Gwen turned away, bracing her arms on the balustrade, relishing the cool stone against her palms. “My mother really was from Toussaint. Lady Céline of Toussaint is a real person—or was. She fell in love with my father when he was studying under a master blacksmith at the château where she lived, and when his apprenticeship was over, she gave up everything to return with him.”

Isobelle’s breath caught. “You had all those names ready when we went to see Archer for Gawain’s papers,” she murmured, her quick intelligence settling the pieces into place, more pieces than Gwen had realized she’d found. “And the way you spoke French so easily to Sylvie—that you own a horse like Achilles . . .”

“I think it killed her.” Gwen kept her gaze on the landscape below, stroking her thumbs along the top of the balustrade to ground herself. “I mean, I know it doesn’t work like that—I know my mother didn’t die because she was homesick. But as much as she loved my father, as much as she loved me . . . all she did was tell me stories of knights, and chivalry, and noble sacrifice. She just . . . faded away, Isobelle. While my father and I watched.”

A soft hand touched Gwen’s elbow, and Gwen fought the urge to turn into the comfort Isobelle was offering her. “I never met your mother,” Isobelle murmured. “But her story isn’t mine.”

Gwen shook her head tightly. “I can’t do that to you. My parents, with my father’s place in the village, with a good house and a community that accepted him—they had more than you and I could ever hope to have. And it still wasn’t enough. You don’t know my father—he’s the strongest man I know and watching her die nearly killed him, too. I don’t think I’m strong enough for that.”

The hand at her elbow fell away. Isobelle was quiet for a long time, though Gwen could hear her breathing, could feel the tension building in her, like steam under pressure.

Finally, Isobelle burst. “Gwen, you say you don’t want to do that to me—but you don’t get to make my choices for me. Yes, I asked you to be my knight. But I never wanted you to be like the others.”

Gwen turned back to her, feeling her own temper rising beyond her ability to control it. “Proving my worth, and yours, that’s the only way forward for us!”

“And I’m telling you that’s impossible, that the world won’t change so easily.” Isobelle’s voice rose, her appeal in her luminous eyes. “Gwen, you’re telling me I’m too weak to leave luxury behind, making decisions to try to protect me—god, you’re no better than they are!”