I’m happy for him, truly. But how I wish I were there to add my voice to the cheers. He is winning such a brilliant reputation for so young a knight. I’m so very proud of him.
—Claire de Murrow
Queen’s Tower
（pining . . . yes, I’m pining）
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Sickness Inside
The horses for the knights in the competition were kept in a paddock on the tournament grounds, but the palace had opened its stables to the royal visitors so that the guests had transportation up and down the mountainside. When Ransom and Noemie reached the stable master, he said he would bring a palfrey for the princess and a rouncy for Sir Ransom.
“I’m not feeling well enough to ride,” Noemie said. She held on to Ransom’s arm as if to steady herself. “I will ride up the mountain with him.”
The stable master saw the wince on Ransom’s face. “I can provide a wagon for you, my lady, if you’re feeling unwell.”
“That would take too long,” she demurred. “Fetch the horse.”
Ransom’s stomach clenched with dread. When the stable master bowed and went to secure their mount, Noemie squeezed his arm. “Thank you for not denying me. I do feel unwell, just not in the way they think.”
He chose not to comment.
The horse was brought, and Ransom mounted it. The tail flapped, and one of its ears twitched. He gazed down at Noemie, seeing the look of expectation in her eyes as she waited for him to help her mount. Honor and dignity demanded he accompany her to the palace, but he didn’t relish the task. It felt as if she were a spider spinning him deeper and deeper into her web.
Ransom assisted her in mounting the saddle behind him, and she immediately wrapped her arms around his waist. He felt sick inside, but with no other recourse, he twitched the reins and started at a gentle walk to the road leading back up to the palace above. The stable master watched them go with an envying look.
“Why do you hate me?” she asked once they were finally alone on the road, the horse grunting as it plodded up the path.
“I do not hate you,” he said simply.
“I think you enjoy watching me suffer. Do you take pleasure in that?”
“I do not wish to cause you pain, no. But what you keep asking is impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible for two determined souls, Ransom. This is the way of things. The way of the world. Even the way of your queen.”
Ransom wanted to shut his ears, to stop listening. He hated feeling helpless, but he didn’t know how to extricate himself from this situation. It only seemed to get worse. “Do not speak of the queen that way,” he said, growing angry.
“Is it the truth you cannot bear? There were always rumors about Queen Emiloh. When she was the young duchess of Vexin, younger even than I am, she fell in love with one of her knights and carried on an affair with him before she married Devon’s father.”
His mind blazed with rage that he was listening to gossip intended to injure the queen. He urged the horse into a trot, which made them both start to bounce in the saddle. She gripped him more tightly to keep from falling off.
But at least it stopped her from speaking, from filling his mind with doubts. He pushed the horse to the edge of its endurance, wanting the ride to end as soon as possible. Noemie just clung to him, pressing her cheek against his back. He wore his armor still, but he could feel the pressure of her, and his willpower failed him enough that his mind conjured wild imaginings. He shoved them aside, one by one, determined to honor his promise to himself and to Devon.
The horse was lathered by the time they reached the palace, exhausted by the punishing pace of the ride. There were a few servants awaiting them in the courtyard. One of them tried to help Noemie off, but she collapsed in a faint as soon as her feet touched the ground. The servants murmured worriedly as Ransom swung off the saddle.
“I’ll send for a healer,” one of them said.
“No, no,” the princess said, blinking rapidly. “I merely swooned. Sir Ransom will take me to my rooms.”
“Are you certain you don’t want a healer?” the servant asked. “It would be no trouble at all.”
Ransom stared at her with a feeling of disgust.
“I am weary, that is all. I will be well soon enough. Sir Ransom will take me.” She looked at him with an expression of defiance. It would be beyond rude of him to deny her—indeed, he could not do so without creating more gossip—and she knew it.
She swayed a little as the servants helped her back to her feet, which nearly made Ransom snort. Then she gripped his arm and began to walk tentatively.