Page 42 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

Henry draws his sword, the sound of metal scraping against the inside of his scabbard piercing through the large room. He releases the collar of my shirt and slowly moves to stand in front of me, resting the blade on my shoulder.

Our eyes meet.

Neither one of us are surprised we ended up here, but we didn’t expect to so soon.

The prince has a habit for theatrics. He likes to drag things out just to hear the sound of his own voice, to savor the moment and revel in long, twisted games of words and power.

But maybe we overestimated how much mine and Henry’s return could distract him from his plan to have the king murdered on the road.

He’s probably anxiously awaiting to hear news and is too busy to bother with this longer than he has to.

But Henry still waits because of course he does. I’m not afraid that he’s about to kill me, but I am worried we’re about to have to fight off a dozen knights by ourselves.

Will and Alan were meant to be backup in case this happened, but they’re not here yet. And we haven’t heard the signal from John and Tuck.

“Get on with it, Sheriff!”

Henry’s gaze hasn’t left mine. I can practically hear both our hearts beating in sync.

I let out a heavy breath and mutter under it, “Fuck.”

A clanging of metal like pots and pans comes from behind a door to the left of the raised platform. Henry lowers his sword and turns just in time to see the door burst open. Will and Alan both stumble out with their own swords drawn, a handful of men from our camp coming out to flank them.

“What is the meaning of this?” the prince roars as he rises to his feet. “Seize them!”

Prince John’s voice cracks like a whip, and his knights surge forward, armor clanging, blades glinting in the colored light spilling from the stained glass.

The hall erupts into chaos.

My men charge the knights without fear. Will parries the first blow, shoving the attacker back into another knight, while Alan lunges past him to take on two at once.

Courtiers scatter to the edges of the room while lords shield ladies with their bodies.

A table of wine goblets crashes to the floor, spilling red across the stone like blood.

Henry grabs hold of my arm and helps pull me to my feet. Twisting my hands, I take hold of the loose knot that he purposefully tied in the rope around my wrists and tug until the binds fall away.

“Robin!”

I turn toward Will who slips a bow and quiver full of arrows off his shoulder before tossing it to me. I catch it out of the air, pull the bow out of its strap, and throw the quiver over my own shoulder.

“You fools!” Prince John shouts over the clash of steel. He crouches behind the throne with a couple guards standing on either side, his crown even more crooked than it was before. “Your little band of scoundrels is not enough to seize my power!”

One of his knights barrels toward me, sword raised.

I sidestep him and bring my bow up hard, cracking him across the jaw.

He goes down, and I reach behind my back to pull out an arrow, nocking it in my bow.

Spinning, I see another guard closing in on Will and release the string, hitting the man in the shoulder. He goes down too.

Henry’s sword flashes as he catches another knight’s blade mid-air. He twists the sword from his hands and kicks him hard in the gut, sending him sprawling across the floor until his back hits a column and he slumps over.

Alan drives one man back with a flurry of blows from his sword, but another lunges for his unguarded side. I snap off an arrow that strikes his attacker in the thigh, dropping him with a pained howl.

The noise of the battle is deafening—steel ringing against steel, boots pounding over stone, the shouts of men locked in desperate struggles. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and blood and spilled wine.

“Hold them!” John shrieks, his voice cracking with mounting panic. “Do not let them reach me!”

Coward.

When more knights push forward, one swings for Henry’s head, and I swear my heart leaps right out of my throat.

But he ducks low and slashes his blade across the man’s knees.

I feel the rush of another coming up behind me and whirl just in time, using my bow like a staff to knock his blade aside before gripping the shaft of an arrow with my hand and driving it into his gut.

As that knight crumbles, another arrow comes whizzing straight down the middle of the throne room, narrowly missing helmets and hair on its path down the entire length of the hall. It strikes the throne, embedded in the plush red cushion right where Prince John’s head would normally be.

There’s the signal.

I don’t bother looking back at the entrance to see where it came from because I know one of our other men just entered the fray.

That means King Richard is in the castle and is nearly here.

John and Tuck successfully convinced him to hold the horns meant to sound once the king entered the town just in case whoever orchestrated the ambush on the road had a backup plan.

The prince peers around the back of the tall chair, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the arrow.

“Put an end to this, you worthless curs!”

