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CHAPTER ELEVEN

NEAH

T he night had been warm, almost uncomfortably so, especially with Zennon sharing the bed. Neah felt like she’d spent the majority of the night tossing and turning rather than sleeping, which might account for her grouchier-than-normal attitude.

Well that, and Zennon hadn’t stopped needling Neah about the dance she’d shared with the king two nights ago.

Since then, Neah had done her best to avoid the king and fade into the background when Zennon spent time with him.

It wasn’t hard—their conversations seemed dry and silence often pervaded the air until one or both of them attempted to speak.

Neah couldn’t deny that there seemed to be a lack of spark between the two and it wasn’t often that the Goddess chose poorly when it came to matching fated souls.

With the dawn came a break in the heat at last, but the attendants woke Neah not long after she’d managed to doze off.

They’d fled quickly when she’d quite literally growled at them.

It was a sound she’d never made before, more animal than human, and her hand had flown up to cover her mouth.

Maybe once she’d have taken it as a sign that her long-awaited shifter side might make an appearance, but she’d lost that hope several years ago.

Now, she took it as an odd curiosity potentially brought on by stress.

Two strong cups of tea later, Neah was feeling slightly more awake as she made her way down to the courtyard the king’s guard often used to train.

The king had invited Zennon there, which surprised Neah.

Though she supposed it made sense for the king to know how to fight and do battle.

However, Zennon hadn’t received the same training Neah had so she wasn’t sure what the king was expecting from her sister.

The breeze was nice on Neah’s skin as they walked across the green toward the small group gathered opposite the archery targets. Her father had designed the training course that they stood in the middle of and Neah felt her tension drain away. This, at least, was familiar territory.

The king looked up and spotted them at that moment, lifting a hand in greeting that Zennon reciprocated. Gabriel, Skye, and, to Neah’s surprise, Sonnet, stood with the king, the latter looking bored.

“Good morning!” Zennon called and when she sank into a short curtsey Neah followed suit.

“Just about,” Sonnet muttered and Neah fought back her smirk. Zennon, with her human hearing, didn’t catch the words and the king shot the witch a frown before turning back to smile at Zen.

It was true that they were a little late, but Wren didn’t seem even slightly perturbed by this which shot him up in Neah’s estimation. Punctuality had its place, of course, but flexibility was important too.

Neah’s eyes ran over the king’s form, trying to keep thoughts about his flexibility out of her mind as he gave her a polite inclination of his head.

“I thought it might be fun to shoot this morning.” The king swept out his hand to indicate the archery range and it was only because Neah knew Zennon so well that she could see her nervousness.

“I’ve never shot before,” Zennon said hesitantly and Neah tensed, prepared to defend her, when Wren smiled.

“That’s okay, I can teach you.”

Several bales of hay had been set up in line with each target, a bow and arrow supplied on top of the bale.

Wren guided Zennon over and began explaining how to hold the bow and Neah watched from her place one bale over as Wren guided her hands into position.

He was a good teacher, patient and calm, even if his technique was somewhat lacking.

“He’s a good man,” a voice said to her right and Neah smiled, having heard the witch creep closer. “A Lady could do a lot worse.”

Ignoring the subtle dig in the words, Neah hummed her agreement. “He may be a good man, but I would wager he’s a lousy shot.”

Wren’s head shot up and Neah bit back her smile at his wide eyes as they narrowed.

“Now you’ve done it,” Gabriel said, shaking his head as he came up to stand next to Sonnet. “Don’t you know that a man’s ego is fragile?”

“Like a baby bird,” Sonnet cooed and Neah looked between them with a raised brow. Were they an item? Everywhere the witch moved, Gabriel seemed to follow and Skye watched, scowling.

The twang of the bow in Zennon’s hands had Neah’s attention moving back to her sister.

The arrow fell short of the target, but it had at least left the bow which was no easy feat for a first try.

Neah smiled, thinking about when she’d first shot her bow.

Her father had shown her the basics and then let Neah make her own mistakes before stepping in—her wrist had been black and blue from the bowstring by the time she’d been done that first day.

“Well done, Zen!”

Wren murmured an equal amount of praise, sending a warmth rushing over Neah’s skin and for the first time she felt a small stab of jealousy toward her sister.

The king’s palm curled around Zennon’s hip, adjusting her stance, and then he nudged her arms higher.

Too high , Neah realised, and was moving toward them before she could second guess herself.

“Don’t,” she said, as Zennon prepared to let the arrow fly.

“Neah?”

Her eyes locked on the king’s and she huffed impatiently. “Excuse me, Your Majesty.”

He stepped back slowly. “Wren is fine.”

Neah didn’t reply, just set about readjusting Zennon’s stance with her back to Wren . “If you had shot that arrow, you likely would have broken your wrist.”

“That’s not?—”

Neah turned around in a movement she recognised as too fast and, sure enough, the king’s skin rippled, his shifter responding to the threat of another predator.

