I stare at the lance before me. It’s a silvery-white and is much sleeker and almost… feminine, compared to the monstrosity I wielded before. The end tapers and ends at a little nob, and the handle is also smaller but with a wider cross-guard—is it called a cross-guard like with knives?—to help me balance it.

It even has blue swirls along the silver to match my banner. And a strange glow about it, similar to my bow. Has it been... assisted by mages?

"Is this within the rules?" I ask, blowing sweaty bangs off my forehead. This metal torture device is like an oven and is trying to cook me alive… and I’m not even doing that much.

Rider… are you sure this is the route you wish to take? If this is what you choose, there is no going back.

I glance up at the prince, and see the way he stands watching me, his eyes pinching slightly at the edges as his eyes light with both concern and amusement. He shifts from foot to foot… and I realize he’s actually nervous. I've never seen him nervous, even when addressing tens of thousands of people.

He rests his hand on his blade in a relaxed and languid move that is so much like Silver it makes my heart hurt. They look so different… but then, so did I before I cut my hair. And with my mask and hood… I suppose I’m not so different. Using interchangeable personas all the while being me.

But that begs the question. Who is this man before me? Who is he really, in his heart of hearts?

Is he the over-protective assassin who was gentle with a breaking girl and helped her get her family back? Is he the workaholic prince who rescues kittens and dines with nobles and knows how to navigate a world of back-stabbing politics?

Can he not be both? As you are?

What if I'm seeing things that aren't there? What if they're just twin brothers or something? They're so... different.

Are they?

I think about her question, and Arin cocks his head at something he sees on my face. His entire posture is my Silver—from the languid grace oozing from every pore in his body and the way his hand rests on a hidden dagger with a hint of a smirk nearly tipping his lips—he’s just lacking the hood and black hilt daggers underneath a black cloak. I caress one such dagger where it barely pokes out between my armor.

Can someone not have many sides and still be them?

This prince is the one who first saw me, who gave me a chance to get into the tournament as a girl. It didn't exactly go as planned when I lost against Wolfsbane, but that wasn't exactly his fault. He rescues kittens and offers coin to strangers and takes the time to talk with the small folk and find out what they need. He has lowered taxes for the food industry so the businesses can lower their prices as food becomes harder and harder to find.

And Silver is the one who bandaged my hand when I could not process the death of a kind knight when we fought against the first bamshee. He was the one who made me laugh when the worlds pressed down on my shoulders and it looked like everything was going wrong. He is the one who makes me feel safe, who cares for me when I cannot care for myself, and guards my back in whatever battle we find ourselves in, whether it is intrigue, emotional, or cloak and dagger.

He’s haughty, over-protective, bossy, and has a tendency to make me want to pull out my hair.

But he’s also kind, thoughtful, and supports me in everything and respects me when I say yes… or no.

They may not be so different after all.

Yeah, beaut. This is what I want.

I feel Ran’s pur through the bond, the warmth of her love and the almost bitter-sweet hint of something I can’t exactly define.

You owe me, she says.

Owe you for—Oh.

She places herself between me and my Gift, taking the lethargy pulling at my veins and sickening my soul like some sort of black Eldertree sap inside me. My heart beats a little easier and my skin doesn’t feel as if it’s being scalded by the armor I wear.

I nearly tip over in surprise, but Prince Arin is there, catching my elbow and helping me find my balance.

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his lips pressed in a firm line and his hand that isn’t holding me up on a blade that’s already halfway from its sheath. His eyes dart around, then study my face as his jaw ticks.

"Nothing." I take a deep breath, glancing up as his eyebrow arches and his lips tug into a frown. I give a wan smile. "Seriously. I’m fine."

"I’ve heard that before," he mumbles, but the frown lines on his forehead ease and his eyes aren’t so worried.

"Thank you," I whisper, meaning for more than just this. Meaning for everything.

His lips twitch, and his eyes lighten until they are nearly swirled with silver. "Can we, perhaps, find peace together? Preferably with fewer near-death experiences?" he says with a wry smile.

