30
It was midmorning before Astolpho reluctantly prepared to leave. He had stretched out the time as long as he could.
Michaela still had not returned. But he knew she would soon. That was her way, once she made a decision.
He took his time packing, clinging to a foolish hope. That he might see Bradamante again. Speak to her. Spend time with her.
“She missed you. She worried about you. All the time,” Jara said.
But Astolpho suspected she was only trying to be kind.
Once Bradamante strode away from him that morning, he knew in his heart she was gone.
He understood why. He knew that she still hated him for what happened at the king’s tournament. She saw it as betrayal—she had told him so after—even though he tried to explain that he knew she would win. He had seen it in a vision.
But
