Emry could tell from the set of Arthur’s jaw that he meant it. She remembered how he hadn’t flinched when he and Lance had tested Excalibur. He had the same quiet steadiness now.

Gawain gave the prince a long, searching look. And then he nodded, as though he’d decided something important. “Then you won’t withdraw,” he said. “I will. At the first ‘en garde,’ I’ll sheathe my sword, and they’ll announce a draw.”

“That’s very noble of you.” Arthur sounded surprised. “Considering what happened the last time we crossed swords.”

Gawain grimaced. “Don’t remind me. My father should have punished me for striking you while you were down. When he didn’t, Queen Igraine marched me to the kitchens and insisted I work off my pride. For a month.”

“I didn’t know that.” Arthur frowned.

Something important passed between them, although Emry wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps it had something to do with the reason Arthur had always disliked his cousin.

“I wish she’d done the same to my brother, and saved us all a lot of trouble,” Gawain said.

“You and me both,” Lance put in.

The trumpets sounded again.

“Well,” Arthur said with a shaky grin. “I guess we should get moving.”

“Come on.” Gawain clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go disappoint everyone who wanted to watch us fight.”

Gawain steeled himself as he caught sight of his father stalking the perimeter of the arena, the man’s sharp mouth pressed into an angry line. Dressed all in black, with an unfashionable, gloomy cape fluttering around his shoulders, he looked less like a viscount and more like a dangerous bird of prey.

“What happened?” Lord Agravaine demanded.

“I withdrew,” Gawain said, not wanting to get into it.

His father dragged him behind the wooden stands. Gawain waited for the lecture. But none came.

Lord Agravaine merely crossed his arms and ordered, “Explain.”

“Explain what? My lack of interest in swinging around a sword for the entertainment of day-drunk nobles?”

Lord Agravaine studied him carefully. “You looked weak, refusing to face Arthur in combat.”

“Maybe,” Gawain allowed. “Or maybe I gave Arthur the opportunity to withdraw with his honor intact, now that I have done so first. No one expected to fight the Duke of Cornwall.”

“There are plans in place that you don’t know about,” Lord Agravaine growled. “This competition is—”

“A thinly veiled excuse for my cousin to flex Excalibur in front of our guests,” Gawain snapped. “Otherwise it would have been a joust. Or archery. Or anything besides sword-on-foot.”

“That much is obvious,” said Lord Agravaine. “But you still haven’t explained—”

“I will not explain myself to you!” Gawain retorted. “Jereth gets away with everything. Am I not allowed even this?” He stared at his father, chest heaving, wondering if he’d gone too far.