Isobelle caught Gwen’s eye and beamed at her, noting that the other girl’s only response to her trademark killer smile was a tightening of her already-worried features, like someone preparing for a blow. Isobelle softened her smile, winked, and murmured, “Brace yourself.”

She pushed the door open.

They stepped into an ocean of raucous sound, women packed in tightly with drinks in hand, everyone raising their voices to be heard over everyone else. The fiddler (a woman, of course) had the dance floor hopping, and Isobelle recognized a few noblewomen in town for the tournament who had snuck away from the castle to join the fun.

Isobelle squared her shoulders and pushed her way through the crowd, letting it half carry her and Gwen toward the bar.

They reached the bar together, where the tavern owner herself was taking orders. Isobelle braced herself with her forearms to hold her space, squeaking as she was jostled against the wooden counter. Without speaking, Gwen put an arm behind her to fend off the crowd—she used her left arm, which made sense. The right one would be smarting after that hit she took from the second round with Sir Evonwald.

Isobelle glanced up to make a joke about that, but her gaze snagged on the other girl’s, and she forgot what she’d planned to say. There was a challenge in those moss-green eyes, a kind of barricade that Gwen had shut herself behind.

This was, Isobelle reflected, the first time she’d heard of a lady needing to storm the castle to reach a knight.

“Good evening, ladies, how can— Oh, Lady Isobelle!” The tavernkeeper had turned toward them, her face splitting into a grin. She was a middle-aged woman with sleek dark hair and black eyes and a nigh-uncanny talent for remembering the names of everyone who walked into her tavern. “But where are your friends? Surely you didn’t come alone?”

“Hi, Jinna! I’m here with my new friend Gwen.” Isobelle turned slightly so the woman could see Gwen standing behind her, face still frozen in confusion at the hubbub.

“Well, then your first round is on the house.” Jinna gestured to the board on the wall behind her, where a dozen handwritten drinks had been listed. “Gwen, since you’re new here, I do things a little differently in my place, and I mix my own drinks for my customers. Each coquetel is handcrafted, each guaranteed to conjure exactly what its name promises.”

Isobelle scanned the list, noting such tempting options as “Midnight Rendezvous” and “Twinkle-Toe Toddy,” until her eyes lit on the final drink on the menu. She found herself grinning. “I’ll have a White Knight, please.”

“An excellent choice. And you, Gwen?” The tavern owner’s gaze flicked across to Gwen, and Isobelle’s did, too.