Archer continued to interview Gwen, and Isobelle found her attention drawn to the taxidermied head of a black-and-white-striped horse above a little hand-scrawled label that read “Hippotigris.” Isobelle had been taught Latin from an early age, and her mind supplied the translation: horse-tiger.

She’d just begun to lose herself in a glorious fantasy of making a grand entrance mounted on such a creature—she’d be in black and white, too, with a red lip and feathers in her hair—when, abruptly, reality came crashing back in as her ears caught up to her.

“That should be enough for me to get to work,” Archer was saying. “The papers should be ready in three or four hours.”

Isobelle stopped in her tracks, and finally, finally, Gwen glanced across at her, eyes wide.

“Hours?” Gwen echoed. “We’d never make it back to the castle before dark.”

“You’ll stay here,” Archer replied. “E—er—Olivia can cover for you, I have no doubt.”

“But . . .” Gwen’s eyes were still on Isobelle, unwilling to mention that Isobelle was meant to be confined to the castle, and every moment they spent away increased the odds that her absence would be discovered.

Archer sighed and dismissed their doubts with a wave of his hand. “It’ll take the time it takes, kids. Go outside and play, and let me do my thing.”

Gwen gave a little shrug, finally dropping her gaze from Isobelle’s, and they emerged once more from Archer’s house into the afternoon sunlight.

Dupont was just coming out of the stable, and though her lips tightened at the news that the papers would take hours, she nodded. “We must not waste the time—this is the perfect place to practice the joust, away from the prying eyes of the castle. Come!”

Isobelle opened her mouth to protest—it had been a long day, they were tired, Gwen needed rest—but Gwen was already striding after Dupont. And none of those excuses were the real reason Isobelle wanted just a moment’s pause.

She sighed and turned to trail along in their wake, trying not to think about how desperately she needed to talk to Gwen and make things right between them.

Lucky Gwen, able to drown out her feelings by hitting things.

Chapter Seventeen
Damn those girls and their “tea”

Gwen was feeling rather lucky that she was able to drown out her feelings by hitting things.

All day, every time she looked around, she’d found Isobelle staring at her, eyes full of questions, lips half parted, ready to throw herself into some kind of speech at the first opportunity.

Last night, Gwen had been utterly certain she was saying the right thing—setting the boundary she needed Isobelle to respect, protecting her own heart as she had learned to do.