Page 1 of Pippa of Lauramore
CHAPTER 1
Strong and tall, valiant and true—that’s what my family sees when they look at Prince Lionel. What I see is a tree-like man with a thick, stubby neck and eyes too small for his wide face.
My forced smile—which is making my cheeks ache because I’ve held it for so long—falters as I look on the man and realize he looks a bit like an ogre.
I don’t mean that in a harsh way. It’s simply true.
Lionel’s too-small eyes narrow as he demands, “Are you listening, Philippa?”
My gaze shifts to his glorious mass of golden-brown curls and his strange, lopsided hairline. I can’t tell if it’s the way his ringlets fall over his temples, or if his head is truly misshaped.
His hair is actually quite lovely—how tragic for it to be gifted to a man.
“I’m hanging on your every word,” I say. “Please continue.”
Percival, my eldest brother and future king ofLauramore, purses his lips and narrows his eyes like Lionel just did. Unlike Lionel, he has very nice eyes, green like our mother’s and just the right size.
I flash him a smile—a real smile. The corner of his mouth twitches, but he shakes his head so subtly that Lionel doesn’t notice.
“You’re eighteen now and my future bride. It’s time you start acting like a princess and not an adventure-lusting tavern wench.” Lionel spits out the last two words in a sharp staccato.
Percival opens his mouth to protest, but before he can, I poke a finger in the middle of Lionel’s chest and stand on my tip-toes to make myself a few inches taller.
“You will have to win the tournament first.” I poke him again for emphasis. “Even you can’t be so proud that you think not one of these twenty-nine men can best you.”
For a moment, his confidence flickers, and he glances around the great hall.
The festivities are in full swing. The chaotic, colorful symphony of laughter and food makes my heart swell. Princes, lords, knights, and even villagers mill around the hall, talking and eating. Acrobats do tricks. Girls with tambourines weave through the crowds, their bright skirts swaying around their ankles as they dance.
Their joy and laughter make me eager to join in the merrymaking. Waves of impatience work through my muscles. I can barely hold still.
“I will win,” Lionel answers after he scans the room, his voice full of unemotional certainty.
I frown, and my eyes dart through the crowd as I lookfor a man who could beat him. My spirits slowly sink when I realize he’s likely right. Many handsome men catch my eye, but none are as strong or mighty.
Wait.
“There,” I say, my voice smug. “By the table with the fruit and cheese.”
Lionel and Percival turn their attention toward the man.
He’s as tall as Lionel with, unfortunately, just as thick a neck. He has a nice smile, though, and his eyes look kind. I bob up on my toes for a better look. He’s a little older than I had hoped but young enough to be acceptable.
There’s a woman with him—his sister, perhaps. What is that she has with her? Oh, it’s a baby. Why is she handing him a baby?
“Lord Quinn from Yearling,” Percival answers. “And his wife, Eliss, and their new son, Todd.”
Lionel snorts, and it’s a mirthless sound. “You see?” He nods, satisfied. “I will win, and you will be my bride.”
The candy-dipped apple, three grouse legs, and two fruit pies I had during the blissful Lionel-free part of my evening now churn in my stomach, reminding me why a princess shouldn’t be such a glutton.
“Pippa,” Percival says. “They’re bringing in the cake.”
Four huge layers of red, orange, purple, and indigo frosted confection are wheeled into the hall. It looks like a summer sunset. White stars are painted on the dark upper layers, and fluffy, sunlit clouds are piped at the bottom.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Forgetting both Lionel and Percival, I rush to my mother, who’s standing next to the cake, beckoning me. My father joins her, and my brother Alexander pushes his way through our guests. I assume Percival is behind me, but I don’t stop to check.
