“What are you talking about?” Gwen burst out, the pent-up words exploding. “There’s daydreaming—which he won’t be—and then there’s delusional. I’ve been trying not to think about it, trying not to let reality poison this . . . this fantasy you have that I could somehow win this thing. But I was never going to beat him, even if I made it all the way to the final before meeting him. I was never going to win.”

“Delusional,” Isobelle echoed, her whole body sickening at Gwen’s words. “So what was this, then? I thought you were in it with me, as much as I was. I thought . . .” But she couldn’t finish that sentence. She couldn’t speak her moonlight dream out loud when it was dying here in the sun.

I thought you’d wait for me. I thought you promised that last night. I thought when I was ready, you’d be here. I thought . . .

“You thought what?” Gwen asked bitterly.

Isobelle wanted to wail, to demand that Gwen acknowledge aloud the change that had taken place between them—instead, she reached for something, anything, to convince Gwen to stay. “I thought you wanted to show them all that you deserve to be here. A knight, in armor you made, with a weapon that’s yours. They just show up and put on the costume.”

“So do I!” Gwen snapped, letting herself sag back against the stable wall, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle. “I practiced in an orchard, Isobelle. If you thought that was going to get me through this, then you live in a fantasy world.” Gwen’s voice was heated and sharp, like a red-hot blade, whipping at Isobelle’s last shreds of optimism.

“Why are you doing this?” Isobelle could feel her cheeks flushing, and to her horror, her voice broke. “You’re just giving up?”

“You want me to do something impossible,” Gwen replied, her snap gone, her fire going out. “You want me to be this white knight, to ride out and save you from the monster, but . . .” There was a flash of helplessness in her face. “It doesn’t matter how much I wish I could, Isobelle. We always knew what would happen.”

“I don’t know what will happen,” Isobelle replied, trying to ignore the ache behind her eyes. “But I know that if you don’t face him, then you lose in every way. You lose . . .” You lose us, said the voice that had discovered itself by moonlight. “If you go out there, and you hit the ground in your armor, then you were still a knight. I want that for you—for you to know that you are a knight.” She gulped a breath. “That’s—that’s why you were doing this, wasn’t it?”

Say no, said the moonlight voice. Say you were doing it for me.