Neither of them spoke until they’d left the crowd behind and reached the stables. Then Isobelle released Gwen and whirled around to face her. “What’s happened? Sir Gawain’s name wasn’t there?”

Gwen leaned back against the stable wall, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “It was. The papers went through, no one’s questioning Sir Gawain.”

“Then what? Gwen, talk to me!”

Gwen lowered her hands, and Isobelle gazed at her eyes. Forest green, hints of oak, hints of golden sunlight. Shadows beneath. “They put the old hands against the unknowns,” she said. “So nobody big goes down in the first round. But I thought at least . . .”

“Gwen!” Isobelle resisted the urge to shake her. “Tell me what’s happened! Who did you get?”

“I’m to face Sir Ralph.”

“Oh, fuck.”

After that, neither of them spoke. Everything was quiet and still, the peace broken only by a horse whinnying an opinion from inside the stable. Isobelle felt as though she were watching herself from the outside, a kind of calm numbness seeping through her veins, until she could barely feel her body.

“Well,” she heard herself say, the strain audible through her usual polish. “He’ll have his guard down, won’t he? That’s to your advantage.”

Gwen shot her a look that said stop as clearly as any words could have done. “Isobelle, don’t,” she said hoarsely. “Don’t try to make it— I was starting to think that maybe, maybe . . . I’d at least get a few rounds in. Keep them off you for a couple of weeks. Stay with—” She cut herself off, pressing her lips together hard, closing her eyes tightly.

“Stay with me,” Isobelle finished for her, the words barely a breath. She gazed at Gwen, memorizing the details of her face, the placement of every freckle, the swoop of her thick lashes, the firm lines of her brows. She gazed at her as if she might be gone tomorrow.

“I thought we’d have more time,” Gwen said.

“Listen,” said Isobelle desperately, grabbing for her last shreds of optimism. It couldn’t be over. It couldn’t just end. “You don’t know what’s going to happen. Everyone makes mistakes. He’s going to assume the same thing as everyone else—that he’ll sail through. He won’t even give a thought to this first-round match with some unknown knight from nowhere. And that’ll give you a chance. You’ll be focused, be ready. He’ll be daydreaming.”