The drink burned all the way down her throat to settle, tingling, in her belly. She covered her mouth with her hand, but the epithet she’d blurted hung there in the air, like a big signpost proclaiming her lowborn nature.

Until Hilde burst into giggles, breaking the silence and triggering a cascade of laughter from the other girls. “Mein Gott,” she gasped when she could, “did you actually think we drank tea at our tea parties? How dull you must think we are!”

Gwen was still fighting valiantly not to cough at the strength of the stuff—while simultaneously feeling an increasing urge to taste it again. “What is it?”

“My parents got it from an Irish merchant—they call it uisce beatha. It packs a powerful punch, no?”

Gwen sniffed at the contents of her cup, not quite game to take another taste yet. One sip—albeit more of a gulp than a sip—and she could feel it buzzing in her legs, like she’d just pounded an entire flask of wine. “It’s, uh. That’s something, all right.”

She snuck a glance at Isobelle and found the other girl watching her with obvious delight. Annoyance flickered at Gwen, nearly as unsettling as the uisce. Didn’t Isobelle understand how important it was that these girls accepted Gwen as a noblewoman, as one of them? If Gwen could fade into the background as one of Isobelle’s flock of ladies, no one would pay her much attention. She could throw herself into her role as Sir Gawain, focus on the actual battles she had to fight, instead of wasting her energy trying to pretend to be something she really wasn’t.

She felt eyes—other eyes—on her, and turned to find Sylvie watching her. The lazy, disaffected air she gave off didn’t quite conceal the keen edge to her stare, and Gwen found herself jerking her gaze away.

“So . . . do all of you live here in the castle?” Gwen asked, hoping to shift the focus off herself.

Hilde laughed. “Heavens, no! We are here for the tournament, staying in the castle guest quarters.”

“But we visit Isobelle a lot even when there isn’t a tournament,” Jane said with a languid gesture around the suite with its lush decor. “She’s so much more fun than sitting by a window embroidering cushions. Plus, a girl tends to run out of options fairly quickly in a small county like mine.”

“By options, she means boys,” explained Hilde helpfully. Jane fluttered her long eyelashes at Hilde in an over-the-top impression of coy flirtation.

“I think,” said Sylvie slowly, tracing a finger around the edge of her teacup, “that we should play a game.” She hadn’t taken her eyes off Gwen’s face.

“Oh yes!” cried Hilde, all delight and cheer. “How about—”