Page 83 of The Faceless Queen

Just as he was going into battle against Jaron.

I pulled away, barely catching my breath.

“Win for me,” I commanded.

“As you wish,” he whispered, his eyes hooded with desire and want.

“What a show you two put on,” Jaron said, clapping slowly.

Brennan’s neck reddened, and he stepped away from me—stumbling as he did so.

I grabbed him around the waist without thinking, pulling him against me.

“Weak in the knees, Cousin?” Jaron lifted an eyebrow.

“Not so weak I won’t defeat you,” Brennan said.

The calls of the house mottos began again.

Jaron’s nostrils flared, and once again his moonstag, Barron, seemed overly interested in me, trying to push its head closer to my feet. “Quite an effect you have on him, Princess Olivay,” he said. “You can let go of him now. My cousin’s a grown man. He can stand on his own”

But he couldn’t. Brennan was still unsteady on his feet. I could feel it.

Yet, he was determined to move past it, to not let it show or slow him down. He took a deep breath and straightened, meeting my eyes. “I am undone by you, Princess.”

The stream opened again. And there was a flash in his mind. Samara. The tavern, alone in her room.

I won’t so much as kiss you.

He blinked, breaking away.

“Go,” I said. “Go and win!” I reached for one of the spare violet ribbons Abigail had tied in my hair and slid it free, tying a small knot and handing it to Brennan. “A little extra luck for you.”

He wrapped his fist around it and pressed it to his mouth for a kiss. A sweet gesture, and a sincere one. But also a way to delay himself from moving just yet. He frowned in frustration, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

“Go, son,” King Tirian commanded. “Enough theatrics. You know you’re well trained enough to win this.”

“Yes, father,” he said, and bowed.

As the chants for House Bathiner’s words began again, the king sneered at his son, “You better.”

Slowly—too slowly—Brennan climbed down from the pavilion and back onto his stag.

“You’ve bewitched him,” Jaron said.

“Hopefully enough to win,” I seethed.

He smirked, but then the king ordered me to sit again, and so I did, watching as Jaron took off behind Brennan.

I looked over my shoulder at the Hermit who was staring at me in horror. He shook his head slowly.

And I knew—I’d fucked up. If Brennan lost this fight, it was my fault. And if he connected the moment he lost his strength to our kiss, it was all over for me.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Back on the field and on their respective sides of the lists, Jaron and Brennan both held up their lances. Brennan pushed his visor down, his stag at the far left of the field. Jaron was ready at the far right, his lance lifted.

It began.