The sun peers through the trees as everyone in the entire shire, patrons and employees, head to the arena for the final joust of the day, and the closing event. I find a seat in the stands reserved for employees. The King's Players have their own covered stand and the best view of the arena and the crowd.

The day wasn't as bad as I expected, but I'm still in no mood for faire foolishness. I was wonderfully content to aid my mom in running from one problem to the next, but now there was nothing left to fix. Everything closed down for the final joust so all of the patrons would gravitate towards the arena and soon after the exit.

Cat soon finds me and plops down to my right. She's in a mood judging by her scowl and folded arms.

"Freya the Fawn is a terror," she says. Cat is dressed as a fairy with gossamer wings and beautifuly drawn whorls and gemstones placed around her brown eyes. Her normally dark hair has been dyed silver for the faire.

"What was it today? She has the best real estate in the fair."

"She's still as territorial as always. The Fawn's Hollow dominates the center of the kids area and she said my bubbles were distracting the kids and pulling them away from her zone."

I scoff and it comes off as an undignified snort — just another reason why it would be a bad idea for me to try to be a member of the queen's court. "She knows there are no zones. Performers are supposed to go wherever the crowds go. You were doing your job."

"Tell that to her. Apparently, she only sold ten copies of her picture book, when she can normally move at least twenty."

"She has a picture book now?"

"And she just celebrated one hundred thousand followers on instagram."

The thought of that many people with their eyes on me makes my skin crawl. "Insane."

"I mean..." Cat lifts a shoulder. "I have to admire the hustle. Is it sad that I want to find a character that people love as much as The Fawn?"
"It's not sad," I say as trumpets blare and two knights in full armor ride into the arena. "This is what you want to do with your life. If you had Freya's reputation you could book any festival of the year."

Cat heaves a dramatic sigh and sets her head on my shoulder. "That's the dream."

I get it. The renaissance faire is escape for many people — like my parents. For the luckiest among us, it's the chance to play pretend every weekend for nine months out of the year. For the average patron who comes once a year, it's the one day where we nerds can dress like a total slut and no one can say anything about it — I saw that on a t-shirt once.

The pageantry of it all is what I love. We've lost the rigidity and customs of the past in our modern world. There's no heralds and no letters handed down with the seal of royalty. Now when they kick you out of college they just send an email.

I've seen the final joust hundreds of times, but it's always different. The King's Players follow a "script" but they improvise and play with things so it's always fresh for us and the people who come back year after year.

The knights dismount, and though I've missed their previous bouts, it is always Sir Valiant and The Black Knight who meet at the bitter end. Sir Valiant offers his hand, but the Black Knight slaps it away. The crowd gasps on cue at his show of unsportsmanlike conduct. It's all play, but I can't help but get swept into the dramedy.

"Thou art a sore upon this noble competition," Sir Valiant cries.

The Black Knight turns his back on his competitor. "And thou art a mockery of honor, a villain most foul. If I were to shake thy hand I would soil mine."

"Thou whoreson, poisonous toad!" Valiant roars and they both nearly come to blows before their squires pull them apart.

The crowd chants, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
"Who is The Black Knight?" Cat asks.

Sir Valiant is a staple of the faire — his real name is Greg and he's a horse trainer and stuntman who does a lot of films throughout the year when he's not working the faire. He's the captain of the fight core, and he's the one to chose the best member of his team to be The Black Knight. "I don't who it is this year," I reply.

"He has great stage presence."
"He does."

"Maybe it's Doug. He did well last year."

I laugh. "Unless Doug got a private dialect coach for his BFA, that's not Doug. His accent is too good."

King Henry stands and addresses the crowd and reminds the knights that the joust is a dignified competition where two men ride horses full speed at each other and try to knock the other off with a massive poker. The crowd chuckles, and Sir Valiant and the Black Knight approach the fence between them and the audience. Valiant collects tokens from the people who come forward with ribbons and sprigs of flowers they've bought from the vendors hawking them in their rows.

