Chapter 4
We were laughing at one of his stories when my eye caught another vendor nearby.
“Just a moment,” I said, stepping toward the stalls. The old sign lodged in the table said 'Naeira's fresh meat.' “Aye, step right up,” the brown-haired woman said. Dozens of dead birds and cuts of meat lay spread before her.
“Four pheasants,” I said plainly.
The scent of fresh yet raw meat stung my nose, so different from the sea and shellfish we’d left behind. She gathered four pheasants, tied them together, and handed me the rope. “Fifteen coppers each, but for you—fifty all,” she said, chewing on something.
I pulled out two silver coins, more than eight times what she’d asked, and placed them in her hand. She stared at them, stunned, then wiped her palm on her apron and offered it back to me. “Thank you, m’lady,” she said.
I took the pheasants and smiled. “May warmth keep you,” I replied, the standard greeting of the region, then turned back toward Welme and the stranger. Well… he wasn’t much of a stranger anymore. He’d already told me little things about himself, about how eager he was to spend his days here.
We were half-strangers now.
He smiled softly, tilting his head as if asking why I needed birds. “The woman who owns the tavern we’re going to,” I said. “We help her like this sometimes.” Without a word, he took the pheasants from my hands, so I wouldn’t have to carry them. He’d already taken the sacks of shells long ago.
That simple gesture sent heat flaring through my stomach and cheeks again. I swallowed and quickened my pace.
“So you ladies are special guests,” he said suddenly, nudging my shoulder gently with his. He glanced at Welme, then back at me.
“Something like that.”
Thankfully, we reached the old doors before I had to say anything else. His words were swallowed by noise as I shoved the doors open.
The tavern was unusually packed, the smell of food thick in the air. Anne’s sons rushed about carrying hot trays of food and horns of mead and wine.
We ducked inside, and I stopped one of the boys.
“Where’s Anne?” He nodded toward the kitchen and vanished with a tray of roasted pork. I could hear the two of them behind me as I slipped into the kitchen and pushed those doors open like I owned the place.
“Get the hell out of—” Anne shouted, then stopped short when she saw me. Her brows lifted, a small smile appearing. “It’s you,” she said. “What are you doing here?” Then her gaze slid over Lys. “And who’s this handsome young man?” Something strange flickered through my veins.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I brought you this.” I handed her the pheasants.
“Ah,” she exclaimed, brushing flour from her hands.
“We need a table,” I added.
She winked and slipped past us. “Follow me.”
She led us into the room and straight toward a wall draped with a large, colorful curtain. From afar, it looked like a painted tapestry, but I already knew what was behind it. She pulled it aside, revealing a small private room with a table and a single bench.
“Here you go. Call when you’re ready to order. First drink’s on me.” With that, she disappeared again. Lys looked utterly amazed by all of it.
Welme stayed silent, eyes fixed on the floor. I knew that when we returned home, she’d have much to say about duty, chastity, and all the usual nonsense.
“Sit,” I said as the old walnut bench creaked beneath our weight.
“So you’re telling me you’ve never stolen cherries?” Lys asked, laughing, while cracking the last shell we had. Mead dripped down his chin, his eyes already glowing faintly with drink.
I shook my head.
“There aren’t many cherry trees here.” The lie slid from my tongue as easily as cheap mead slid down his.
My poor handmaiden listened to our hours-long conversation without interrupting once, her face locked in a strange, worried expression. I took a roasted pheasant wing Anne had given us and bit into the tender meat.
He followed every movement, and when his eyes fell on my lips, he looked away.
Welme caught it from the corner of her eye but said nothing yet again.
“So, anything else I should know about the ceremony? The ceremony, or the tournament?” he clarified.
I leaned back in my chair and wiped my face clean of mead.
“What do you want to know?”
“What are the chances a soldier dies there?”
The question surprised me entirely. He didn’t look like someone who craved carnage, but then again, one never knows of the ways of men.
“Anything can happen,” I said carefully. “At the last tournament, the princess’s knights lost control. Extremely violent. I heard at least ten knights died.” I rushed the words, nearly giving myself away.
Welme cut me with a glance, but Lysande seemed lost in thought.
“And the chances it happens again?” he asked, reaching for his cup. His muscles flexed as he lifted it. “Low,” I said. “This year the king will make sure it doesn’t happen again. At least, that’s what they say.” He nodded, still distant. “Winning here is difficult, isn’t it?”
There was something achingly sad in his brown eyes.
“But the prize is great,” I said, not knowing what else to offer. “They say that the knight becomes more important to the princess than her husband. Always there. Always ten steps behind her. All her wealth becomes his.”
He barely seemed to hear me.
“Do they all receive horses and swords?” he asked.
I frowned, glanced at Welme, then back at him. “No, you have to have your own horse. And armor isn’t provided either.. Weapons are given, but it’s better to bring your own.”
He exhaled slowly. “You know, Sol,” he said quietly, “some knights come for glory. Some truly want to serve the kingdom. Some just want blood. And some…” He smiled, almost sadly. “…are running from their past.”
I set my cup down.
“Then for the princess’s sake,” I said, “let us hope the one who wins comes for the second reason.”
Just then, music burst through the tavern, clapping, shouting, laughter. People leapt to their feet, dancing, stomping, forming circles. When the music stopped suddenly, they clapped, then it started again.
Round and round.
I laughed, the earlier conversation forgotten.
The music pounded in my chest, my heart dancing with it. A hand touched my shoulder. I turned to see Lys standing above me, a shy smile on his face.
“One dance, Sol,” he said. “For all the knights who will fight and for the princess who must endure them all.” His eyes crinkled as he laughed at his own words.
Warmth surged through me as I placed my hand in his and let him pull me into the crowd.
I glanced back at Welme, still silent, lips pressed thin, biting the inside of her cheek.
He spun me suddenly, pulling me back toward him. I grabbed his hands, and we jumped and laughed like everyone else.
Round and round.
A circle of people, mead, and fresh pheasant.
“It was good to meet you, darling Sol,” he said late that night.
We stood several streets away from the tavern, breathless and smelling of smoke and sweat, hearts still pounding. “I hope I’ll see you again,” he said softly, stepping closer.
Cold wind wrapped around us. My skin prickled.
Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his hand and cupped my cheek. As he leaned closer and as I smelled his scent in, someone yanked me back. “We have to go. Father is waiting,” Welme said, pulling me away from his warm arms.
I followed her without a word as the chill bit my skin.
When I turned my face to look back, Lys was still watching. When he caught me looking, he lifted his hand and waved. I waved back before we disappeared around the corner.
“Princess,” Welme said quietly, “this is not good. You cannot allow this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I did nothing.”
She looked at me with sad eyes. “Royals have no room for such feelings, Princess.”
I said nothing more, for we both knew she was right.