CHAPTER 53
Helena
The morning of her marriage tournament dawned bright and clear. There was a light breeze, enough to make a cloak acceptable but not enough to complicate shooting. Unfortunately.
Looking around the blue furnishings of her suite, Helena reflected on how different it was from living in the woods, sharing a tent barely big enough for two people. Life had been harder as a member of Cap’s band, but it had also been simpler. Peaceful. And best of all, Cap had been in it.
She tried to push him from her mind as she dressed. Le Capuchon had wanted Margit, but Crown Prince Raphael didn’t want the political difficulties of Princess Helena. She hadn’t heard from him since leaving Amitié. It stung, but he had sent her away to avoid the heartache. He was unlikely to write.
“Helena, what are you wearing?” Liesl asked in a strangled voice. “That is not the outfit your mother picked out last night.”
Glancing down at her tunic and trousers, Helena pretended to inspect her wardrobe choices. She wrinkled her forehead. “It isn’t?”
“No. And I’m afraid Queen Carina would faint if she could see you,” Liesl replied, looking a little faint herself. “Where did you even get those?”
“I don’t see the problem,” Helena breezily replied. “This was the height of fashion in my outlaw days.”
“Don’t see the problem,” Liesl echoed weakly. Gathering herself, she gestured to a chair. “And what hairstyle would you like to complement ‘the height of outlaw fashion’?”
Helena shook her head. “I don’t know why you’re offering. Aren’t you Katy’s lady’s maid?”
Waving a dismissive hand, her friend said, “Katy won’t be up for an hour. I decided to help you get ready. After all,” she lifted her chin and looked away, “you’re getting betrothed today. You’ll want to look your best for the men competing for your hand.”
“Dear, sweet Liesl.” Helena gently picked up her friend’s hand. “I don’t plan to announce my betrothal today.”
Liesl’s eyes flew over to her. “What? But I thought you said—”
“The council agreed that anyone could participate.” Helena winked. “So I need to ask a favor of you. I’m feeling unwell and will be unable to attend the contest. Could you please let my family know?”
Liesl’s green eyes widened. “No. Don’t tell me you’re—”
Releasing her, Helena strode to her neglected bookcase and belted on her quiver, then swirled her dark green cloak around her shoulders. “Of course I am. What better way to ensure the winner refuses my hand?”
~
“Name?” the bored guard requested. He barely lifted his eyes from the paper in front of him.
Helena lowered her voice; it didn’t take much to make her alto a convincing tenor. “Tucker,” she grunted. “I go by Tuck.”
The guard scrawled her name on the form and waved to the side. “That way. You’ll be assigned to a group and given further instructions there.”
As she walked past the stands set up for spectators, she lowered her head. Her family stood in front of them, talking quietly as they surveyed her potential matches.
“You don’t suppose she’s had second thoughts, do you?” Mother worried. “Should we send someone to her room?”
“She promised, Mother,” Axel soothed. “And remember, this was her idea.”
“Besides, Liesl saw her this morning. Right, Liese?” Katy added. She leaned back to maintain her grip on her wiggly son. “Did she look like she planned to run away?”
Liesl didn’t answer immediately. Helena held her breath as she passed.
“No,” Liesl said at last, shaking her tawny curls. “I am certain that she has no plans to run away again.”
Helena began to smile, but then her eyes caught on the brawny blonde man in their party. Katy’s and Liesl’s cousin Otto, former guardsman and now a nobleman. He watched her walk by with a slight tilt to his head.
She’d forgotten about the guard who identified people by their gait. Would he give her away?
One side of his mouth might have curved before his head dipped in the world’s tiniest nod. Then instead of calling her out, he turned back to the royal family.
Helena grinned as she hastened toward the meeting spot. And to think, a few months ago, she had believed she was alone in the world.
~
“Second ring: two points!”
Helena rested her bow on the ground and shifted her weight while she awaited her turn. She had made the first three rounds predictable. Who could argue with simple targets and points based off which ring a competitor struck with each of his three arrows?
Still, she was surprised at how many contestants had already been weeded out. Luther was no surprise – he’d never been good at archery. But he wasn’t the only nobleman who had already failed. And they hadn’t even made it to shooting from horseback or attempting to catch rings swaying in the wind.
