The Prince's Mark

Chapter Four

"All right."

"Good." Pendaer was so pleased that he was bouncing on his heels. "I'll be sure to impress you."

That comment made the corner of Tracou's lip pull upward. Was this part of Pendaer's effort to make sure Tracou wasn't mad? It was a bit odd, but it was working.

They spoke with the woman, who told them they could rent a bow and a few arrows to use. Tracou paid, naturally. She also said that they had missed a competition that morning, which brought Pendaer down some. He had only seen this place after that, when it had been turned into a practice range. Luckily, once he had a bow in his hand he seemed to forget all about that lost opportunity.

"Watch," he said, eyes glittering.

So Tracou watched. He stood a few feet from Pendaer and kept his eyes on him as he pulled back the bowstring and prepared to shoot. Clearly used to this, Pendaer's adopted the pose with ease. But something was off. He lowered the bow, frowning, and held it and the arrow out to Tracou.

"Could you hold these for a second?"

Tracou did so.

With his hands free, Pendaer shrugged out of his robe. He was wearing another set of clothes underneath it. A robe seemed bad enough in the summer heat and yet he was wearing more clothes! His underclothes were plain, but they showed the shape of his body far better than the robe did. His body was solid. Pendaer seemed a lot more dependable like this than he had with the robe on.

After dropping the robe on the ground, Pendaer rolled up his sleeves. He held his hand out to Tracou, who gave him back the bow and arrow.

The elf's eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pulled back the bowstring. He stood tall, taller than any dezmek or human could hope to be. The blue sky behind him framed him perfectly. Strands of his soft blond hair moved lazily with the breeze, but they went unnoticed by Pendaer. There was room for only one thing for Pendaer as long as he had a bow in his hand.

Compared to Pendaer's generally placid or pleasant expressions, this was a serious change. It was intense. Focused. Powerful. Handsome. If Pendaer turned that gaze on Tracou, he would be reduced to a stuttering, sweaty mess.

No. No! He couldn't go and start finding Pendaer attractive—the last time he had been interested in a man it had resulted in laughter from one party and tears from the other. Back then he had been certain those tears would flood his village.

Before Pendaer let go of the string, he glanced at Tracou. The look made Tracou's heart spring around his chest in at least three different types of terror.

"Don't look at me," he chided. "Look at the target."

Tracou rigidly turned his entire body to face the target. A beat after he had, Pendaer let the arrow loose. It whistled through the air and hit the middle of the target with a mighty thwack.

"See? I'm good at this."

"I didn't doubt you before."

Tracou's eyes were locked onto the target, which didn't escape Pendaer's notice. He stepped in front of Tracou, forcing him to look at him.

"Do you want to try?"

"No," Tracou said without the least bit of hesitation. He was keeping his eyes trained on Pendaer's clavicle, which was visible without the robe. Hopefully this was just a fluke. He had gone so long without feeling anything—why now? Everything was fine earlier! He had just been mad at him!

"Aw, come on, just once? I'll help you."

Tracou pouted. "You'll make fun of me."

"I won't, I promise I won't. Okay?"