Page 23 of Courting the Tiger King

“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 pissyouoff,” 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.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

WREN

“Something doesn’t feel right.” Wren pitched his voice low and Skye looked at him in surprise.

Their footsteps were soft as they walked through the forest, petrichor filling their senses. Not long after their impromptu archery session, the sky had darkened and the air became heavy and then the heavens opened. The smell of the rain and damp earth was soothing, clarifying, and Wren breathed it in deeply as they walked their usual route through the trees.

“What do you mean?” The concern in Skye’s eyes was cold, assessing, and Wren fought back a grimace. Skye looked ready to face a legion of assassins, but this enemy was far less tangible.

The forest floor gave beneath Wren’s feet as he walked, soft from the heavy rainfall, and mud covered their boots before long. “I mean exactly what I said, something just doesn’t feel right.” He had deliberately waited until he and Skye were alone to have this conversation, not wanting Gabriel there listening while his motives were in question. “I think something went wrong with Sonnet‘s spell.” Skye may have had his own biases against the witch, but Gabriel… Well his vision had been cloudedin a different way. At least Skye would hear him out, even if what Wren was saying felt wrong—like a betrayal.

“The spell definitely worked, Wren. You know I’d be the first to tell you if it hadn’t.” Skye seemed surprised by the turn in the conversation and his eyes scanned the trees around them as if checking for prying eyes or ears. “What exactly do you think went wrong?”

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