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“We’ll be with twenty to thirty newlywed couples,” he begins. “Our challenge is to run a 400-meter muddy track with four obstacles.”
“OK.”
“In two minutes.”
“That sounds doable.” I glance at him cornerwise. “Isn’t it?”
“We’ll be dressed as Santas with beards and everything.”
“I don’t have my costume with me.”
“You won’t need it,” he says. “The costumes are provided by the organizers.”
I try to paint a mental picture of the race. “What sort of obstacles are we talking about?”
“Both dry and wet.”
“Meaning?”
“Logs, sand and water.”
I stare at him. “Um… water?”
“A big deep puddle,” he says before adding. “Or a small shallow pond, if you like the sound of that better.”
“I prefer no water at all! It’s freezing outside.” I hug myself anticipating the unpleasantness. “What if you fall or drop me?”
“It’s quite possible, likely even.”
Is he trying to make me hate him?
“The good news,” he says, “is that it’s going to get warmer tomorrow afternoon. Up to four degrees Celsius.”
“Brr!”
He flashes me a jogger-dropping smile. “Ready to practice?”
“Listen, why don’t we just forfeit?”
He wags a finger. “You rose to your challenge by solving all three logic puzzles. I’m not cowering from mine.”
“This isn’t a competition between us, Louis-Philibert!”
Shall I remind you who I am and what my life is like outside of this enchanted bubble?
He beams. “My grandmother used to call me by my full name and in that same tone of voice when I was in trouble.”
“Don’t deflect.”
“My competitive spirit has nothing to do with this.”
I grunt.
His expression loses its playfulness. “In two days, I’ll become the Duke of Arrago, and you, the Duchess.”
“Only for a year.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Upholding Evorian traditions—even the silly ones like this contest—comes with the territory. Call it duty or a job requirement, but forfeiting isn’t an option for either of us.”
