Page 17 of Pippa of Lauramore
“That feels so much better,” I say. “You have no idea.”
Now that we’re alone, Galinor looks nervous.
“Are you ready for the scavenger hunt?” I ask as I sit on a bench.
The prince’s tent is surprisingly well-furnishedconsidering the competitors are staying in the palace at night. Rugs, tables, chairs, chests, candlesticks—why does he need all this? Are all the tents like this?
Sitting in a chair across from me, Galinor clasps his hands in his lap…then he moves them to the arms of the chair…and then clasps them in his lap again. I resist the urge to smile, not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable.
“As ready as I can be. We won’t know what we’re looking for until the morning of the hunt, so I don’t know how to prepare.”
I wish I knew what was on that list. Who came up with it, anyway? Was it Percival? I think it was. I’ll get it from Leonora.
“You’ll be fine,” I assure him.
“I can fight,” he says. “I’m good at that. I’m not sure how I’ll do searching for a collection of obscure items.”
So, he’s not anxious about me in his tent; he’s nervous about the first event.
“Difficult items—yes,” I say. “Items that will put you in peril—certainly, but we don’t know they’ll be anything obscure. I can’t even think of an obscure Lauramorian item to put in a scavenger hunt.”
Galinor rises from the chair and kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. “The stakes are higher now, Pippa. I won’t lose this.”
I’m about to answer, but the tent swings open and three men in mail stride in. A mousy-looking young woman follows behind them.
We freeze. They freeze. Their mouths hang open.
Finally, the most handsome of the three—a blond manwith laughing eyes—turns to his comrades. “My tent didn’t come with a princess. Did your tent come with a princess?”
The tension lessens, and they laugh. We join in after we catch our breath from the scare, but our laughter is forced.
“Galinor, you held out on us,” the youngest of the three says. His hair is sun-bleached, and his skin is very tan. “You were the one caught with the princess last night.”
He makes it sound so tawdry.
I stand and try to appear as regal as possible, which is rather difficult in a garden maid’s shift. “I am Princess Pippa. And you are?”
The first to speak, the handsome one, quirks an eyebrow, and I recognize him as the scoundrel who winked at me last night from the crowd. “I’m Prince Irving of Primewood. This is Lady Marigold—my sister of sorts.”
She is tall and wispy with a very unfortunate bland color of brown hair and huge hazel eyes. Her eyes are quite pretty, actually.
“I’m his family’s ward,” she corrects him, her voice soft.
The man who hasn’t spoken yet moves forward. “I’m Prince Bran of Triblue, and this is my younger brother Dristan.”
“We’re honored to be in the tournament, Your Highness,” Dristan adds, his smile wide.
Irving elbows him, and Dristan yelps.
“It’s nice to meet—” I stop mid-sentence and lunge for my straw hat. I pile my hair on my head as fast as I can.
They all look at me as if I’ve lost my mind, but they don’t recognize the voice outside the tent. I turn away just as my brother sticks his head in.
“Galinor,” Alexander says. “You must give me a chance to redeem myself. Come spar with us. Cardin thinks he can best you two-handed.”
“I’m better two-handed than I am with a short sword,” Galinor answers, his tone full of good humor and male boasting.
“Prove it.”
