Page 128 of Hollow Court
With the vote coming up and the constant threat of rebel attacks lingering over us, I was sure there was more than one reason for the captain of the guard to be here. But, for now, Prince Finnian did seem to be relishing the standoff against his daughter.
Immediately, I could tell this fight was different. I knew little and less about sparring, but the crowd watched in a hush as he countered every move his daughter made.
“Is he—” I began.
“He’s toying with her a bit, yes,” Davin confirmed.
“Or more accurately,” Gallagher chimed in, “letting her get a few hits in so she’s not quite as furious when she loses.”
Maisey and I exchanged a wary glance. Gwyn’s fury wasn’t something I ever wanted to witness. Judging by the look on her face, it wasn’t something Maisey was ready to face, either.
She took a small, pointed step away from Gallagher, who only grinned and closed that distance again.
“He’s that good?” I asked.
“He’s the best,” Davin said simply.
Sure enough, the prince let a few more moves go by before switching to the offensive, going on the attack. It was over in a matter of minutes, with Gwyn letting out an irritable string of curses as her sword clattered to the ground below.
“And that’s our cue to leave,” Davin said, pulling me urgently toward the back of the crowd. “She’ll be impossible for the rest of the day.”
“Won’t she be more upset that you’re ditching her?” Maisey asked.
“No.” Gallagher shook his head. “She won’t even notice. She’ll spend the next two hours making Da’ break the fight down move by move while he buys her consolation snacks.”
I smiled at that. It was rare I saw her without some sort of food in hand.
“Does this happen every festival?” I asked curiously.
Gallagher sighed. “It does, indeed. Four times a year, Gwyn publicly gets her arse handed to her, and she takes it with less and less grace each festival.”
I shook my head.
With what I knew about the duchess, that sounded about right.
* * *
After the sparring event,Davin led me through the festival, telling occasional stories as he went. I would have known this was his favorite even if Gwyn hadn’t told me, but I might not have understood the way his features went distant when he pointed out the corn maze or the haggis stand.
He pressed another mug of hippocras into my hands.
“More magic drink?” I hummed over the tankard, inhaling the intoxicating scent of cloves and cinnamon.
His eyes sparkled with mirth. “I thought you might like it.”
And he was right. So far, he seemed to have made a game of discovering what I actually liked versus the things I merely tolerated. Because of this, I was currently stuffed, having tried nearly everything the festival had to offer.
Though, there would always be room for more hippocras.
“Careful, though. It goes to your head.”
I thought he might be right about that.
Or perhaps the spinning sensation was about more than the drink.
A gust of cool air whipped through the street, sending a shiver down my spine and rooting me more in the moment. Though, I was thoroughly unrooted just as quickly when Davin stepped closer, his warm hands going up to my hood as he pulled it over my head.
He lingered there, his eyes locking on to mine. For a moment, he was the only person in the crowd, everyone else entirely forgotten.