A thrill zinged straight down her spine, and the whole world receded as she focused on Gwen. Outside were distant bangs and clatters and shouts, but the inside of this tent was their fortress, and nobody would dare breach its walls.

Her whole world was the soft touch of Gwen’s lips, and the noise Gwen made when Isobelle curved a hand around the nape of her neck, finding the place where smooth skin met her silky hair. She ran her hand along Gwen’s collarbone, fingertips curling around her shoulder—until Gwen gave a muffled yelp of pain, making Isobelle drop her hands and break away with a gasp.

She was opening her mouth to apologize—of course Gwen would be sore after getting knocked off her horse—when Gwen’s arms went round her and pulled her back in, mumbling something about this being worth it. Isobelle abandoned her concerns . . . though she avoided Gwen’s poor shoulder as best she could.

Everything that Isobelle cared for, she threw her whole self into. It was what made her unstoppable—the ability to choose something and run toward it at full tilt. And now, her hesitation gone, she was running as fast as she knew how toward this. This moment, this girl, this kiss.

When they finally drew apart long enough to breathe, Isobelle gave herself over to a foolish grin, her arms looped around the other girl’s neck. “You did it,” she whispered, needing to hear the words aloud to truly believe them. “He was out cold.” She shouldn’t delight in any sort of violence, she knew that. But truly, Sir Ralph had started it.

“I know,” Gwen whispered, her own disbelief and joy spilling over, her eyes wide. “I don’t even—but I did. Did that really just happen?”

“It really happened,” Isobelle confirmed. “And now this is really happening.” She laid a hand over Gwen’s heart, marveling at the way it beat against her ribs. Watched Gwen match her giddy smile.

And then, because she could, and because she very much wanted to, she kissed her again.

It was at that moment that the tent flap whipped aside.

“Bro,” Orson called cheerfully. “Just checking you’re not stuck in your . . .” He slowed to a halt, staring open-mouthed at the two girls. “. . . armor,” he finished weakly, letting the tent flap fall closed behind him.

Gwen was frozen in place, her muscles tensed, her arms locked around Isobelle.

Isobelle paused to reflect and concluded that the opportunity to leap hastily away from Gwen had passed—and that at any rate, she did not wish to do so.

“Hello, Orson,” she offered, sounding almost like herself. “Ah. I see how this has happened. I asked you to keep an eye on—and here you are. So, as you may see—”

“I certainly do,” he muttered, gaze swinging between them.