Page 35 of To Touch A Silent Fury

Seth provided no respite or sympathetic smile, with his own eyes trained on the prince. I didn’t have to touch his hand to see the distaste.

I glanced back at Prince Brascillan to find him taking something from his squire, and then turning towards us again. My heart thudded as he closed the distance, and I looked to the other competitor just to distract myself from the skittering feeling in my chest.

Thread Ersimmon whispered into my ear. “That is Lord Kilmorrin. Approaching his eighth span, but still a prospect. He will likely lose quickly today to save himself for tomorrow.”

The other man was scarred heavily around his neck and shoulder, but he looked well for nearly forty years. From his pale colouring, and the way he brushed a speck of dirt from his shield’s face, I guessed him to be of the Sightlands. Priding himself on not only his visual acuity, but his outward appearance.

Prince Brascillan approached the edge of the arena not ten feet from me, and I couldn’t distract myself any longer. The row before us whispered amongst themselves, looking back to guess at why he had come, and clearly settling on me as the strange cause. In truth, I barely understood it myself.

He stared at me, taking a final step and sweeping into a low bow. “Good day, my lady.”

I nodded when he rose. “Good day, Your Grace.”

“I must admit when you did not attend the dinner last night, I feared some new misfortune had befallen you.”

I pushed a smile onto my face, feeling deeply uncomfortable with all the ears to our conversation. “I am perfectly well, but thank you for your concern.”

“You are indeed perfect,” he said, a corner of his mouth pulling up as his warm look touched my cheeks, my lips, my neck.

“Sir,” I said, completely at a loss. I dipped my head in acknowledgement of his comment as sheer embarrassment flooded me. I couldn’t help but think of this as some joke, for none had ever showered me with such compliments in my life. I was the ghost girl, after all.

Prince Brascillan grinned, seemingly delighted at having flustered me. He held aloft a swathe of purple fabric, the same pale shade as his shirt, offering it to me. “Will you wear this, my lady? And honour me at this tournament?”

I swallowed, resisting the urge to look at Thread Ersimmon. How he had predicted this, I could not know. The prince proffered the gift to me, reaching it forwards. The row before me parted quickly, all staring as they waited for me to lean over them and take it.

Instead, I dropped my gaze. “I am sorry, Your Grace. I wish you well in your tournament, but I cannot accept your token.”

I couldn’t tell if the whole arena was silent, then, or if my ears were ringing so loudly I had drowned out any noise. All the same, I felt a horrid hush, and my heart pounded so deafeningly I was certain Prince Brascillan could hear it.

“Are you promised?” he asked, without retracting his hand.

“I am not,” I responded, staring at the folds of my emerald skirt.

He held the favour aloft for a second more, but I refused to look up, nervous at how he might receive my rejection. Then it went, disappearing from my peripheral view.

“I cannot say I understand, my lady,” he said. I looked up, guilt flooding through me at his confused expression. “But I will respect your wishes.”

I gave him a soft smile, my heartbeat still pulsing in my ears. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You will come tonight, though, to the ball? As my distinguished guest?”

Now, I glanced at Thread Ersimmon. He toyed with his third cup of wine in such a way you might believe him disinterested, but he watched me like a hawk. He gave me the faintest nod before returning to his cup.

I met Prince Brascillan’s eyes and nodded. “I will, Your Grace.”

He motioned to Ersimmon and Seth. “Your companions will, of course, be welcome, too.”

I smiled, ready to mock Seth for his demotion from prince to my companion as soon as the interaction was over. “That is most gracious.”

Prince Brascillan nodded, and then paused. He was clearly now very aware of the audience to his refusal, and he raised his sword to the crowd and called out. “For the glory of Lavendell!”

The crowd roared back as he ran back to his squire, sword still raised, then they jeered and clapped as he readied his shield. But those around me did not so easily forget; I felt the daggers of stares, and when I turned to Seth to mock him, he only looked at me with a wan smile.

Neither Brother said a word during the bout, all of us focused on the match, and aware of the ears around us. Prince Brascillan won his match against Kilmorrin easily and without a drop of blood spilt. When they’d both left and the new duo was announced, I found I could release some of the tension and breathe again.

Thread Ersimmon patted my hand. “You did well, girl.”

I nodded. “I did not think the refusal would be so hard.”