To Checkmate a King

CHAPTER 2

The sound of arrows finding their target calms me like a cup of tea would another person. Even when I miss the bullseye, just the release of pressure when I let loose an arrow, the relief of tension as the bowstring goes slack, empties my mind and lets me focus on nothing but the bow, arrow and target.

I empty my quiver three times before other members of the army begin to file into the room. Out of respect, they follow their princesses, my example and select their own bows, lining up in front of the targets. Those who enter later begin to form lines behind the target to wait for their turn with a bow.

As I go to pull back the bowstring, those who are first in line follow suit and in unison we aim and shoot. We empty our quivers and then go to retrieve our arrows, preparing the bow for the soldiers behind us. The woman I hand my bow to dips her head in respect before taking up her position.

I retreat to the back of the line and lean against the low turreted walls of the covered roof. We are lucky it is covered. I think to myself as I stare out at the view. The day is grey as and I can barely see the end of the palace ground let alone the rolling hills and fields of Xorith. The rain patterns down into the canvas cover, covering the rooftop training ground and spills off the sloped sides, pouring down the seven stories to the ground floor.

There is a nervous cough from behind me. "Your Highness..." I spin around to find a young soldier holding out the bow to me, his eyes flicking from my face to the ground, patently not knowing where to look.

I shake my head. "Have another turn. I am finished with archery," He nods and turns back to the practise range. Out of habit, I make a mental note of his strong stance and good aim as his arrow flies straight into the bullseye.

"Not bad, eh?" An arrogant voice sounds in my right ear and I give a sideline glance to the smirking, overly-proud face of Oliver.

"There's room for improvement," I say, simply. The five years I have known Oliver have taught me not to feed his ego. "I suppose you trained him?"

"How did you guess?" Oliver grins and follows me as I walk over to the sparring arena. I hand him a practise sword and select one for myself.

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe the gloating tone of your voice," I sigh, raising an eyebrow. "Or maybe," I pause, a mischievous smirk turning my mouth upwards. "It's the way he holds his aim for too long, tiring him, giving the enemy a chance to retaliate and loosening the bowstring to the point of breakage," Oliver's grin falters and I shrug. "You asked,"

"Let's dance," he growls, spinning the sword around his wrist.

The move is impressive but gives me a chance to dart in and make the first move. I catch the sword just as it comes over the top of his wrist and use my strength to flick it backwards, jerking Oliver's wrist the wrong way. He hisses in pain but doesn't miss a beat, retaliating by bringing his sword across to my unguarded side, throwing me off balance as I rush to block him. I stumble backwards momentarily before regaining my balance and ducking just in time as he swings his sword over my head. I lash out at his legs. The wood makes a satisfying clunk as it collides with his knees releasing a grunt of pain from him. I use his distraction to my advantage and stand up straight again, this time slicing my sword horizontally, so I catch him at his waist. Had we been using steel or iron, he would be on the floor in two halves right now. Instead, he keels over, obviously winded and gasps, as he struggles for air.

"I surrender!"

I grin, satisfied I have taken his ego down a notch, at least for the next couple of hours. There is a smattering of applause as those who were not shooting arrows and watching us recognise the end of the fight. I bow, revelling in my small moment of glory. As the soldiers return to their shooting, a slow clap echoes off the stone and Edmund appears. I hadn't noticed him entering the practise grounds. I hand my sword to a soldier as I leave the sparring arena and make my way over to Edmund. The wheezing behind me tells me that Oliver is following.