The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 30

The next morning, there was no time for practice. Thunderheads rolled across the sky, obscuring the dawn. A curtain of rain whispered against the grasses in the distance, the rumbling storm rapidly approaching. We broke camp quickly, mounting up and riding hard for the forest, away from the deluge.

Frederico debated with Josepe and Vicente about the merits of continuing on, but the uncles won. Retreating further into the trees, the men began to set up makeshift tents, the first spatters of rain tumbling through the canopy overhead.

"When it rains, it pours," Rafael muttered, hammering a spike into the ground to secure the rope I was holding taut.

"So what, we stay here all day?" I asked. Something about the thunderous cracks of lightning arcing across the sky and the chilly breeze slicing through the humidity had my nerves on edge. It was just a storm, I told myself, nothing at all uncommon. I surveyed the rest of the men, but they too seemed uneasy. Perhaps because we'd been moving for so long and now we were forced to remain stationary, held captive by weather.

"We stay here until the rain stops and the king decides we should leave," Rafael replied, scrubbing the rain from his face with his sleeve. "We're close enough now that a day or two delay won't make all that much of a difference."

"Close enough to what?" I asked as he piled saddlebags into the tent to keep them dry.

"Close enough to something Rafael shouldn't be discussing with you," Beatriz said, chucking her own saddlebags into the tent. "Stop being such a nosy prince. The men have set up targets for you."

"Targets?" I abandoned Rafael, drawn by the temptation of Beatriz' words. Or maybe the look she shot me over her shoulder, the unscarred corner of her lips twisted up in a devious grin. My eyes dropped to her dangling hand before my fingers curled closed to avoid the temptation of reaching for it.

"You are the world's most gifted archer, are you not?" she asked. She navigated a path through the trees, the rain pattering the forest floor around us. She didn't seem the least bit annoyed by the rain as Rafael had been, constantly scraping it from his face with a waterlogged sleeve. Her hair was plastered to her head like the rest of us, but she walked with the same assurance as always, splashing through any puddles in her path rather than picking her way around them.

"I find it hurtful that you doubt my word," I replied, earning a snort of laughter in return.

I knew where we were headed before she stopped, the group of soldiers chatting amicably in Ardal with one of their own, a longbow in his hands. He offered a smile to Beatriz and a curt nod to me. Beatriz clapped him on the shoulder, asking him whether he was ready to humble the Pretanian.

I huffed. Humble the Pretanian, indeed.

"Shall I show you how it works, then?" the archer asked, snickers of laughter rippling from the others.

"All I need to be shown is the target," I replied, to a chorus of amused Ardal.

"By all means," the archer said, handing me the weapon and his quiver, gesturing to an old oak, where an arrow already protruded from the largest knot.

I slung the quiver over my shoulder, drawing an arrow to inspect the fletching and test the bowstring. The others had fallen back, joking and conversing amongst themselves. Beatriz was watching me as she listened to the archer, the pair of them evaluating my technique.

My first arrow sailed wide of the target, igniting laughter among the soldiers. But the second hit the oak with a dull thud, just below the knot, quieting them all.