3.

His fingers caressed the worn pommel of the blade—battered and scratched from years of fighting. As he gripped the hilt, he felt his hand merge with the smooth leather, even though his hand was a good deal smaller than the sword's owner. It still felt right—a good blade. An old dwarf-made weapon, like as not. He wished he had one just like it.

"Corin."

He jumped nearly a foot and jerked his head around to stare at the man with light brown hair who was watching him calmly. His fingers tightened around the sword subconsciously, and it was with an effort (plus one deep sigh) that he stood, clumsily, and offered the blade to the man.

"Here. Are you sure you have to do this?"

The king took the sword from his hands and belted it on skillfully, despite the fact that his thick leather gloves probably hindered his fingers.

"Corin, we've been over this already. You of all people should understand what a breach of honor it would be to withdraw from such a challenge."

"I know," the fair-haired prince said, quietly (which was odd in itself, because when was Corin ever quiet?), "but still—I don't trust him."

King Edmund hesitated a moment, and then grinned (and the grin made him look a good five years younger). "You're not still jealous, are you?" When the prince did not answer, he rumpled the lad's hair fondly. "Trust me, prince, you will have many years, when you are older, to fight in the name of Queen Susan. My sister is fond of you—as are we all."

"Then why won't you let me fight him—or let someone else fight him?" Corin cried, helping the king on with one of his gauntlets. "And why, of all things, did it have to be a joust?"

"He challenged me—it was his decision." Edmund frowned suddenly. "Corin. This uncommon concern on your part is not at all brought on by any irrational fear you might have concerning doubts about my skills as a jouster?"

A quick grin flashed across the prince's face (he was remembering the practice rounds from yesterday, with the quintain), and he was so busy trying to contain the urge to either burst out laughing or burst into tears that he just settled with staying silent. Edmund let out a frustrated growl.

"Lion's mane—first Peter and half our knights, and now you. Look—I'm not so bad at jousting. I'm much better than I was. It's just that I never really…well…took to it."

"Never took to horses, more like. Which is why I should be the one—"

"What is it with everyone trying to protect me?" Edmund asked, jamming on his other gauntlet and then grinding his teeth in pain when he pinched one of his fingers. "Peter's still got a few broken ribs from the giants, and you're half my age—"

"More than that," Corin put in.

"Barely." Edmund grabbed his helmet from the table, and then turned and gave Corin a look, taking in the worry in the prince's sky blue eyes. "Stop worrying. After all, you've got the hardest part of all to play."

Prince Corin raised an eyebrow in bemusement, and Edmund gave him a very, very small smile.

"The waiting."