Tobias might have made it this far if he’d shown up. But he still hadn’t returned from Daraigh.
“Next up: Tuck,” the guard overseeing her group called out.
Helena strolled up to the line and took her stance. She pretended to study the target for a moment. Then she slowly drew an arrow from her quiver, nocked it, and pulled back the string. The point of her arrow jumped around like she was struggling to control it.
There might not have been a single soul watching her, but she was having fun playing the part of an unskilled teenage boy with immense luck.
“Bullseye! Five points,” the guard called out, a trace of surprise in his voice.
Helena ducked her head to hide her smirk. Ah, yes, this was great fun. Although her competitors needed to step up their game. She would be disappointed if she was declared the winner before completing all the events.
“Bullseye!” another guard cried out.
Spinning, she sought out the other archer. She thought it was a simple shot, but few men had succeeded so far.
“Five points for John!” the guard called out.
John? Had someone come all the way from Daraigh or Baldur?
Helena studied the cloaked and hooded man walking to the back of the line. He was probably a few inches taller than her, broad in the shoulders, and carried himself as if he was comfortable with a bow.
Well. Her lips curved up. It looked as if she had at least one serious contender. But it didn’t matter; she was determined to win. Despite what she’d told the council, she had no plans to marry a stranger, even if he was skilled at archery.
Though John certainly was. She watched his next two shots, and he barely paused between stepping up to the line and burying his arrow in the bullseye. And the final shot...
Helena suddenly wished the March day was a little warmer.
It would make it more difficult to keep her own hood up without drawing suspicion, but she found herself wanting to see this John’s face.
Because a tiny flame of hope began to curl its way around her heart at that left-handed shot, and she needed to see his face to dispel the wild notion that had taken root.
By the time the last few archers finished the round, there were only two men left, aside from Helena and the mysterious John.
The next event was shooting from horseback.
One competitor fell off his horse the moment he released the reins to draw his bow.
The other only managed to catch a single ring with his arrow.
Since the test required hooking at least two of the five rings, he was out.
“John, you’re up!”
Helena watched from under her hood as he swung into the saddle with easy grace. His seat was excellent. She tried to distract herself with the names of the Balduran princes. Aidan and... Garrett, maybe? She wasn’t sure, but she was positive it wasn’t John. Perhaps one of their noblemen?
He hit the first four rings with no trouble, but then his horse stumbled. The gathered crowd gasped, but he kept his seat and caught the fifth ring with his arrow.
Helena could feel the eyes of everyone present as she prepared to mount. She dallied, hoping John would pass by, but he stopped partway back to check his horse’s leg.
It was unfortunate. But Helena refused to let it bother her. No matter how much she wanted a closer look at his clean-shaven chin.
“Tuck!”
Taking a deep breath to clear the distracting thoughts from her mind, Helena set her left foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself partway to the saddle.
When she slid back down, the horse snorted and sidestepped, clearly not enjoying her dramatics as much as she was.
Patting its side and whispering an apology, she “tried” again, taking care to be a little less clumsy.
She wished she’d brought her own horse, but that would have given her away. So she would have to make do with this one.
The guard signaled her to start her run, and she pressed her knees into the horse’s side. It jumped forward, almost unseating her. Helena grabbed the saddle, then pulled her bow from her back sheath and sent her first arrow flying toward its ring.
Perfectly through the center.
At the second, she let it go a hair to the side. No sense relieving the tension for the spectators, after all.
The third and fourth, perfectly through the center again.
The fifth was a little larger, so she let her shot go slightly wide again, scraping the edge of the metal hoop and setting it singing.
“It takes skill to appear so unskilled,” a low voice rasped behind her as she dismounted.
Helena jumped. When had someone approached her? She turned, expecting one of the guards overseeing the competition, but she found her cloaked competitor instead.
“Don’t know what you mean,” she gruffly replied. “Shooting for the hand of a princess sounded like fun. Thought I’d give it a try.”
“And I wanted to see the competition a princess would design,” John said carelessly. “It’s disappointing so far.”
Caught off-guard, she let her jaw drop for a moment. She quickly recovered so as not to give herself away. “S’pose you’re right,” she replied lightly. “After all, I’m still in.”
Her opponent smirked. “Indeed. And may the best man win.”