Page 22 of Pippa of Lauramore
I don’t set it aside. I thread my needle and settle back against the chair to continue. “I’m not going to archery today.”
I steal a glance at her. Naturally, she looks more than a little surprised since archery is by far my favorite part of the daily lessons.
“Are you feeling well?” she asks, setting her hand on my forehead.
My stomach growls. I couldn’t touch the afternoon meal because I was so worked up over seeing Archer. “I’m fine.”
“Then you will be going to your lesson. Archer has already been summoned from the events.”
I might as well get it over with. Over the last day, my anger has boiled away to hurt. I still can’t believe Archer lied to me.
“Fine.” With a resigned sigh, I lay the handkerchief on the chair, and Anna gives me an approving nod. I follow her into the armory and smile at the guards stationed at the door.
“Good morning, Princess,” Owen, the older guard,says. His wife is one of my mother’s maids, and they’re both very kind.
“You’ve polished your armor,” I say, admiring the way it gleams. “It looks very nice.”
“Thank you, Princess.”
I pause when I see Archer inside the door, tending his hawk. He’s heard us and turned around. I keep the smile on my face, but it’s forced. We pass into the room, and I turn toward a wall of swords as if I’m interested in them.
“You are to escort the princess to the palace gates after the lesson,” Anna says brusquely, already eager to be away.
Archer nods. “Of course, Lady Anna.”
She gives him an indulgent smile and then leaves us. The huge wooden door closes with a heavy thud, announcing we’re alone.
I can’t look at him. I’m so mad I think I might cry—and I most certainly do not cry. I fetch my bow, check to see that it’s been well cared for, and march past him.
Archer touches my shoulder. “Pippa?—”
I jerk away.
He runs a hand over his face. He hasn’t shaved today, and there’s light stubble along his jaw. “Pippa, now listen.”
“Nowyoulisten.” I whip around so quickly; the end of my braid hits my shoulder as I turn. “You promised.”
I don’t like the way my voice hitches at the end.
Archer sets his hands on his hips, his eyes flashing at the accusation. “I didn’t tell your father.”
“You didn’t?” I ask, my tone mocking.
His shoulders tense, and he takes a step closer. “No, I didn’t.”
“All right then, Master Archer, who did?”
Frustrated, he looks away and rolls his shoulders. “I don’t know.”
I huff out a breath. “Fine. You didn’t do it,” I say finally, even if my tone says otherwise.
“You don’t trust me?”
I do trust him. Or at least, I did. I can’t answer, so I shrug instead.
Archer takes my shoulders and pins me with his eyes. “Pippa, I didn’t tell your father. I didn’t tellanyone.”
There’s a little crack in my certainty, and I waver. Absently, I notice his eyes look a little greener today than blue.