The royal mantra. Pa once said let us find peace is often said by dignitaries when starting over after a war. I shake my head, a smile tipping my lips. "Peace, sure. The rest…" I shrug my shoulders.

He kisses my sweaty forehead, his lips on my skin doing weird things to my heart. "Ahh. What am I to do with you?"

I grin. "Let me go and kick some knight—"

DON’T YOU DARE! Ran roars into my head, and I cut off with a hidden wince.

Shut up, crazy cat. I was gonna say hiney.

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Of course you were. She obviously doesn’t believe me. If I'm not allowed to say that word, I will bite you if you even think The Word.

What, a—

Rider, I will tell your mother.

I freeze.

You wouldn’t.

Try me. If she wasn’t trying so hard to keep my Gift back, her tail would be swishing and her voice would be extra smug. As is, her voice is slightly strained, even though it has some amusement threaded throughout.

Thanks, beaut. I’ll hurry.

You better, she hisses, but she sends a warmth over the bond I know well.

Prince Arin chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that curls my toes. "Go, dear heart. I believe in you."

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Sand poofs around me and my breastplate drills into my solar plexus and knocks the breath from my lungs. I force my muscles to relax, knowing from experience that my lungs will open up when they open up and trying to force air into them before then just makes them angry and they will keep air from you for longer.

Hans helps me up as I wheeze in a panicked breath, despite my forcibly calm muscles. He shoves up my helm, looking me in the eye. His cold gaze scours me.

"Can you continue?"

I wheeze in a breath, open my mouth, and decide to settle on a nod when I merely cough out the breath I just inhaled due to all the dust motes dancing around.

His lips press into a thin line. "You are mighty talented to fall off after the joust when you were stopping my stallion. Mighty talented. Let’s hope that fall doesn’t count to your overall score, since it clearly was nothing to do with Sir Lancelot and more your terrible experience in the saddle with armor."

My brain comes to a halt. "Sir Lancelot. There’s a knight—jousting—named Lance-alot?" I wheeze, my eyes widening.

His eyes dance with mirth as he presses his lips until they almost disappear to keep from smiling. "Yes. You just jousted him. This next joust is it. You need to hit his shield and preferably put enough force behind it to shatter your lance."

My legs shake, but I force them to hold as Blue laps at my dust coated shoulder.

"This is my last joust?" I ask, hope making my voice near breathless with relief.

"No," he says, and my shoulders slump. "This is just the one you need to win if you have any hope of remaining in the top twenty, preferably top ten, depending on how the other matches turn."

He tried to explain the points system to me before this… but it was like trying to keep water in a sift and leaked right out my ears.

But so long as Hans knows… then I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do.

I slam my helm down, and Hans gives me a leg-up on Blue. He hands me Arin’s especially made lance and Blue trots me to the starting line, the crowd roaring until I can’t even hear the frantic patter of my heart. But I feel it, each beat pounding against my sternum and trying to crack a rib or two. Can the heart actually crack a rib if it beats hard enough?

Aria, focus! Ran growls, her voice harsher because of the strain of holding back my Gift in all its sap-spitting furious glory as it tries to get at me.

I shake my head, adjust my grip on my lance, and squeeze Blue with my calves and heels as the flag drops.

Blue rears, pawing the air—has he been conspiring with Ran about the best ways to toss me?—then leaps into a canter, clods of dirt flying behind us as he picks up speed. I nudge him with my outside leg to push him closer to the fence separating me and my opponent, a knight on a tall white steed with a plume of purple. His lance is long and grows bigger with each passing beat of my heart that is in tune with the thump of Blue’s hooves beneath me.

Thump, thump, thu-dump.

Blue’s nostrils flare and his ears are pinned to his head as he tears at the ground in front of him, pushing himself harder and harder as if feeling my desperation.

The lance comes for my shield… but then, at the last moment, I see his eyes through the slit in his helm and they narrow. He flicks his wrist, and his lance, which was aimed at my torso and shield… is now aimed right at my head, his eyes glittering with malice.

What the heck did I ever do to him? Is he a knight I beat in the sword round?

