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He gives me a sharp nod, the barest of respectful gestures, and then he passes us.

I very much want to slink under the plush red carpet.

“Clover,” Calla breathes after Henrik turns a corner. “I’ve never been so mortified in my life.”

“How was I supposed to know he was behind us?” I rub the middle of my chest, trying to work the embarrassment away. “I thought he was still with the king.”

She shakes her head. “I left right after he was dismissed, but I had no idea he came this way.”

“Oh well,” I say with a shrug. “Henrik can cry to Camellia, and she will have just one more reason to hate me. That will make her happy, don’t you think?”

Looking like she’s trying not to laugh, Calla nods. “Yes, most likely. Hating you is one of the princess’s favorite pastimes.”

* * *

The knightsand archers who have gathered around me howl with laughter when my arrow hits the target almost dead center of the bullseye. Resting the end of my bow on the ground, I smugly watch the fletching tremble before it finally goes still. Then I turn to Gavriel. “I believe I win. Again.”

“Bested by a woman,” Danhugh says to my opponent, slapping him on the back. “We’ve been here half an hour. It’s time to admit defeat, my friend.”

“No shame when the woman is your sister,” Gavriel answers smoothly. He extends his hand as if making a lecture. “Clover’s great skill is a testament to my fine teaching skills.”

I snort, rolling my eyes. Leave it to Gavriel to twist my win into one of his own.

“Because we had nothing to do with Clover’s training,” Denny says to Colter.

The pair stand near me in the crowd, laughing at our older brother’s narcissism.

Father says it’s impossible to miss that we four are related. I am slender, and my brothers are tall and lean, with frames that were gangly when they were youths but they thankfully grew into. We have the same mischievous smile and sandy brown hair that lightens to blonde in the summer. We also inherited Mother’s spring green, vaguely almond-shaped eyes that betray there’s likely High Vale elf somewhere in our lineage.

Besides the princess, no one in court has ever dared taunt or tease me—I have my own familial bodyguards right here. Call it a perk of being born last.

Granted, my brothers are slightly overprotective, but they mean well.

I smile at Denny and Colter, acknowledging that they too had a hand in my success, and then I turn my eyes toward the arch that separates the practice yard from the rest of the bailey.

Prince Lawrence walks into the courtyard with Miguel, one of His Majesty’s sealed knights.

Standing straighter, I turn back to Gavriel. “One more time,” I urge. “Let’s see if you can redeem yourself. This next shot for the win.”

My brother readily accepts the challenge. He nudges me out of the way and nocks an arrow into his bow.

The crowd parts for Lawrence, thinking nothing of his presence. The prince is often in the practice yard.

Gavriel shoots, and the shot is a good one. His arrow pierces the target, edging just inside the centermost red circle.

Feeling Lawrence’s eyes on me, I line up to the target, prepare my arrow, and draw back. Stilling my breath, I shoot…

And miss.

My arrow lands just outside the bullseye.

My crowd of admirers groans, and I let my head fall back.

Despite his bluster from a few minutes ago about relishing how skilled an archery tutor he is, Gavriel raises his brows at me, looking quietly pleased.

“It’s all right, Clover,” Danhugh says, setting his arm across my shoulders, perhaps thinking I need consoled. “We all saw you trounce him.”

Gavriel shoots his friend a stony look of warning, and Danhugh immediately removes his arm.