No one comes forward to offer The Black Knight a token, but that is expected. He turns to the crowd and spreads his arms wide. "Doth no one have a token for thee?"

The crowd boos on cue. He has already proven himself to be a ruthless fighter in the other bouts.

"Not one among you can spare a thought for a poor knight who hath fought his way here for nothing?" Then he turns to the stands full of players. "And what of the lords, ladies, and gentlefolk?"

The Black Knight doesn't head for the King's Players, but heads towards us instead. I'm loving what he's doing with the crowd. That is until he hops onto the railing of our section and I think he looks right at me — it's hard to tell exactly where he's looking through the narrow slit in his helmet.

"Good lady with a smile like a well-oiled knife."

I look around to confirm my fears when Cat elbows me. "He's talking to you."

"Me?" I ask both Cat and the knight who holds out a gloved hand for mine.

"Yes, Milady. I pray you will smile upon thee with a token so I may take a shred of good fortune into battle."

"I—" I start, but Cat nudges me harder.

"You have to go down to him so his mic can pick up your voice."

I don't think I want the crowd to hear me, but The Black Knight hasn't given me much of a choice. If my mom put them up to this to get me out of my funk... I reach the knight and allow him to take my hand.

"Your reputation precedes you, Sir. Take off your helmet so I may look into your eyes to see if any good character remains there."

He releases my hand and reaches up to remove his helm. I hear a gasp from behind me and I feel their sentiments deeply. The Black Knight is a guy I've never seen before. Young. He can't be much older than me if he is. And he's handsome. Not your average good-looking guy you'd look twice at if you saw him walk past you in the mall sort of handsome. He is devastating, and suddenly I'm not really regretting that he singled me out. I make sure my mouth hasn't flopped open before I reply. "I think I can make out some character," I say. "It's very small, but perhaps there is still some honor in you, knight."

"So will you honor me with your favor?"

"I'm afraid, Sir, that I am poor as you and have no token to give."

It's not a lie. I really didn't plan for this sort of thing so I don't have a white handkerchief or even a spare ribbon to offer him. A sly little grin spreads over his suntanned face. The skin around his dark brown eyes crinkles a little at the corners. He's really enjoying this.

"Then perhaps you could send me into battle with a kiss?"

My stomach does a little flip at the thought of kissing a total stranger. A handsome stranger with the most perfect cupid's bow I've ever seen on a pair of lips. "You ask too much, Sir," I say against the wishes of the warm knot that has twisted in my gut.

The knight winks at me. "Prithee forgive me for my slight upon your honor."

I don't want to end the charade, so I extend my hand to him again. "I offer this," I say. "You may kiss my hand if it's a token of good luck you need. But, I pray you will remember to show honor on the field if you compete in my name."

The knight takes my hand in his. "I don't fight in your name — I only seek to have one friendly face in the crowd." He brushes a kiss to my knuckles and heat flares through my skin under the gentleness of his lips. "No — I fight for my village. The lands of my forefathers were burned to the ground when we dared question the taxes we paid to the crown," the knight roars as he lets go of my hand and turns to King Henry sitting upon his throne.

The crowd has gone silent as they've watched this interlude unfold.

"Fie!" Sir Valiant calls from across the arena. "You dare insult your king with such a bald accusation."

The Black Knight crosses the field of the area in long swaggering strides. "I don't insult; I accuse." He jabs his helmet in Valiant's chest.

Valiant remains undeterred. "Then accuse with the tip of your lance, knight, and we shall see who is the man of valor here."

The Black Knight replaces his helmet and they head to opposite sides of the arena to mount their horses. The joust continues as every other final joust before it. It's neck and neck as Valiant and the Black Knight exchange point for point until the final round. I know it's rigged so the good guy wins, but I'm kind of rooting for the Black Knight. He's put on a far superior show.