At the palace training grounds, the thrum of bowstrings and the solid thud of arrows sinking into wood echoed in the air. Aramis and Agilus stood several paces apart, locked in their usual contest of archery—a pastime they had taken up since the mourning period had ended, something to fill the restless hours as they waited for word on when they would return to Calma.
"You missed the bull's-eye again, Agilus. This round is mine." Aramis's grin carried both triumph and mischief.
Agilus muttered a curse under his breath. "You're not skilled—you're just lucky." His jaw tightened as he nocked another arrow, drew back, and released. The shaft flew fast but veered just slightly left, grazing the edge of the inner ring.
Aramis wasted no time. He raised his bow in one smooth motion, released, and his arrow struck the bull's-eye cleanly once more.
