer would let me make a martyr of myself in peace, I was wrong. He followed me the entire way to the hall, arguing with me.

Only now that I’m here, surrounded by people, he’s forced to back off. I make my way to my parent’s table, glaring at Lionel when I see his smug face. One meaty arm is crossed over his chest, and the other holds a half-eaten turkey drumstick. He’s leaning back in his chair, two feet off the floor.

I would love to knock that chair out from under him.

“I’m going to announce my chosen,” I say to Father when he notices I’m before him.

He gives me a knowing smile. I’m sure he assumes I will declare it to be Galinor. After all, isn’t that who I’ve spent the entire evening with? He stands up, and all eyes are on him. “My daughter has an announcement she wishes to make.”

I cringe.

“Ah, yes. Hello, all,” I say, feeling myself flush when all our guests’ eyes turn on me. One of those sets of eyes looks as if they’re about to interfere, so I gulp and cut to the chase before Archer can do something foolish. “I would like to announce Lionel as my chosen.”

There are numerous gasps, which are followed by silence.

I give a small curtsy. “Thank you, and…enjoy your meal.”

Someone finally claps, and it’s followed by a smattering of applause. Lionel looks somewhat less than impressed. What did he expect?

I’m about to flee when Father’s voice commands me to stop. He points to the empty seat next to him, raising his eyebrows. I glance down the table, looking for help. Mother appears to be too stunned to offer assistance, and Sir Kimble looks just as baffled. He shoots Lionel an accusing glance.

I plunk down in the seat next to Father.

To my horror, Lionel stands, raising his goblet as if he’s going to make a toast. He gives me a smile which looks more like a sickly toad-like grin, and then his eyes scan the crowd as if he’s looking for someone.

My eyes follow his, and I grow cold. He’s looking directly at Archer.

“No,” I whisper, clutching the napkin in front of me.

“There you have it, Archer,” Lionel calls out. “She chose me. Did you really believe you could successfully woo a princess? What did you think? That she’d fall in love with you? Run off with you and give everything up—like your mother did for your father? But that didn’t end so well, did it?”

Archer says nothing. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, his expression blank. My world spins, and I accidentally knock over the goblet of cider in front of me. The cold liquid runs down the table and spills onto my dress, but I barely notice.

Father looks dumbfounded. “What is he talking about?”

My mouth moves, but I find no words.

“King Ewan, what is the punishment for entering into a romantic relationship with a princess promised to the tournament?” Lionel asks as if he doesn’t already know. The room is so quiet it’s eerie. I don’t dare breathe.

“Death,” Father says, and even as he pulls himself up tall, his shoulders droop.

Percival stands. “What are you accusing?”

Lionel looks at my brother, his eyes bright. “I’m accusing Archer of attempting to seduce Princess Phillipa.”

“You need a witness,” Percival demands, and Lionel chuckles.

“I have more than one.” He smiles, scanning the room. “Someone. Tell King Ewan.”

No one comes forward, and Lionel begins to look rattled. “Prince Irving—you’ve seen them.”

Irving shrugs and glances around the room, taking in his captive audience. “Archer? No. I see myself with the princess.” He grins. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to share my vision.”

Nervous laughter fills the hall.

Lionel is turning red now, and his large brow grows sweaty. “This is ridiculous. I know several of you have seen them. I know it!”

Our guests are looking at him as if he’s gone mad, and many are whispering amongst themselves. I hear mention of his ridiculous accusation at the joust earlier. Suddenly I can breathe. I dab the cider from my lap.

Then Rigel stands.

My hand freezes, cider forgotten. I have to stop him—but how?

“King Ewan,” Rigel says. “If no witnesses have come forward, should not the accusation be dropped? ”

My mouth falls open.

“Yes,” my father says and then turns to Lionel. “It appears you were mistaken. In my kingdom, I ask you to be more careful.”

Lionel’s fists are clenched tight, but he gives Father a curt nod before he storms out of the great hall. Slowly, chatter fills the air again, but I’m still speechless.

Rigel saved Archer.

My eyes seek him out, and it isn’t long before he looks my way. I touch my hand to my heart, not knowing how to convey my gratitude. He bows his head to me and then turns back to his conversation.