Gwen swallowed and forced herself to take a deeper breath. She felt almost as though she had been that knight, as though she had not simply witnessed the epic battle, but fought it herself. The fire that had coursed through her veins and held her riveted to the spectacle was beginning to recede, and as Isobelle turned to her, face shining with excitement and pleasure, Gwen had to bury her hands in the folds of her skirt to hide how they were beginning to shake.

Isobelle’s gaze followed the movement, and a fraction of her joy dimmed. She folded her own arms across her chest rather than reach for Gwen’s arm again. Still, she was smiling as she tilted her head. “Come on. There’s one more thing I want to show you.”

Chapter Twenty-One
Drop-your-cheesecake-on-a-stick-and-not-even-care spectacular

When Isobelle had seen Gwen arrive for the bonfire, her first thought had been oh no.

Gwen looked spectacular—dizzyingly, heart-stoppingly, drop-your-cheesecake-on-a-stick-and-not-even-care spectacular—and it was only luck that she hadn’t seen Isobelle gawking. What was going to happen come the tournament ball, when she finally saw Gwen in full finery? Would she simply pass out? Why couldn’t she stop staring?

She had been forced to be quite stern as she reminded herself that this was not a sensible time to start asking herself questions about why she couldn’t take her eyes off Gwen.

Or perhaps, said the small part of her mind that sometimes led to her doing things like climbing down from her balcony and recruiting herself a new champion, this is exactly the time. There was a kind of pressure building inside her, and she knew she couldn’t hold it at bay forever.

She’d pulled herself firmly together and had been doing quite well. Up until now, at any rate, when Gwen had hidden her hands swiftly in her skirts before Isobelle could take her arm again.

The two of them wove through the crowd, Isobelle leading and Gwen following in her wake, until they could duck behind the tents to which the dancers had retreated. There, Isobelle paused to fish down her cleavage—the frills really could hide a multitude—producing the small packet she had stowed there.

Before Gwen could ask, for she did not wish to spoil her surprise, she continued on until she found the member of the company who was standing guard at the tent flap.

“Dobry wieczór!” she chirped, with a curtsy that made him grin. “We have come with a gift for your lady knight.”

He bowed in return, pulling aside the tent flap and indicating with a tilt of his head that they should continue on to the right. The dancers inside were laughing and talking and jostling for space, the air hot and their good mood infectious. As Isobelle ducked under a wildly gesturing arm and pushed through to the next section of the tent, she was grinning herself.