The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,126

when they went to hand him the first goblet. He was determined that for her month-long stay she would be his most honored guest.

Una took it with thanks and gazed down at Armand. Even if he had come in last place again, it would not have changed her feeling toward him in any way. His face beneath his visor was streaked with sweat and she could tell he would be exhausted after. She would have to insist she missed tonight’s banquet to tend his wounds, she thought, perking up. Then she could bathe him and fuss over him to her heart’s content.

“Look at him!” the King crowed, almost spilling his wine on his hose. “Driven. Purposeful. All the resolve he previously lacked!” He slapped his knee, then raised his cup to silently toast Una. “All down to you, Una,” he concurred with a nod to his wife. “As my Queen pointed out.”

“Of course, he could still lose,” Queen Armenal said musingly, earning a ferocious glower from Wymer. “Sir Garman does not cherish the runners-up cup and his own wife watches on.”

Una glanced across to the box opposite, where the once-famous beauty Lady Lenora Orde watched with her cousin Lady Eden Vawdrey. She envied them the large white banner they sat beneath with the black heart weeping three drops of scarlet blood. She needed to have a large banner made up for Armand, she vowed, with his white winged horse on its blue field. Then she too could watch her husband from beneath his colors.

They had a banner hanging at Lynwode now, but they needed one they could pack up to take to tournaments also. Una had only accompanied her husband to one rural tournament so far. She had watched him lift the victor’s cup at Areley Kings in June and crown her tournament queen. Somehow, she had far preferred that tournament to this pomp-filled one at the palace.

The crowd had fallen painfully quiet now and waited with bated breath for the victor to emerge from the grueling battle. All that could be heard was the ring of steel striking upon steel. Both men were staggering now and on their last legs. The tournament had run three days and whoever won this final bout would emerge the overall champion of the Royal Autumn Tournament.

Sir Garman lunged, Armand looked to retreat, but then brought his own sword up violently. There was a blur, then Orde’s broad sword went hurtling to the ground. Armand side-stepped neatly, bringing his booted foot down heavily upon the blade, preventing its retrieval. The point of his own sword hovered in the air before Orde’s throat.

After a tense moment, Orde held up both his hands in a grudging gesture of defeat. The King leaped out of his seat with a battle roar, the contents of his goblet hurled over the side and spattered over an unfortunate duchess whose shriek of dismay was drowned in the din of the crowd’s celebration.

Una found she too was on her feet, the King holding her hand aloft as though she had scored some kind of victory. She laughed delightedly and found herself engulfed in a hearty royal embrace.

The three-day tournament had a fairytale ending. The ugly princess had transformed into a celebrated bride and the knight who could not find his form had finally emerged a winner. Una gazed down as Armand dragged off his helmet. His eyes were seeking out her own. She raised her hand to her lips and sent him a kiss. Before her eyes, he reached out a gauntleted hand to catch her tribute and press it to his breastplate.

“Oh my!” breathed the Queen whose interest had finally been snared. She fanned herself with her hand and cast a sideways look at Una. “Finally, I see what all the fuss is about,” she murmured.

*

Of course, they had not been able to wriggle out of that evening’s feasting. Armand was a mass of aches and sores by the time the first course was served. He could not use his right hand, which was so swollen, he has forced to hold his wine cup in his left.

They were sat at the high table next to the King and Queen, Earl Vawdrey and his countess, and a bunch of other courtiers whose names Armand had not bothered to catch.

He kept his focus on Una as she sat beside him, intent on cutting up his food. Her hair for once was loose, for her decoration tonight was neither veil nor headdress. Instead