Page 19 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

How did they move past this? Normalcy? Bridget had never been in a relationship long enough to know how to navigate this. She could try for normalcy. “So… who are you knighting?”

“Arthur. And Sidney. And your friend Adah.”

“Wow. Okay. Reallyisall change.”

Gwen blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Yes. I suppose so.” There was an awkward pause before she added, “It’s silly of course, because Arthur is already Lord of Maidvale. He doesn’t need knighting to elevate his rank, it’s a lateral move. But he insisted we do the proper ceremony and everything. I think he’s going to ask everyone to call himSir Arthurinstead of Lord Delacey. It’s going to be very annoying.”

Bridget stretched out one of her legs, sore and still cramping from so much concentrated riding, and caught the moment Gwen’s gaze flew briefly to her thigh then returned determinedly to her face. All hope wasn’t lost then. “Few inches of overshoot with the ceremonial sword will nip that in the bud.”

“Mmm,” Gwen said vaguely. Bridget was losing this game and she hadn’t even figured out the rules. Not normal enough? Too normal?

“How are you… feeling… about it all?”

Gwen didn’t seem particularly impressed, but she sighed and said, “I don’t know. I’ve never knighted anyone before. I don’t know if I have the… the gravitas.”

“You do,” Bridget said truthfully. “You do now.”

She’d always loved it when Gwen blushed. It wasn’t pink and delicate; she always went strikingly red from her shoulders to her forehead, like she’d not just caught the sun but been walloped around the head with it.

This was different to her usual blushes. Angrier.

“Good to know,” she said stiffly, and Bridget knew with sudden clarity that she was doomed.

It wasn’t as if she’d expected a glowing reception, walking back through the gatehouse after so long away and weeks without sending word, but she’d pushed it down—along with a great many other thoughts—to be dealt with at a later date.

Now she was beset with roosting chickens. Gwen opened her mouth, about to say something, probably something that couldn’t be unsaid, so before she could, Bridget asked, “Have you seen one? A knighting?”

Gwen paused, and shook her head.

Bridget looked at her—the way she was standing, holding herself with her arms crossed over her chest, the unlikely clean lines of her hale and whole fingernails, the little defensive tilt of her chin—and decided she’d have to deal with this the only way she knew how: going down fighting.

“I have,” she said. “Come here. I’ll show you.”

“Come… there?” Gwen echoed, wrong-footed. That was something. It was better than anger, at any rate.

“You can knight me,” Bridget said, reaching over to where she’d hung her belt and unsheathing her shortsword. “Practice.”

“I don’t think—”

Bridget eased herself from her chair and knelt fully on the floor, a damp supplicant. She offered Gwen the sword, balanced on the flat of her palms. Gwen was staring at her, face still hot, expression unreadable. She took the sword eventually, weighing it in her hand. Bridget wondered a second too late if it was wise to hand a weapon to the girl whose letters you’d been ignoring.

“You’ve been fighting,” Bridget noted, watching the way she shifted her body around the weapon to accommodate it; shoulders back, one foot forward for stability. They’d sparred together on occasion, but been too easily distracted from the task at hand for Gwen to make much progress.

“Yes,” said Gwen, looking down at herself and relaxing her stance. “I thought it… prudent. I don’t want to feel helpless ever again.”

“Good,” said Bridget. “That’s good.” Gwen didn’t smile, so Bridget cleared her throat, suddenly feeling foolish. “You just have to ask me to… swear my allegiance to crown and country, give my body and my spirit in service, hold firm to the values of chivalry… There’s more, I don’t know it. Then you touch the sword to each shoulder and then it’s… arise, Sir Whatever.”

“Or Lady Whatever.”

“Yes. Although…”

“What?”

“SirBridget,” Bridget said slowly, swirling the feel of it in her mouth like fine spirits.Ladyhad been grating, lately. It felt nothing to do with her, with who she was.Sirtasted better. “No?”

“Yes,” Gwen said immediately. It seemed to be the only thing they were going to agree on today. She renewed herfierce grip on the pommel, putting back her shoulders. “Go on then,” she said, combative again. “Swear it.”

Bridget shrugged one shoulder. “I really don’t remember the rest.”