Gisela ate while glancing at Valten out of the corner of her eye. He systematically devoured his food and spoke briefly to his father or mother when they asked him a question about the joust. When he had eaten four courses, he stopped and told the servant he was finished. The servant cleared his place of his trencher and all traces of food, and refilled his goblet. Then he turned to Gisela.
“Are you enjoying the banquet?”
“Yes, I thank you.”
“I hope you don’t need to return home, because my mother plans for you to stay the night here at the castle, with Margaretha.”
“Oh.” Stay at the castle? That would solve her problem of how to avoid whatever dastardly punishment her stepmother had in mind for her if she were to go home tonight. “I-I don’t need to go home. That is, I believe I can stay.”
“You will need to be here tomorrow, to preside over the tournament as its queen.” His eyebrow twitched, as if his words were slightly amusing to him.
“And to watch you defeat all challengers again.” She lifted her brows at him now.
“If God wills.”
“You were impressive today.” She tried to sound matter of fact. “Your skill is evident, and no one was able to best you.”
He gave her a small bow. “God was with me.” He looked at her more intently and said, “Ruexner shouldn’t be bothering you anymore. As soon as the tournament is over, I will make sure he leaves town.”
“Thank you. I was happy you defeated him today.”
“And I was happy you stopped him from poisoning Sieger.”
Her heart skipped a few beats at the way he was looking at her. “Me too.”
“What will happen tomorrow?” She already had a good idea of what would take place, but she wanted to hear him speak.
“Tomorrow the challengers will make their choice of weapons, either sword, battle-ax, or mace, and we shall fight on horseback until someone is unhorsed. We shall then continue to battle on the ground until someone gives up or the marshals stop the fight.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Do you enjoy fighting? Is it thrilling for you?” She wanted to understand him, to understand why he had dedicated his life to jousting and tournaments and combat.
He was quiet, looking down at the table. Had she offended him with her question?
“I used to find it thrilling.” One corner of his mouth went down. “It seems pointless now, so much so that I wonder why I do it.” He looked her in the eye for a long moment before continuing. “There used to be something driving me, making me strive to be the best at everything. I wanted to prove myself. But now it sometimes seems like a waste of time.”
Gisela nodded. “I understand. Sometimes I feel like I should be doing something different. Sometimes I feel as if I will die if I don’t get away—from home.” She almost said, “from my stepmother.”
He tilted his head to the side as he stared at her. “Do you know what it is you want to do? Where would you go?”
“That is the problem. I can’t leave. I don’t want to leave my horses.”
She was afraid he would laugh at her, but he nodded gravely. At that moment, she was certain he understood, as no one else had, why she couldn’t leave her horses.
“But at the same time, I feel connected to my father’s home, to the place where I was born. I don’t want to give it up to anyone.” Especially Evfemia and her evil offspring.
“Do you have an older brother to inherit your home?”
“No, my stepmother is the heir. It isn’t my home at all.”
He stared into her eyes until she could no longer meet his gaze. He was feeling sorry for her, she was sure. In her experience men didn’t want to feel sorry for anyone, and she didn’t want him to pity her. She had to turn the conversation back toward him.
“So what will you do when you stop competing in tournaments?”
He smiled and shook his head almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know. But I feel like I’m getting closer.”
In fact, he was getting closer. His head was bent toward her, in order for them to hear each other in the noisy Great Hall. But his undivided attention was doing strange things to her heartbeat, making it trip and stumble inside her. Perhaps she should keep talking, to distract herself from his beautiful eyes.
“Your sisters and parents are so kind. I like them very much.”
A lock of her hair had fallen across her cheek. It brought to mind the fact that her hair didn’t look like the other maidens around her. Their locks were either arranged in perfect stiff curls, or were covered by their elaborate headdresses. She must look like a poor peasant in comparison.
His hand came up and his fingers brushed the strand of hair from her cheek. “I don’t like your stepmother treating you badly.” His voice was brusque, as if he were talking about a battle maneuver.
His unexpected words caught her off her guard. “I … I take care of myself.” Unable to meet his eye, she found herself staring at his big, brawny hand, which rested on the table.
The minstrels, who had been playing softly while they ate, began to play a much louder, much livelier tune.