Chapter 1: Bow and Arrow

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

CHAPTER 1

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

MOONLIGHT spilles through the high-arched windows of the armoury, painting silver across rows of gleaming blades, polished shields, and long bows resting neatly in their racks. The scent of oiled leather and cold steel filled the air-a scent Rhiannon knew too well, though she never should have.

Silence stretched across the vast chamber, broken only by the distant crackling of torches in the corridors outside.

She moved carefully, her slippered feet making little noise against the cool stone floor. The other servants had long since retired for the night, and the guards patrolled the outer halls, leaving this sacred place of war untouched-except for her.

Her heart pounded as she ran her fingers over the intricate carvings of a long bow, its wood dark and smooth beneath her touch. It was beautiful, perfectly balanced, and when she lifted it, a familiar rush filled her veins. She wasn't supposed to be here. No servent was. Actually, only to clean and organise. But rarely they would ask to do that because this soldiers were strict with etiquette, keeping everything organised, clean and polished for the next day, and so on.

Rhia had been raised within a gilded cage, her life dictated by whispered expectations and lessons in embroidery, etiquette, and diplomacy. Yes, servants of Aemmothia were provided with education, etiquette, and other things to set an exemple of a perfect kingdom. She knew how to curtsy before she came out of the wom of her mother.

She knew how to keep her gaze downcast when a knight passed, when the lords laughed at their dull conversations, and how to pretend she didn't hear the tales of war, of battles fought at the kingdom's edges.

But she wanted more than curtsies and hollow smiles. More than cleaning, cooking, baking. She wanted the weight of a bow in her hands, the tension of the string pulled taut, the satisfaction of an arrow finding its mark.

She reached for a quiver of arrows, the fletching soft between her fingertips.

Carefully, she notched one against the string and pulled back, feeling the familiar strain in her shoulders. The bow belonged to the king's best archers, all men. It draws weight far beyond what she had been trained to handle in secret.

But she didn't falter.

She loosed the arrow.

The soft thunk of wood meeting wood echoed in the still chamber. Her breath caught in her throat as she lowered the bow, eyes flicking toward the target on the far wall. A near-perfect shot.

A slow clap shattered the quiet.

Rhia spun, heart leaping into her throat. Eyes widening. A figure stepped from the shadows near the armoury's entrance, broad-shouldered and clad in dark finery trimmed with silver. He moved with the ease of a predator, his presence commanding.

A deep hood shadowed his face, but the candlelight glinted off something unmistakable-a mask, covering only the lower half of his face.

Prince Simon Riley.

Rhia froze. Pulse racing. She had seen him from afar, watched him in court when he deigned to attend, his presence changed every room he'd walk in.

The prince rarely spoke, and when he did, his voice carried the weight of power, the weight of this world, and the other. A man moulded by war, by his father, king, not by feasts and courtly games.

Rhiannon had never given much thought or interaction with the prince. He was quite the enigma. Some whisper he might be ugly because he liked to cover his lower face with a mask, others, to justify his actions, say he had allergies. Rumours upon rumours. None confirmed, none denied. He didn't always wear a mask. 'What freak would even do that?'

He stepped closer, his keen gaze flicking from the bow in her hands to the arrow still in the target.

"Impressive" he murmured, his voice like the low rumble of thunder before a storm. "But forbidden in our law" he looked at her.

Heat rushed to her face, but she didn't lower her chin. She had been caught, but she would not cower.

"I know, your highness" she said, voice steady, without forgetting the etiquette she'd learn. "That doesn't mean I'll stop"

Rhiannon was, since young age, quiet, observant, and always afraid to act, to speak a word, to envolve herself with other servents and maidens conversations. But then she questioned herself, was this going to be her life? Was this sickening torture would be the end of her life?

Realising she wanted more. Needed more, she searched and found it. Archery. She tried many foolish things, tried infiltrating herself in being a groom for the horses, not her style, tried sewing, and lasted less than thirty minutes for her being bored.

