I can do this, Gwen had said. And after watching her joust, Isobelle had no doubt those words were true. But what then? What next?

Isobelle had always made up her schemes and plans as she went, counting on sheer charm and force of personality to see her through. But though she’d had a sweeping, romantic vision of Gwen riding to victory in the tournament, she’d never thought much beyond the moment she knocked the last knight off his horse. She was realizing that her childhood memories of the tournaments she’d seen didn’t include what happened after the victory was won.

Would they really let Gwen just ride off with her prize money, helmet still on, identity still concealed, no one the wiser as to what she and Isobelle had done?

And if Gwen does escape then . . . what happens to us?

Isobelle stomped back into her room to retrieve her silk robe, pulling it on and yanking the tie around the waist tight before moving into the living room to examine the tea things. Olivia had anticipated her needs and left a carefully wrapped bottle of hot water for tea to help her sleep.

She settled in one of the chairs, carefully spooning out the herbs and inhaling the sweet, smokey scent rising toward her as she poured the hot water into the pot.

She detested herself for letting Gwen continue taking such deadly risks. And alone, in the moonlight, with her cup of slowly steeping tea, Isobelle could admit the truth to herself.

She wasn’t letting Gwen continue this insanity because she couldn’t bear to marry any of the other knights. She still didn’t want to marry any of them—she’d rather climb down from the balcony, using the rings Olivia had carefully hammered into place, and ride off into the sunset with nothing but a change of underwear.

But that wasn’t why she’d sat there today, her heart in her throat as she watched Gwen ride out. It wasn’t why she’d fought to keep back tears of relief as Sir Makarios had saluted Gwen and conceded the match.

Isobelle was too afraid to ask Gwen to stop. Afraid that if she did, Gwen would leave. Or think Isobelle was no different from the world full of men telling her not to do what she was obviously born to do. Isobelle was letting this charade continue because she didn’t want to lose Gwen’s esteem.

And what kind of person did that make her?

The tea continued to steep as Isobelle rose to her feet and padded silently across to Gwen’s doorway. There she stood, suspended helplessly in place. Not brave enough to go to the girl on the other side. And not brave enough to tell her to leave.