“Of course, Sir Branford.”
All eyes were on the knight as he scanned the ladies and princesses sitting prettily in a row. I watched the eyes of Princess Whitney as they watched the knight make his way over in front of her. His horse halted not ten feet from Princess Whitney's seat, and he looked back to the King.
“Any available female, sire?”
“I have already answered your question, Sir Branford.” The King scowled. “Choose your prize.”
“Very well.” Sir Branford's horse sidestepped to the left and the knight extended his arm. “I choose her.”
My gaze was still locked on Princess Whitney's face, anticipating her joyful reaction when she was chosen, but it didn’t come. Instead, I heard the surprised gasps of everyone in the arena. Princess Whitney’s eyes swiveled to mine, her expression angry. I wondered if I had been mistaken, and she didn’t actually want to be with the knight after all.
“The handmaid?” the king called out. “Is this a jest?”
Princess Whitney turned her head back to the knight and then back to me again, her eyes narrowed. As I slowly processed the king’s words, I turned to look at Sir Branford. He sat on his horse, looking directly at me, keeping his hand extended in my direction. I looked over to Hadley, and her eyes were on me as well.
“Is she already betrothed?” Sir Branford inquired, turning to face King Edgar.
“She is not, but...”
“Then she is available,” Branford surmised as he smiled broadly, “and she is female, so she is my choice of prize.”
He glanced back at me again, and I quickly looked down at my feet, trying to understand what was happening.
“He means you, Alexandra,” Hadley whispered beside me. “He’s asking for your hand as his prize!”
“M-me?” I heard myself stammer. There was no possible way a lord—heir to the throne as well—was suggesting a handmaid be taken as a bride. If he were asking for a night with me, I would have understood. Such a request would not be unheard of for a lord to demand. Perhaps he had misunderstood the king’s offer. Perhaps we all had. “There must be a mistake…”
“If you wish to take her and use her as you like, please do not hesitate,” King Edgar said, his voice lowered and no longer carrying across the arena. “Though I would think a modicum of discretion…”
“King Edgar”—Sir Branford’s voice was deep and carried far, making my ears hum—“you offered the bride of my choice. Are you changing the conditions of your offer?”
“Of course not.” King Edgar sneered.
“Good.” Sir Branford turned back and held his hand out toward me again. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Was this knight seriously planning to take me as his bride? Why would he consider such a thing? I was not of noble blood, and my position was completely beneath him.
“Go, you stupid girl”—Princess Whitney snarled her words, and I jumped out of my trance—“before you are any more of an embarrassment!”
I looked back into the face of the mounted knight before me. With two fingers coiling back toward his chest, he beckoned to me. I stood on wobbly legs and made my way around the gaping onlookers until I stood in front of the knight, the height of the seating making us level with one another. From his perch in the saddle, he reached out with his gloved hand and touched my fingertips, pulling me closer until he could reach my waist. With both hands, he lifted me easily from the stands and placed me in front of him on his stallion.
Circling my waist with his arm, he pulled me tight against his chest. I could feel the cold steel of his armored breastplate against my back. I shivered, though not at the cold. I had never been touched by a man in such a way, and I did not know what to do or even where I should hold on.
Sir Branford’s other hand grasped the reins, and the stallion leapt forward. I cried out, grasping the knight's arm and holding on tight as he circled the arena twice. The second time around, I felt him lean in close to my ear, and his nose brushed against the skin of my neck. I heard him take a deep breath before racing out of the gate at the far end. He did not slow until he reached the stables.
Sir Branford dismounted swiftly, then reached up to grasp me at my waist and lift me down from his steed. Once my feet touched the ground, he continued to hold me at my hips for a moment to keep me from falling. My hands gripped his forearms for balance.
“Look at me, handmaid.” His melodic voice sang softly to me.
I looked up at his eyes and noticed how tall he really was. I barely reached his shoulder. His eyes were the brightest green, and despite the rough stubble covering his cheeks and neck and his hair plastered all over the place from the helm he had discarded, he was overwhelmingly handsome.
I couldn’t stop looking at him. His eyes were not just bright but intense, and I felt as though he could see my thoughts. My hands began to tremble, and I realized I was holding his forearms very tightly though he did not seem to notice. I could feel the chain-linked armor on his arm and hard muscles underneath.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Alexandra, my lord,” I responded with barely enough volume to be heard.
“Are you agreeable?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.
“My lord?” I asked. I did not understand his question.