Page 49 of My Faire Lady

I shift on my feet. This would be so much easier if I could be honest and tell her exactly what’s going on. If anything, someone to help ease the burden. “We think it’s a cold, but nothing to worry about. They’ll be better soon, I’m sure.”

She sucks in her cheek and looks toward the shoppe. “But I don’t know the script for the joust.”

“You helped write it,” Jeremy says.

“Hardly. All I did was suggest adding a princess. I have no idea what to do beyond giving my favor to one of the knights.” A gust of wind tosses her hair around her face. “Don’t you have anyone else who would be better for it? Frankie, maybe?”

“We need Frankie at the bar,” I say, desperate. “The crowd loves the princess, and all you’ll have to do is show your favor. The rest is just dialogue from Boden.” I step closer to her, lowering my voice. “Please, Lottie. For me?”

Her eyes shift between mine, and they soften. “Okay. Let me help Kelsey open up and you can bring me the princess garb.”

My shoulders relax away from my ears, and my magic urges me closer, but I keep my feet pressed into the packed dirt. “I owe you.”

“Yeah, you do.” She smirks and climbs the steps. She pauses at the door, and over her shoulder, says, “I finally get to watch my knight in shining armor.”

She disappears into the shoppe, and heat spreads across the tops of my shoulders, creeping up my neck. A crack of thunder shakes the earth, and the heavens open—dumping rain in a sheet that soaks into my clothes. Even that can’t cool the warmth.

Jeremy elbows me in the side. “Careful, Scarlet. Don’t get too jealous when Princess Lottie gives me her favor.”

My lip curls, and I turn on my heel, striding back toward the compound. “I don’t think Lottie is a fan of wet dog.”

His laugh rings through the air, scattering the birds in the trees.

18

Ishould have never agreed to this.

Rain streams off the corners of our overhang at the top of the jousting arena. If I were to shift an inch to the right, the skirt of my gown would be drenched—weighing down the fabric already digging welts into my waist.

I’m starting to think Blaire is faking being sick.

And maybe I should, too.

But despite the rain pouring from the heavens and the thunder rumbling the ground, the arena is overflowing. Every seat is taken—every fairgoer dressed for the occasion, sans umbrella.

“Why do they all look so happy?” I whisper to Boden. “This weather is horrible.”

Lounging on the throne beside mine, he adjusts the ruffled collar at his throat—smile bright against the heavy clouds. “Rainy faire days always have the best turnout, but I couldn’t tell you why. There’s something magical about knowing you’re going to get soaking wet, and having fun anyway.”

I consider his words. Everyone is soaked—hair plastered to foreheads, makeup smudged around eyes, clothing sodden. But they’re all smiling. Beaming. It lifts the heaviness from the air.

Even if the lightning is a considerable hazard.

A horn blows from the end of the field, and the stable doors swing open. The crowd cheers as Jeremy rides out on his horse—a unicorn horn strapped to its head. Rain wilts the cobalt feathers jutting from Jeremy’s helmet, but applause shakes the air as his horse gallops around the arena.

At the base of the stands, a herald introduces him to the crowd. I lean closer, trying to discern his words. But a drum beats, drowning out the rest of his monologue.

Without warning, Scarlet shoots from the stables, the Valkyrie wings of her helmet scattering gold across the stadium. She circles the barrier splitting the field in two and comes to an abrupt stop beside Jeremy.

“And of course,” the herald shouts, waving a hand, “Lady Scarlet!”

She hooks her fingers under the lip of her helmet and yanks it off. Her unbraided hair thrashes in the wind and settles against the small of her waist in messy waves.

The air rushes from my lungs.

Over the whistles and applause, the herald continues speaking, but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears. My attention belongs to Scarlet and the smirk painted across her face—the way her hands grip the reins with a steadfast confidence.

“Are you almost ready?” Boden whispers, handing me the handkerchief I’m meant to carry to the arena.