Now that her initial explosion of shock and elation was fading, the pain was starting to creep in.

No, not creep in . . . surge at her, sweep over her, as unstoppable and overwhelming as a force of nature.

Oh, holy hells . . . Gwen thought, turning to look at the far end of the lists and her tent beyond. The exit seemed to draw farther and farther away from her even as she watched. How was she ever going to walk that far?

She felt Achilles nuzzle gently at her elbow, and she grabbed for his reins with one hand and at his saddle with the other. She hoped, as she began to make her way back to the tents, that it looked like she was only maintaining control over an excitable and restive horse . . . and not like she was clinging to him for dear life.

By the time she reached her tent, leaving behind her the still-roaring crowd, she’d managed to get on top of her pain, cataloging the worst of her injuries. She’d certainly hit her head when she landed, and probably had a minor concussion. Her back was bruised in a few places, and the shoulder of the arm that had held her lance was burning something fierce, making her wonder if she had broken a rib or two when she struck Sir Ralph. Her knee stung with each step, something she must’ve done while trying to stagger back to her feet under the weight of her armor. Her ears were ringing, and her whole body was still shaking in the aftermath of the adrenaline.

She felt bloody amazing.

She left Achilles tethered outside with a whisper of gratitude and limped into her tent. It contained a rough-hewn table, the stand on which her armor had rested, and a bag in which she’d hidden her dress. She staggered to the table and planted both hands upon it, panting for breath, too overwhelmed to even contemplate the long and arduous process of removing her armor.

She’d won.

Had Isobelle seen? Had Madame Dupont? The older woman’s words were echoing in her ears: You will remember who you are.

Despite the pain, despite the dizziness sweeping through her in waves . . . she could feel it. That change. Like stepping into a familiar house or pulling on a favorite cloak or blanket. Certainty tingled through her body, telling her over and over that she was exactly where she was meant to be, exactly who she was meant to be.