“Of course,” Orson said slowly, his keen eyes thoughtful and curious. He looked at her, head tilting slightly, and his lips parted to speak—and then the door to Isobelle’s suite banged open to admit the girls, Sylvie stalking in, Jane and Hilde in her wake.

Orson rose to his feet, bowing politely. “Good day, ladies. Isobelle . . . I’ll do as you asked.” And then, in the face of four female stares, he took his leave.

“What did Awesome want?” Sylvie asked, walking over to inspect the remaining croissants.

“Seeing if I needed company for the tourney,” Isobelle replied, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. “I should have asked him if he knew any hedge witches who could curse Sir Ralph.”

“There’s still time,” Sylvie replied. “Where’s Céline?”

“Gone to wish her brother good luck.”

“I do hope she’s not avoiding us,” Jane said, brow creasing as she walked over to carefully pick up the broken pieces of Isobelle’s teacup, setting them on the tray. “I was sorry she missed Lord Whimsitt’s feast last night.”

“And we lost both of you at the bonfire the night before,” Sylvie pointed out, her eyes narrowing a touch, every bit as thoughtful and penetrating as Orson’s. “I came by here to look for you, but you were nowhere to be found.”

“Are you all right?” Hilde asked, marching up to inspect Isobelle, then reaching out to carefully pinch her cheeks and bring some color to them.

“I’m fine,” Isobelle managed, which was so great a lie it nearly lodged in her throat—but one which at least spared her from answering Sylvie’s question. “It’s just . . . very real now. No more games. Now they’re playing to win.”

And whoever won would have Isobelle as his prize. No matter who it was—even Orson—she found she couldn’t bear the thought.

“Chin up, shoulders back,” said Jane, reaching out to give her arm a squeeze. “We’ll go out and face it together.”

They fell in behind her as she made her way through the castle. As though the whole place knew something had changed, people gave way to her, stepping aside like figures in a dream.

Or a nightmare.

A ripple went through the crowd as Isobelle and her companions appeared in her viewing box, and she took her place with Sylvie on one side and Jane on the other, Hilde firmly closing the door behind them and setting down the plate of cakes she’d somehow acquired on the way.