A cry drew my eyes back to the village green. Dozens of small children shrieked and tumbled over one another in a game like tag or Marco Polo. “We had May Day there a few weeks ago,” said Bear. “The children danced around the maypole for the May Queen, covered boats on the Itchen with flowers. All very charming. And that”—he stepped behind me and swept one lean hand toward the green’s grassy expanse—“is where your tournament will be held Saturday.”

My tournament. I swallowed but didn’t answer.

“Blindman’s buff,” Bear said.

“What?” I blurted.

He flicked a hand at the whooping children. “The game.”

“Ah.” I relaxed. I’d startled at the word buff. “Looks like more fun than being prodded onto a pedestal for an afternoon.”

The heat of Bear’s laugh on my neck startled me, sending a shot of warmth through my stomach. “Not looking forward to it?”

He stepped up beside me. I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I’m sure it’ll be exciting. But I’d rather not have so many people watching.”

Bear’s forehead furrowed, blue eyes searching my face. “What are you afraid they’ll see?”

I flushed and looked back to the children, unable to hold his stare. “I’m not sure.”

22

The prince spent the next day hunting with his men. Later that night, we were summoned to dinner.

The meal wasn’t a small gathering, but it wasn’t a court banquet, either. The royal family crowded casually around a large table in an elegant private dining room, with green damask wallpaper and gilded molding.

My posy sat at my place at the table.

I’d given it to Perrault when I’d gone for my walk. I’d assumed he would put it in my room. But he looked as surprised to see it as I did.

Lang and Yu paused in the doorway, seeming disappointed at the small size of the gathering. Yu nodded at the flowers, frowning and scrubbing a hand over his close-cropped black hair, and Lang muttered something to him. I ignored them, following the scents of beer and pastry and butter on the air.

I took my seat, several places down from the king and prince, and trays began to circle the table. I took a chicken-and-mushroom pie from Myrddin’s hands on my left and passed the plate to Bear on my right, avoiding Perrault’s eyes as I served myself.

The royal family was casual—Prince Bertilak and his brothers hadn’t even put on fresh clothes when they came in from the hunt—but I sat tense and silent, wondering what to make of the flowers beside my water glass. When I glanced up, I found Lang staring at the blossoms again, brow furrowed.