But then she took in the rough cloth of his uniform. He was no knight or squire, only a common guard. She could smell the sweat on him, mixed with freshly oiled leather. And his hands were on his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she protested, twisting out of his grip.

“Helping,” he said, “with the shock. And before that, with saving you from a stray arrow.”

“That arrow was a menace!” Lady Elaine put in. “I’m going to speak to my father and have the guard who shot it turned out into the streets before supper.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” the blond man protested. “One of the castle falcons attacked.”

Elaine sniffed and folded her arms across her chest.

“Come on, Guinny,” said the guard. “Surely you saw it.”

Just who did he think he was, addressing her like that? “I beg your pardon,” she said haughtily. “Do I know you?”

“Sure you do.” He grinned amicably. “It’s me—Lancelot.”

“Lance?” she said, surprised.

The lad she remembered had been Sir Ector’s son, a favored companion of the young prince. She’d had the best time with him that summer, chasing frogs out on the gardens, and stealing sweets from the kitchen, and annoying Arthur to put down his books and join in their mischief, which had rarely happened.

They had explored the game forest one weekend, venturing in so deeply to the royal hunting grounds that they’d come across an old church with an ancient tomb beneath, and had made up spells with tree branches as wands to try to wake the dead.

Guin could see it easily now, the shadow of the young boy he’d been. It was there in the mischievous smile that tugged at his lips, and the rebellious glint to his eyes. He’d grown so handsome and tall! If only scrawny, bookish Arthur had done the same.

She was so happy to see Lance that she threw her arms around him, sweat be damned.

Elaine cleared her throat in disapproval. What an insufferable companion she was turning out to be.

“You saved my life,” Guin said, drawing out the hug just to make Elaine squirm.

“Ah, that flimsy little arrow?” Lance scoffed. “Wouldn’t have done much damage at all.”

They both knew he was lying. She squeezed tighter. And he hissed in pain.

“Are you hurt?” Guin asked, pulling away, her eyes wide.

Lance inspected his arm with a grimace. A bloody red welt traveled the length of his forearm.

“Must’ve snapped it with my bowstring,” he said, not particularly concerned.

“Princess, your gown!” Elaine exclaimed. “It’s ruined!”

Guin looked down in dismay. Elaine was right. Lance’s wound had streaked blood across the silk bodice of her lavender dress. How frustrating! She’d rather liked this one. And she’d only brought four trunks with her, so her wardrobe was quite limited.

“Honestly, Lance,” Elaine went on. “Everything you touch, you taint.”