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THE WEATHER IS HOLDING perfectly for the joust and the participants are queuing up to register with one of the King’s men. Will and his father are entertaining the crowd, the music is playing and there is more than one hog roasting.
Everleigh is sitting next to Addyson, with Lanorie behind her in the royal box, decorated with flags in the King’s colours: yellow and purple. Macsen and Millard are mingling with the knights and other hopefuls; they usually fight, but this close to one of them being named King, no one wants them to risk injury. The King is sitting in the centre of the box watching over everything.
Addyson has her handkerchief ready and so does Everleigh. She’s planning to drop it for Archer. It’s an old tradition and she doesn’t even know where it stems from, but women would throw down their handkerchiefs for the knight of their choice, he would wear it about his person to declare himself her man.
She is watching the crowds of people and hasn’t spotted him yet. There are two other fighters in disguise but neither of them is Archer; she knows it.
The men are placed into pairs; opponents will fight, atop their horses, lances swinging, and the winner of each pass will fight again until there is one man remaining. The overall winner of the joust receives a huge bag of coin from the King and half of all bets placed in his favour.
There is a hush through the crowd and in an instant Everleigh knows that Archer has arrived. The crowd seem to part for him and the voices fall away completely. Everleigh stands up.
He thunders along on his horse, coming to a neat stop right in front of the knight who is registering the fighters. His horse is gorgeous, sleek and pitch black. Archer is instantly recognisable to Everleigh, even though his face and his hair are covered and only his eyes are visible; she knows him.
The men line up in twos upon their horses.
The first two take their places on opposite sides of the field; Archer isn’t one of them, lances aloft, ready to joust. She has a great view from the box, but doesn’t want to watch any of them; she just wants to see Archer. He is lined up in his pair, due to fight one of Brett’s friends, but he’s not waiting on his horse, he’s feeding it something, patting its nose and talking to it. She can tell from the look on the other riders faces that they don’t see him as a threat.
The crowd gets louder and the songs bawdier as the afternoon runs on. Finally, it’s Archer’s turn to fight. Brett smacks his friend on the back, wishing him luck. As Archer glances towards her, Everleigh stands quickly and drops her handkerchief over the edge of the box. She wants him to know that she knows him.
He rides over and jumps off his horse. He picks up her handkerchief and tucks it into his breastplate. He is smiling. She can tell by his eyes.
“Good luck,” she says and turns back to her seat.
Archer leaps easily onto his horse and canters to his side of the field, ready to start.
He leans forward and pets his horse, whispering to it and patting it.
Everleigh stands up and leans on the front of the box; she needs to see this.
The bugle sounds and both horses start trotting. Archer is far faster than his opponent and flies towards him. He holds his lance out and as he passes the other rider, with a hair’s breadth between them, Archer crashes his lance against his opponent’s armour.
There is a loud groan from the crowd, followed by cheering. The rider, to his credit, manages to stay on. Both horses turn and come at each other again. Archer is faster and more confident. As he approaches the other rider again, lance aloft, his opponent does the same. Archer pulls his horse closer and cracks him again. In the exact same spot. The rider stays on, but stops, unable to spur the horse on. Bent low, he isn’t moving. Half the crowd are groaning, the other half applauding and stamping their feet.
Archer is in position, ready to go again. People are jeering and clapping. Everleigh is proud of Archer, but she hates the violence of the joust; it isn’t fighting to save a life or protect a life, it’s just for sport. And she questions where the sport in that is.
Finally, the other rider sits up and his horse canters back to the starting line. The crowd go mad; they love a survivor.
And all of this is done in her name, to celebrate the final week of her life. If they had asked her what she wanted she might have chosen something else. And yet all the festivities this week are to celebrate her being sacrificed like a lamb and two men drinking her blood. It’s barbaric, if you think about it.
So, she doesn’t.
On the third pass, Archer knocks his opponent clean off the horse. He hits him with a crunch so sickening and he falls with such a thud, that Everleigh cries out and covers her mouth. Even as the crowd rise to cheer Archer on, she feels sickened by it. Men have been killed in jousts; she does not want anyone’s death on her conscience, killed for sport in her name.
Brett is the first person to go to his friend’s aid, and he looks beyond furious; how much more furious he would be if he knew that it was Archer who was responsible.
Archer goes off to tend to his horse with the other winners, while they wait for their next turn.
Everleigh thinks he will win the whole joust, but doesn’t want to watch any more violence.
She slips out of the box and makes her way, as casually as she is able, through the riders and horses, keeping clear of Brett, waving to Will on the way and ending up at Archer’s side.
“You ride wonderfully.”
“Thank you.” His voice is muffled from the scarf he’s wearing to hide his face.
“You fight brilliantly.”
“Thank you, princess. I am blushing under my scarf.”
Everleigh laughs. “I hate the fighting though.”
“Really? Do you wish me to stop?”
Shaking her head, she smiles at him. “I just don’t get it. When you fired your arrow at Brett, I understood why. I was humbled that you wanted to look after me. Men fighting purely for sport, I find it harder to understand. Boxing, sword fights, this...”
“I can see that. It’s bloodthirsty and violent. But most men are.”
“Really?”
“Really. Why do you suppose most wars are started by men?”
“Because they like to fight.”
Archer nods and places a hand on her arm. His voice is low. “When you are Queen, you can outlaw it.”
“And then they will do it in the taverns and on the streets with no law to protect the fighters. I will not outlaw it, but I shall not watch it anymore.”
“Then close your eyes, princess. I plan on winning this joust today.”
“I am sure that you will.”
Everleigh pets the horse and feeds it one of Archer’s sugar lumps. “She’s a beautiful creature. What’s she called?”
“Her name is Ink.”
“Ink. I like it. It suits her.”
“You can ride her one day.”
She smiles. “I’d like that. I need to go, before I am missed. I shouldn’t be carousing with masked strangers.”
“Hardly carousing, princess.” Archer’s eyes are full of mischief.
“Still.”
“I could carouse if you want me to.”
She swats at his arm, and heads back to the royal box.
She avoids Brett and his gang of men once more. Lanorie has left the box and Everleigh can’t see her anywhere. She wants a drink. She orders one of the little maids to bring ale for the King, Addyson and herself and sits back to watch the rest of the fight, Addyson’s hand in hers.
She tunes out for a fair bit of it, but with her heart thundering she watches Archer fight three more times until he is heralded as the champion of the Kingmaker’s joust.
Everleigh has the honour of giving him the fat bag of coin off the King. She slips the winner’s ribbon over his cloaked head and congratulates him, and he whispers into her ear as she does so, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up, “Thank you, Queen.”