Sneaking out at night was the solution. The adrenaline kept her going back to the armoury, every single night, trying knew things, until, the fouth night she touched a bow and arrow, and became addicted. The feeling in her hend when she held the bow. The felling of her arm when she stretched it back the string with the arrow placed.

Of course she wasn't perfect. No one is. Practice makes perfect. And the perfection she seeked every moon rise in the dark sky of Aemmothia.

And no one was gonna interrupt it. Her motive to keep going. The only thing that kept her sane through the days of her exhausting life. So, she masked her brave face and confronted the prince. Praying the gods would be on her favor.

The prince tilted his head, studying her with quiet intensity.

"No, I don't believe you will." His gloved fingers brushed the hilt of the sword at his hip, a casual yet deliberate movement. "Tell me, servent, how long have you been sneaking into my armoury?"

Her fingers curled around the bow.

"Long enough to know that your archers need better fletching on their arrows."

A moment of silence. Then, to her surprise, a low chuckle. 'He must be crazy.' It was barely there, more breath than sound, but it sent a strange thrill through her chest.

Prince Simon stepped past her, his presence a force into the light.

"Again" he said, nodding toward the target.

'I guess he wants a final show before I die tomorrow, huh.'

Rhia hesitated, then lifted the bow. This time, she felt the weight of his gaze as she pulled the string back, her body aware of every breath, every movement.

She loosed the arrow.

Another hit.

He let out a hum of approval.

"A natural."

She turned to face him fully, daring to meet his gaze.

"Are you going to stop me? Tell the king?"

A pause. Then, the prince reached for a sword from the rack beside him, testing its weight in his palm.

"No" he said simply. "I'm going to see what else you can do."

Rhia had expected punishment. Of every way possible. She'd imagined it. What she had not expected was some sort of a challenge.

And perhaps, something far more dangerous-a prince who was willing to watch her break the rules.

Simon wasn't just any noble-born warrior who trained for the sake of appearance. He was someone who knew weapons. Knew how to wield them, how to kill with them.

Yet, he hadn't called the guards. Hadn't demanded an explanation.He was watching her. Studying her.

Rhiannon wasn't sure if that was better or worse than immediate punishment.

The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows along his mask, but she could still feel the sharpness of his gaze.

Measuring. Calculating.

"What is it that you want, servant?" His voice was quiet, yet it carried through the armoury as if it had weight.

Annoyed with what the prince was calling her, she said.

"I have a name."

A silence stretched between them.

Simon tilted his head slightly as if considering her words.

"Do you?"

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

"I do."

"Then speak it."

"Rhiannon" she said, lifting her chin. Rhia. The name she had been given at birth. The name that was hers alone, no matter how many times others had tried to strip it from her. Few know the meaning. No one dared to speak it.

The prince, not flattering his penetrative gaze, nodded once. Silence spread. Uncomfortable with it, she became. Silence... she loved it. But hated it now.

Remembering what the prince asked her, she began to think. No one had ever asked her that. No one cared what a servant girl wanted.

"I want to learn."

A dangerous admission. A foolish one.

Simon ran his thumb along the flat of the blade, considering.

"Learn what?"

Rhia swallowed. He was playing with her. Testing how far she would go.

Still, she held her ground.

"Archery. Combat. Anything that means I am more than-" She stopped herself. More than what? A servant? A girl destined for a life of silence and obedience?

His dark eyes didn't waver.

"Then you seek what is beyond your station."

Yes? No! Maybe. Maybe so.

The answer burned in her chest, but she did not speak it.

The prince finally moved, sheathing the blade with practised ease before turning his back to her, his cloak shifting like the tide. She should have been relieved. Should have let out the breath she was holding. But then, without looking at her, he said.

"You may return tomorrow."

Rhia blinked.

"What?"

Simon glanced over his shoulder.

"If you're going to break the rules," he murmured, "at least do it properly."

'Do it properly? I was doing it properly. Did he already knew it? No. Impossible. I'm descrite as a ninja' She thought to herself.

And with that, the prince of Aemmothia disappeared into the night.

Leaving Rhia alone in the armoury-heart racing, mind reeling.

Leaving her with the promise of something dangerous.

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