6. SIX #2
I walk up to Jaime and grab a roll from her basket. I place my finger under her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. She’s older than I thought, around my age.
“There is no need to avoid eye contact with me. I promise I won’t bite,” I say, flashing her a warm smile. “Thank you, Jaime. I won’t be needing an escort. You may continue your tasks as if I’m not here.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
I polish off the fluffy roll in three bites, savoring the sweetness. My stomach protests, but I can find something more substantial later.
I push open the double doors, and a large dirt arena greets me. The high roof has small glass windows, allowing the sunlight and breeze to filter through.
The soldiers are in four lines, taking turns shooting arrows into straw bodies at the other end.
Most hit their mark but strike the arms and legs.
There isn’t any wind to interfere with the arrows’ path, so the lack of accuracy surprises me.
The soldiers in the back take notice as I circle toward the front line of archers to assess their stances.
What a rudimentary way of shooting. No wonder they are having so many issues.
Whispers break out. The leader of the pack, a mountain of a man in a neat uniform, turns around to bark at them to quiet down. The command dies on his lips when he notices me standing a few feet behind him. “Women aren’t permitted in here, my lady. I must ask you to leave immediately.”
How can women not be allowed in the training area? Do they have a separate facility? I slowly spin around, taking in each soldier before me. All men. “Where do your women train, then…?”
“Commander Carol,” he supplies with a hearty laugh. Several others join in with quiet snickers. “The maids don’t have a training area, my lady. Their skills are taught at home since birth.”
“There are no female soldiers?” I ask, schooling the shock from my face. Females are the strongest fighters in Kalisham, yet this mighty army keeps their women restricted to labor positions. How did they manage to unite an entire continent?
More screeching laughter grates on my ears. I straighten my shoulders. “I fail to see the humor in my statement,” I add with all the authority I was born with. I stare down anyone who meets my gaze as the room goes quiet.
The commander steps forward, no longer bothering to hide his irritation. “Women can’t handle such weapons, my lady. These bowstrings are sixty pounds.”
“Only sixty? How come so many of your men fail to hit their mark, then?”
Commander Carol’s pale skin turns a deep red that matches his beard. His chest puffs out, ready to respond, but I cut him off with a wave and look at the man next to him. “Your bow, soldier.”
He glances between the two of us, frozen.
“I won’t ask you again. Hand me your bow.”
“Who do you think you are?” Commander Carol demands.
“Princess Mina Ardeshir of Kalisham.” I hold my hand out to the soldier.
Commander Carol nods, and he relinquishes his bow. I make a mental note to talk to the emperor about his men’s attitudes. My commands should be unquestioned. I am their queen, or soon to be. Rumors should have circulated by now among the soldiers at the very least.
We also need to have a long conversation about the lack of women in his ranks. I want the best soldiers to accompany me to Kalisham, regardless of gender, even if I have to train them myself.
I take my stance in front of the target, selecting an arrow from the quiver stand to my right.
The bow itself is heavier than I expected, made of a single strip of hardwood.
The tension feels well balanced, at least, as I test the string.
Raising the bow above my head, I nock the arrow, pulling the string back as I bring the bow down toward the target.
Breathing in, I line the arrowhead with the straw dummy’s heart. The few whispers die out as I release the arrow, burying it deeper than any of their shots. A perfect chest hit.
The thud echoes around the room like a slap to their faces. I turn in time to see the commander’s jaw snap shut. I don’t bother hiding my smug grin. “I think women will be able to handle these bows just fine, Commander.”
“I—that was just luck,” he challenges.
Shrugging, I pick up two more arrows, sinking them quickly into the targets on either side of the one I already shot at. Perfect chest hits on all three.
“Commander Carol, why don’t you head in to get some breakfast and rest. You look a bit pale.
” A vein pulses along his bald head. The idea of taking orders from a woman clearly bothers him, and I’m delighting in it a little too much.
He seems ready to argue again, so I raise my hand.
“Commander, that was an order from your future queen. Not a suggestion.”
He glances from me to his soldiers, who have yet to utter a word, before storming out of the arena. The doors slam closed behind him. I hand the soldier back his bow. “What’s your name?”
“Uh—Hamlin, Your Highness,” he stammers out.
“Thank you for letting me use your bow. I’d like you to shoot, but try imitating the way I did it.”
He glances at the men around him, mirroring their confusion.
“Hamlin. Shoot,” I command, the kindness gone from my voice.
He plants his feet, looking to me for instructions. I walk him through the technique, adjusting his draw. I have him practice a few times in the air before handing him an arrow.
The scene reminds me of the garden with Garsif. His short ten-year-old body barely tall enough to pull the string taut, a little dent in his brows as he concentrates. I let my sorrow fuel my commands. For his sake, I will turn these men into proper archers.
“Aim for the heart.”
He’s a few inches off, but the arrow sinks in up to the feather. Pride rushes through me as he lets out a small whistle and eyes me with a sense of awe.
“Line up again. I’d like each of you to practice that technique a few times before heading to eat. I promise not to keep you from your meals for too long.”
Only a dozen or so of the soldiers talk among themselves, trying to work out the differences as they get in line. The majority stand frozen in the back, lips cast down in a scowl.
“Is there a problem?”
Bravery or ego spurs an older-looking soldier forward. “Women are not permitted here. The commander wouldn’t approve of you trying to change the way we do things.”
Stubborn fools. “There will be a few changes when I am queen, whether your commander likes it or not. If you’re content with mediocre archery skills, then by all means, head over to eat. If you would like to sharpen your aim, then fall in line with the rest.”
The ice in my voice does little to cool their tempers. The majority of the group slink off to the dining area. I commit each face to memory.
I have a special form of training in mind for such insolence.
I return my focus to the men ready to shoot, making minor adjustments to their holds and stances until I am satisfied with their accuracy. Nerves about my proximity and the occasional leer give way to excitement as the quivers run low on stock.
I encourage them all, proud of how quickly they are improving. Perhaps there is hope for them after all.
“Is there anyone who hasn’t gone yet?”
Any response is drowned out by the doors behind us bursting open, smacking against the walls. A few men jump at the sound, and it takes all my effort not to roll my eyes.
Commander Carol storms in, followed by the men who abandoned my instructions earlier. All eyes turn to the figure in black behind them.
“See, Your Majesty. Just as I told you!”
Emperor Gilchrist prowls closer, his expression unreadable as he assesses the situation. “Care to explain?”