“What’s the matter, Your Highness?” Henry turns toward where the prince is hiding. “Are things not going according to plan?”

There’s a wide grin on his face now that our plan is hopefully back on track.

He easily blocks an attack from his side, slamming the hilt of his sword down on the knight’s helmet so hard that he drops.

Blood sprays across his forearms and one side of his coat.

Sweat drips down his temples as he approaches the throne with confidence.

Fuck, he’s so goddamn hot.

“You traitorous—”

“You’re the traitor, John!” Henry shouts above the din of battle.

“Your brother trusted you with his people, and you bled Nottingham dry. You raised taxes until mothers were forced to sell their children for bread. You stole grain from starving families. You sent your soldiers to burn villages when they couldn’t pay. Admit it!”

The prince straightens just enough to where his head peeks over the back of the throne, a smirk on his face even as his eyes dart nervously in every direction.

“I took what was mine by right! The crown needs gold, and that gold keeps my armies strong. My coffers are fuller than my brother’s ever were. ”

While Henry is busy drawing confessions from the prince, two knights rush at him from either side. I nock an arrow in my bow, but I only have enough time to stop one.

“Henry!”

As though we’re in perfect sync, the moment I release the arrow, he attacks the knight on the opposite side of him, their swords clashing. The one I hit gets an arrow to the neck and falls, and Henry’s other attacker gets a blade slashed into his side.

I do feel bad that we’re both killing so many men, but this is a different world, after all. This is how it always was.

When I hear the sound of heavy boots marching beneath all the commotion within the throne room, I glance toward the open doors as it grows louder.

It’s now or never.

Turning to face the prince, I twist the knife for his final confession.

“And the mercenaries you paid to ensure King Richard never returned from his Crusade?”

The volume of battle lowers as several of the knights hold their swords steady to peer back at their prince. Frightened courtiers share shocked glances and murmured whispers.

The prince’s smirk flickers, but pride wins out over caution. “Yes. And I’d do it again! England doesn’t need a lion when it already has a ruler who knows how to control the people.”

“How dare you!”

King Richard’s booming voice reverberates off the stone walls.

Swords lower as all the fighting ceases, and every eye in the hall lands on the king standing within the open doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, armor streaked with dust from the road.

The lion crest burns bright on his chest. The heavy tread of his boots echoes over the polished stone as he marches further into the hall with John, Tuck, and several of his knights, hand resting on the hilt of a sword that has seen too many battles.

The blood drains from Prince John’s face. “Brother—”

“I’ve heard enough,” the king barks, cutting him off. “Boasting of squeezing your people to the bone? Plotting my demise in order to usurp the throne? Is there anything else you wish to confess before your king?”

The prince’s gaze moves around the hall once again, this time searching for any person still loyal to him. Now that the king has returned, he’s unlikely to find a single one.

There is one confession left, and I know he’s not going to offer it up himself.

“Ask him what happened to Marian.”

Richard looks from me to peer around the throne room, searching for her.

Even though my heart belongs to Henry completely and I wouldn’t have it any other way, I’ll never forget my first love. She deserves justice.

A sad realization fills the king’s eyes. “Where is my niece?”

“It was such a tragic accident, Brother,” the prince says, a tremor in his voice.

“You think I’m going to believe that after everything I just heard?” Ire replaces his anguish, but I have no doubt he’ll mourn later. “Arrest him!”

“No, no! Please, Brother!”

The prince moves out from behind the throne, tripping over his cloak and his own two feet. He continues his retreat, scrambling away from the reach of the knights. His eyes find me, and his nostrils flare.

“This is all your fault, Hood!” he spits, pointing a trembling finger at me.

“If you’d stayed in your cursed forest where you belonged, Nottingham would know its place!

You turned the people against me and poisoned their minds!

” His voice cracks with both rage and fear. “You’ve destroyed everything!”

“You didn’t need my help for that, Your Highness. You were doing a fine job destroying everything on your own.”

When his gaze lands on a fallen bow with one arrow, he dives and picks them up with shaking hands, nocking the arrow surprisingly quickly.

I reach behind me but find nothing but open air. My quiver is empty.

Fuck.

The prince releases the arrow.

All I have time to see is the blur of its flight, a deadly line aimed right for me.