But let’s real quick go back up to the castle gates, because something’s happening there that will prove extremely relevant to our story. There’s a commotion by the entrance to the inner castle, a flurry that builds on itself until the huge oak doors burst open with all the force and inevitability of a hurricane.

Out comes a group of girls, leaving the somewhat baffled and helpless guards to stare after them as they fall into a perfect V formation that any troop of soldiers, or flock of geese, would envy. Their leader, at the pointy end of the V, is a petite blonde wearing a fuchsia gown and an expression of absolute self-assurance, the kind of don’t-even-with-me that the other girls in the group can only dimly imitate. She might as well have the words “Queen Bee” embroidered on her perfectly tailored pink bodice.

They breeze right past the guards on the outer gate, having built up enough momentum that nobody even tries to stop them. They appear to have a single destination in mind: the market.

Let’s all take a moment to wish the market, and everyone in it, the very best of luck.

Chapter One
The sort of thing that gets a girl burned at the stake

Gwen ducked out the back flap of the stall, gulping a breath of fresher air and reaching for another string of horseshoes from the boxes stacked there.

She hated Market Day. It meant dealing with an endless parade of farmers, coopers, farriers, and miners, all of whom demanded to speak to her father. They assumed she couldn’t possibly know what she was talking about when it came to negotiating prices, let alone when it came to the technical specifications of the tools they were looking at.

It certainly never occurred to them that every single nail, pickaxe, and barrel hoop had been made by the blacksmith’s teenaged daughter.

Steeling herself, she slipped back through the flap and busied herself setting out a new row of horseshoes to replenish the few she’d managed to sell. All their customers today were regulars—not a single new face had approached her stall, though the population of potential customers had easily doubled since last month’s market.

At this rate, she’d never make enough to pay the entrance fee for the jousting tournament.

It had been a mad idea, one she knew was mad even as she fashioned armor to fit her lighter frame, even as she practiced with her sword, even as she trained with her horse against trees and fences.

It was bad enough for a peasant to risk posing as a knight—impersonating nobility could deliver you to a very nasty end indeed if you were caught. Worse, in order to pose as a knight, she’d be forced to pose as a man.

And that was the sort of thing that gets a girl burned at the stake.