Page 56 of Prince of Shadow and Ash

“Excuse me?”

Carrick finally faced him. “I won’t tell you again. She’s above your station.” He shrugged. “A little beneath mine, but that’s beside the point. I don’t know what she finds so fascinating about your scarred face, peasant blood, and murderer-for-hire past, but sooner or later she’ll realize you’re not a good match.”

Regulus clenched his fist, every muscle taunt.Save it for the field.He gritted his teeth. “You should go.”

“I’m going. I’m needed in the polearm arena.” Carrick’s gaze fell to Adelaide’s token. “Pity you’re competing in archery instead. I suppose I must wait until the sword competition this afternoon to cut that off your arm.” He turned and strode away.

Regulus shook his head and tried to focus on archery.

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THE ARCHERY COMPETITIONwent both worse and better than Regulus had expected. He hadn’t expected to win, but he had wanted to. He felt Adelaide’s token put a little extra pressure on him to do well. To show he deserved to wear it. To not put her to shame.

Adelaide would probably find that ridiculous. He couldn’t find her in the chaos of the dispersing crowd, but she hadn’t said a word that morning about winning. Still, he wondered if she found his underperformance embarrassing. Not that he did poorly. He placed sixth out of seventeen, which wasn’t terrible, all things considered. Although Caleb would be disappointed his lessons hadn’t had more of an impact.

Caleb should be competing.Caleb would have won. But that couldn’t happen. His knights had come to support him and enjoy the spectacle of the tournament, but not to compete. Caleb’s father had been a minor lord, but after his father died and left everything to his three older brothers, Caleb left his old life behind, and he no longer had anything to prove his nobility. Perceval could have competed if he wanted, since hecouldprove his ancestry of nobility. But, in his own words, he “fought too dirty and had too many hard feelings toward nobles to get in a sparring ring with those prissy pretty boys.” Dresden, Jerrick, and Estevan couldn’t claim a drop of noble blood. And, unfortunately, lineage mattered at tournaments in Monparthian law, not the knighthood Regulus had bestowed.

Regulus strolled across the massive tournament grounds back toward the tents, Dresden, Caleb, and Perceval beside him.

“Well, I won’t say you haven’t improved,” Caleb said.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like youwantto say I haven’t.”

“Oh, no, no!” Caleb held his hands out and shook his head. “I mean youhave.”

“It’s the double negatives,” Perceval said. “Sounds like you’re sayin’ opposite of what you said.”

Regulus looked at him in confusion.

“What? I went to university, remember?”

“For two and a half weeks.” Drez snorted.

“Still longer than any of you, makin’ me the most educated member of this band.” Perceval inclined his head. “All due respect, Captain.”

“And the least genteel.” Caleb shook his head with exaggerated sadness.

“I suppose you think you’re the most genteel?” Dresden asked.

Caleb bowed with a flourish of his hand. “Obviously.”

“I don’t know.” Regulus scratched his chin. “Drez should get some gentility points for his well-kept beard alone.”

Caleb made a sound of protest, his mouth agape. “Now that’s just cruel.” He rubbed the stubble on his jawline with the back of his fingers. “It’s not my fault my beard grows out all scraggly. Besides, the ladies love a little five o’clock shadow.”

“Ladies love a full, soft, closely trimmed beard,” Dresden said.

“Says the two single men.” Perceval harrumphed. “You think I’m clean shaven because I enjoy shaving? Hm? I prefer kisses from my wife, thank you.”

“You have a beard like a porcupine, it doesn’t count.” Dresden stroked his beard.

Regulus shook his head as they arrived at the tents. “All right, enough!”

After lunch, Harold helped Regulus into his armor, and Drez tied Adelaide’s token to his arm, tucking the knot under the pauldron to ensure it wouldn’t come off. The plain armor emphasized strength and maneuverability over looks. Lots of curves to help blows glance off.

Compared to the bulk of the Black Knight armor, this felt like heavy clothes, so he had to be extra careful to control his strength. Plus, he carried his own sword. A standard broadsword, it was considerably lighter than the massive black sword hidden with the chest of armor in his tent. Although he prayed the sorcerer would not call on him during the tournament, he had no way of knowing when he would next feel his mark burn.

But he couldn’t think about that, not now. He intended, for the first time in over two years, to act like his own man. For the tournament, he would forget about the sorcerer’s threats looming over him, ignore his recklessness, and be present in the moment and enjoy it. Fight for sport instead of for his life. Love a spectacular woman. Today, he would ignore the darkness. Today, nothing would bring him down. Because today, he wore his heart on his sleeve as literally as possible.

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