Neah nearly laughed. Little did the king know, this form was as dangerous as Neah got.

“I’m willing to bet that I have a little more experience with archery than you, my king.

” She kept the words calm, her tone polite but firm, and when the twang of Zennon’s bow rang out Neah smiled.

The arrow had made it to the target, embedded in the bottom corner.

“I hit it!”

Neah laughed, hugging Zennon tightly and feeling the familiar twinge of sadness as she thought about the childhood shenanigans they’d missed out on, not being able to grow up together.

Sure, they’d spent time together, summered in the same place, but it wasn’t the same as living together day in, day out. “Well done, Zen.”

As if she could sense Neah’s melancholy, Zennon squeezed her tightly.

“She would have been fine,” the king insisted and Neah ignored him until his hand fell onto her shoulder.

Then she reacted, the movement of her body pure instinct and the shouts of Gabriel and Skye sounding far away as the king landed on the grass on his back, face pale with shock, and Neah immediately released her grip on his throat.

Fuck. He could have her executed for that.

Then, to everyone’s apparent shock, Wren began to laugh. Neah hesitantly offered him her hand and he gripped it tightly as she helped him up from the ground.

“I’m sorry, my king. It was instinct?—”

“The fault was mine. I should have known better than to lay hands on Jamison Fallon’s daughter while her back was turned.”

Apparently realising that Neah hadn’t meant any harm, Gabriel and Skye’s hands fell from the swords holstered at their hips.

The king’s hand was still in hers, warm and calloused like he was used to hard work, and Neah dropped it quickly, warmth pooling in her cheeks.

“Well, I, for one, think archery is a waste of time.” Sonnet broke the tense silence that had fallen and Neah watched in amazement as Sonnet waved a hand almost lazily and a bolt of silver lightning left her palm and hit the target dead centre, leaving behind a scorched black mark.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Zennon quipped and Sonnet grinned. “But by all means, why don’t you two settle this?” It took Neah a second to realise the words were directed at her—and the king. “Best of three?”

Neah never had been able to resist a challenge.

She raised an arm, sweeping it out to the range in an ‘after you’ motion that made Wren smirk.

He stepped up and took the bow from Zennon’s outstretched hand, his form long and lean as he reached for the quiver of arrows.

He took his time, measuring up the shot before letting his first arrow fly.

It hit the target in the innermost circle and Neah smiled.

Wren picked up the next arrow and released it quickly, looking pleased when it landed just below the first arrow. His third landed in similar proximity. He was good. But she was better.

She accepted the bow from him and considered letting him win for the sake of diplomacy. He cocked one brow, like he could see the debate in her mind, and the taunt in his eyes was enough for her to make her decision.

The quiver was still mostly full and she let her lips part, tasting the air and wind. How much did she want to show off? Three arrows fired at once in a row? Or, maybe…

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Someone loosed a long whistle and Neah smiled, eyeing her work appreciatively. Three arrows shot perfectly one after another, the next splitting the one before as they landed precisely in the exact centre of the target and trembled from the force with which they had struck the board.

Neah bowed her head to the king and handed him the bow. “Don’t feel bad, Your Majesty. I was taught by the best.”

Wren didn’t look at all chagrined, a satisfaction on his face that surprised her as he ran molten gold eyes over her trouser-clad form.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he murmured, repeating Zennon’s earlier words, and Neah flushed.

Because the way he looked at her… He wasn’t fooled by the airs she put on.

No, the king was looking at her like she was the most dangerous thing he’d ever seen, and that pleased her more than it should have.

“Haven’t seen anyone shoot like that in a long time!”

The voice was unfamiliar but Wren looked relaxed, so Neah assumed it was welcome.

When she looked, she realised she recognised the man who had spoken.

He bore a passing resemblance to the king and had two guards behind him that signified he was someone of importance.

Neah smiled, recognising one of the guards as Dean who had mistaken her for Zennon when she’d arrived.

“Uncle,” Wren said, walking forward to shake the man’s outstretched hand. “Yes, Lady Neah is quite the talented marksman.”

“Finer even than your father,” Castor said, eyes going soft at the mention of the late king. “Of course, even a perfect shot couldn’t have saved him.”

Wren’s face seemed to close down, his grief practically tangible in the air. “Indeed.”

The late king’s hunting accident was a well-known tragedy at this point, though bringing it up so out of the blue seemed somewhat callous to Neah.

“Well, I’ll let you kids get back to your fun.

” Castor smiled and Neah bowed her head to hide her expression.

There was nothing particularly wrong with the words, but something about Castor’s tone felt condescending—Neah had committed enough treason for one morning, though, without adding an insult to Castor to the list.

“Another round?” Wren said quietly as he watched his uncle’s retreating back. “Perhaps you can give me some pointers this time.”

Neah smiled. “Of course, Your Majesty.”