I almost lose hold of my lance in surprise, but years of training has ensured I know not to drop a weapon—even a long, relatively useless one—and I tighten my hold and duck my body as far as I can into my saddle and lay my head nearly parallel to my left shoulder, nearly falling off Blue when my armor shifts with me. But I grip tightly with my thighs, feeling the muscles quiver as I force them to hold.

The lance passes me by a hair’s breadth, clipping the armor right at my cheek.

Now it’s my turn.

My smaller, and lighter, lance is perfect for this as it sneaks into his guard. His eyes are still widening from where I’d dodged his lance, and the lance in my hands almost seems to quiver, helping me bring it into alignment with the knight's chest. The lance splinters, sending a shockwave up my arm and nearly dislocating my shoulder.

My lance hit him dead in the chest, shoving past his shield. My jaw drops. My lance jabbed him with enough force—or he was so surprised a runt actually hit him—that it shoved him back and he rides like some sort of puppet slapping against his horse's haunches. He's holding on by the leather of his breeches. I wince at the way his back bends at an uncomfortable angle over the cantle of his saddle. That hurts. I should know.

Blue tosses his head and chomps at his bit as I turn him in a circle. He rears up, and I curse as he tosses me from his back. Again.

I try to roll onto my side or stomach, but give up when all I feel like is an upside down turtle.

Hans takes my grasping hand and heaves me to my feet. I shove my helm up as he shakes his head, stroking his beard.

"Did I do it?"

He looks at me, his face blank as a white canvas. But then a huge grin cracks the facade and he slaps my shoulder, making me wince and rub my arm.

"You did it, kid. By all that is holy, you actually did it."

My smile matches his as I turn to see the other knight still on his back on the ground, attendants rushing to help him up. When he gets up, he sends me a rude gesture, but it doesn’t dim my smile a bit. Comeuppance is a wicked, wicked thing.

Wicked awesome.

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I land flat on my back. For the fourth time in a row, effectively eliminating me from the jousting. That one time must’ve been beginner's luck, cause nothing like that ever happened again. Granted, that was Arin's lance and I still feel like I might've bent the rules with that one.

I’m unsure exactly where this is going to place me in the grand scheme of things. Lapis lazuli eyes set in a chiseled face leans over my prone form. "You alright down there?" His eyes sparkle, dimple showing through when he gives a slight grin.

Xonier is there a moment later, taking off his bright orange hued plumed helmet. "Little brother alright?" he asks in a booming whisper. "Xonier tried not to hit him too hard."

"Too hard felt like a battering ram," I whisper, rolling around on the ground and trying to get up but feeling like one big, horror inducing bruise.

Prince Arin grins, grabbing one arm while Xonier gets the other.

Sir Handsomelot’s pushes up the helmet and glances at my face. I see Hans behind him, his grin bigger than anything I’ve ever seen and his eyes crinkling so much they almost disappear. For a moment… I swore I saw Pa standing there, watching me with pride in his eyes and a gleeful grin on his face. Then I shook my head and it was Hans again, but the image remained.

"Ahh, well, can’t be great at everything, can ya, chap?" Handsomlot says, laughter hiding in his loud voice that makes my ears ring.

"If I weren’t hurting so bad, I’d stab you," shoots out before I can bite my tongue. My head feels like it’s the inside of a drum. In the middle of the Naming Festival.

Sir Handsomlot laughs, patting my shoulder, then frowns at the dirt on his hand from my armor and wiping it off on a pristine white handkerchief. "Get some rest. Folks, don’t know how the lad pulled it off, but next round we’ll see our underdog in the knife throwing."

I groan, limping off the field to both laughter and sympathetic groans from the crowd.

Thank goodness I’m done with that.

Hans’ proud grin doesn’t leave his face, even as he and Prince Arin help me from the field.

But then what Handsomelot said registers and I nearly whoop in excitement.

I did it. I’m going to the next trial.

Then Ran releases the burden and I moan in pure anguish as chills race down my spine and the armor feels like it’s a dozen bees stinging my skin. Blasted Gift.