Valten opened both his visor and bevor so that his face was visible as he listened to his father.
“He has conducted himself with honor and valor, and succeeded in defeating all opponents,” Duke Wilhelm declared in a loud voice, his words clear and precise. “It is now time for the victor to exercise his rightful privilege of choosing for us our Queen of Beauty and Love, whom, for the duration of this tournament, we are duty bound to honor and obey.”
With those words, he placed a circlet of vines and flowers on the end of Valten’s lance.
Gisela’s stomach tied itself into a knot as Valten slowly walked his horse to the south gallery, where the fair maidens were sitting. A hush fell over the crowd, and Cristyne sat stiff and straight by her side, her mouth open slightly as she seemed to be holding her breath. Gisela concentrated on looking as calm and dignified as possible.
Instead of pacing to and fro in front of the section of fair maidens, as he might have done, Valten guided his horse straight toward Gisela. Did he really mean to pick her? It felt like a dream, not real at all, as Valten made his way to her, lifted his lance over the barrier, and laid the circlet at Gisela’s feet.
Every eye was on her, including her stepmother’s and stepsisters’, she thought absently. But Gisela only had eyes for Valten.
Valten’s squire ran forward and took off his helmet, then took his lance. Valten dismounted — very nimbly for a man clad in so much armor—and made his way up the gallery steps. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. He fell to one knee before Gisela, and it was as if they were the only two people at the tournament.
Valten picked up the circlet and placed it on her head.
Beads of sweat had tracked lines through the dust on his face. A new trickle of blood was seeping down his cheek from his left eye again, as his cut had reopened. But even in his disheveled state, she was sure she had never seen anyone more masculine and handsome. His gray-green eyes fixed her with a gaze that was for her alone.
Her heart pounded. The tournament champion was supposed to give the Queen of Beauty and Love a kiss. Surely he wouldn’t truly kiss her, not on the lips. But the way he was looking at her, she was not sure at all.
“My queen.” He bowed his head and took her hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
He rose from his knee and held out his arm to her. She placed her hand on his forearm, on top of her own scarf, which was still tied there. Their eyes remained locked on each other.
The crowd erupted in cheers and shouts, a roar that filled Gisela’s ears but didn’t make the moment feel any more real. She felt as if she was floating, as if the world around her was misty and indistinct. This moment was a dream, and though she stood, her feet didn’t touch the ground.
Valten started down the steps, and somehow Gisela managed to walk down beside him. The next thing she knew, there was a horse in front of her, a beautiful white mare with flowers braided into her mane and a sidesaddle on her back. Valten placed his hands around Gisela’s waist and lifted her onto the horse as easily as if she were a child. He mounted his own horse, and they made their way toward the castle.
The cheering crowds made way for them, parting and throwing flowers onto the road in front of them.
She spent most of her time looking at Valten, and he didn’t seem to mind, since he was mostly looking at her, especially as they left the crowd behind and descended the gentle hill to the Hagenheim entry gate. But for one moment, maybe two, she wondered what her stepmother would think, and pictured the look on her face at seeing Valten crown Gisela the Queen of Beauty and Love.
Chapter
9
Valten’s mother and sisters took her into their care once they arrived at the castle, while Valten went to take a bath, or “to make himself more presentable,” as Lady Rose explained it.
Valten’s sisters, Margaretha and Kirstyn, were Irma and Contzel’s opposites. They were warm and friendly, smiling and kind from the moment they greeted her when she arrived in the Great Hall, which was still empty except for the duke and his family and the servants who were busy running to and fro.
Margaretha took her arm and led her to a prominent seat at the duke’s own table on the raised dais. “You must be tired and thirsty.” Margaretha was a lovely girl, and Gisela secretly hoped they would become friends, as Margaretha appeared to be only a little younger than Gisela.
Immediately, a servant stood at her elbow offering her a tankard.