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Chapter 1—Covertly Strike
“Alexandra! Get in here now!”
I draped the stockings I was mending over my shoulder and hurried to the other side of the changing screen. Cool autumn breezes blew through the open window at the top of the castle turret where I had served as a handmaid for as long as I could remember. The Princess Whitney had been on edge all morning though I didn’t understand why. Today the Kingdom of Hadebrand would host the Grand Tournament, but we had attended plenty of tournaments and jousts before, presented by Whitney’s father, King Edgar. Granted, this one was a little more significant than the others, and the number of knights from neighboring kingdoms of all sizes had been pouring in since daybreak, but there had been other important tournaments. Whitney hadn’t been so particular about her wardrobe at those times.
Whitney tilted her head to one side as I finished helping her with her hair. The pale, perfect skin of her sleek neck and her haughty attitude were manifestations of her royalty in addition to the elaborate trappings wrapped around her body. With a quick, practiced movement¸ I pinned ribbons of black and gold at the top of her head.
I finished dressing her with the help of Hadley, Edith, and Shelly—Princess Whitney’s other handmaids. When we were finished, the princess looked as stunning as she always did. Edith pinched Princess Whitney’s cheeks to redden them and touched her lips with the juice of crushed raspberries to give them a deep hue. We all stood back, and Hadley and I smiled at each other. We took both pride and pleasure in preparing Princess Whitney for her public appearance. With a quick nod from the princess, we dutifully stepped in line behind the Princess and her flowing train.
“There are several princes competing today,” Hadley whispered to me. “Do you think she’s trying to catch their eye?”
I shrugged, not wanting to be caught gossiping. To be completely honest, I wasn’t very interested in who was competing in the games today. I was used to my own simple life. All the hustle and bustle of the nobles seemed very unnecessary to me.
By the time we reached the arena, many of the knights on tall, decorated stallions were already entering through the gates. Most of them I recognized, for they were well known champions of the kingdom, and stories of their legendary battles had been told time and time again. There were always a few new ones, and one in particular I noticed because of the coloring of his banner—black and gold. The crest was that of Silverhelm, the realm of King Camden. The young knight must be Sir Branford, his nephew. I glanced at the ribbons in Whitney’s hair and realized whose attention the princess was trying to capture. I couldn’t see the knight’s face due to the helm, but I assumed the princess had anticipated his presence.
Settling down on the bench behind the princess, I pulled out some of the sewing I had been working on prior to readying Princess Whitney. I was not interested in the tournament itself. I had seen many before and thought them brutal and frightening. I kept my eyes down on the work in my hands as the knights galloped their horses toward each other, broke lances, and fought with swords. I knew this was only a game, like most tournaments, but there was always the danger of one of the competitors being hurt or even killed. At least this wasn’t one of the tournaments where death was quite likely, as the stakes were so high. I wondered to myself what the prize would be for the knight winning this tournament.
“Oh no!” Princess Whitney gasped.
I looked up for the first time in an hour to see the black and gold knight on his back, thrown from his horse, with Sir Remy riding up beside him with sword drawn. The blade connected with the knight’s helm and sent him in a summersault over the sand. The helm flew off and rolled away, uncovering deep black locks, dampened with exertion. While Sir Remy rode in a large circle, turning at the end of the arena and heading back for another pass, the knight retrieved his helm and placed it back on his head.
As the knight righted himself, a page threw a long sword to his right hand and a shield to his left. The next time Sir Remy passed by, the black and gold knight heaved his shield at Sir Remy’s head. Sir Remy toppled from his mount, and the knights were on each other at once.
I turned my head away, no longer able to watch.
When Princess Whitney began cheering, I could only assume the black and gold knight had defeated Sir Remy—no easy feat—and was victorious. I finally looked up to see the knight back on his stallion and riding in a large circle around the outside of the arena, with his banner held high, both to cheers and cries of outrage.
Trumpets blared, and all eyes turned toward King Edgar, Princess Whitney’s noble father. He stood at the edge of the platform and held up his arms until the arena quieted enough for him to be heard.
“Sir Branford, good knight of the neighboring realm of Silverhelm, we are honored today by your presence and your bravery! Come forth and name your prize!”
I watched Sir Branford as he rode past, removing his helm and dropping it to the ground for one of his pages to retrieve. His dark hair was plastered with moisture around his forehead, but despite his current state, it was easy to see why the Princess Whitney was so concerned with her own appearance this day; Sir B
ranford was extraordinarily handsome.
As he passed by the princess and her entourage, he looked up, and my eyes met his for a brief moment. I quickly looked away, ashamed to have made eye contact with a lord of our neighboring realm. I hoped it would not be considered an insult to either Sir Branford or King Camden.
I looked up again while keeping my head bowed and watched him approach the podium where King Edgar stood overlooking the arena. He bowed at his waist to both King Edgar and Queen Margaret, and the King repeated his request that Sir Branford name his prize.
“I trust in your judgment, King Edgar.” The knight finally spoke, and his voice was clear and melodic. “I fight only for your enjoyment and require no prize.”
“I insist, Sir Branford,” King Edgar said. “Gallantry such as yours must be rewarded. Otherwise, I may be considered a neighbor without graciousness.”
“Then I shall accept whatever prize you consider worthy, King Edgar,” Sir Branford responded.
The interchange was nothing more than a ruse. I’d heard many similar speeches at other tournaments. The winning knight denies the need of a prize; the king insists, and the knight humbly accepts in the end.
King Edgar looked over to his Queen and spoke with her quietly. She nodded to him, and I noticed her meeting the gaze of Princess Whitney before looking back to her husband. King Edgar turned to Sir Branford and smiled.
“Then I offer as your prize,” he said, “the hand of any available maid in my kingdom.”
Now I understood. The Princess must have known of this arrangement, and she planned to wed this Sir Branford, nephew of King Camden and heir to his throne. It would unite the two kingdoms quite neatly.
“That is very generous of you.” Sir Branford chuckled. He glanced over in our direction. “Any available female? Any at all?”
