Chapter 10 #2
Hex barely takes a second to aim, drawing and loosing in the same breath. As always, his arrow lands almost dead center, and he looks a little too pleased with himself as he smirks at his opponent.
“I see you’ve improved, Your Highness,” Northam says after a moment.
Hex shrugs. “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”
“Must be nice to be a royal with no responsibilities.”
“Depends on who you ask.”
Lord Vardane shifts away from his wife, taking a step closer to the front of the gathered crowd.
Closer to me. Greywick also moves closer, and both men are watching Hex intently.
They glance at each other, and something passes between them, though I can’t tell if they’re pleased or annoyed.
Next to me, Blackmere looks as bored as he did at the auction.
Northam sets up his next shot, taking more time with this one. His arrow lands between his first one and Hex’s, and some of his tension eases as he grins.
“Oh, well done, Toby!” Hex says, clapping with mock enthusiasm. “You had me worried with that first one, but I’m glad to see that Northam talent making an appearance now.”
Northam grumbles something unintelligible and steps back to allow Hex to take his next shot.
The prince fires just as quickly as the first time but tenses as soon as he releases the string, and his jaw clenches when his arrow lands a few centimeters from his other one.
It’s still inside the inner circle, but he likely sees it as a mistake.
He suddenly looks uncomfortable in his own body as he flexes the fingers of his right hand and shifts his weight.
“Well met, Your Highness,” Northam mutters as he glares at the target, like Hex’s arrows are taunting him. “Though, I can’t understand why the crown would train its guards in something unlikely to protect the queen.” Is that his pride talking, or something else?
Hex chuckles. “In the right hands, an arrow can be just as deadly as a bullet.”
“I would imagine your sister would have preferred an arrow to the bullet that almost took her last year.”
I curse under my breath when Hex freezes where he stands.
Last year, during a political debate with her opponent, Markham Grimstad, Freya was shot at twice by anti-royalists who wanted to get a non-royal in power.
Both shooters were caught, and no one was mortally wounded, but some of the culprits got away.
Hex chased after one but couldn’t catch him, and I know it’s bothered him ever since.
It was the one thing he refused to talk about when I was starting the RIA’s initial investigation into the anti-royalists.
Honestly, I don’t think he’s been the same since. He has always disliked me, but things got so much worse over the last year.
“I think my sister would have preferred not to be in danger at all,” Hex says slowly. Carefully. His shoulders relax a little, but his smile doesn’t look entirely real. “But she chose her life and the risks that come with it.”
“I don’t suppose the two of you could get on with your little contest?” Bellgaard asks, glaring at his son. “This was hardly the plan for the evening, Tobias, and I’ve had enough of your irresponsible behavior lately.”
Northam’s gaze jumps to someone in the crowd—Greywick—and he swallows thickly.
Hex throws his arm around Northam’s shoulders, keeping the spectators’ attention on the pair of them.
“Maybe Toby here is delaying his inevitable loss,” he says with gusto.
He pats Northam’s chest and grins as he leans in close.
“Or he’s secretly an anti-royalist and angry that their plot was foiled last year. ”
Northam shoves him away. “I don’t appreciate your accusation, Your Highness. You know full well that I’m as loyal to the crown as anyone.”
“That could mean anything these days.”
Northam narrows his eyes, anxiety overriding his offense. “What do you mean by that?” Again, he looks at Greywick, and what color was left in his face disappears, leaving him ghostly pale.
Vitte, that’s practically a condemnation. Blackmere stands between me and Greywick, so I can’t fully see Greywick’s expression, but he’s not happy.
Neither is Blackmere. He shifts nearer to Greywick and mutters something to him, too quiet for me to hear. Whatever it was, Greywick nods once.
Cursing, I look back at Hex to try to silently tell him to keep commanding the attention of the room so I can get closer to the two men without being noticed, but Hex’s eyes are on Blackmere, and his expression is hard.
Oh, Hex can read lips! A memory stirs of Elliot and Freya talking about it and how frustrating it is for Freya when her husband and brothers have silent conversations about her across whole rooms. Maybe Hex knows what Blackmere said; I won’t be able to ask him until we can be alone.
Blinking, Hex pulls his gaze back to Northam and plasters on a smug smile. “Shall we finish this?”
Swallowing again, Northam picks up his bow and turns his body to the target. He’s a lot stiffer than he was at the start of this, and there’s no way he’ll get a clean shot with how tightly he’s holding his bow.
Hex must see the same thing because he puts his hand on Northam’s shoulder and says something that looks a lot like, “Breathe.”
The air leaves my lungs in one quick exhale. That was the last thing I would have expected from Hex, especially in the middle of a competition.
Northam looks just as flummoxed, but his shoulders relax as he nocks an arrow and draws his bowstring tight. He takes a deep breath, then another, and takes his time to aim before he looses his arrow. It lands right next to Hex’s first shot, almost perfect.
With half my attention on Blackmere and Greywick and the other half on Hex, I hold my breath as I wait for the contest to come to an end. As soon as Hex wins, I can congratulate him and ask him what Blackmere said to Greywick, and we can figure out what to do next.
But why is the prince taking so long? His eyes are on the target, but he hasn’t picked up an arrow. He looks like he’s calculating his best move, but unless he shoots wide or misses, he’s going to win regardless. And Hex never misses.
Whispers buzz around me as other people start to note Hex’s uncharacteristic hesitation, and the prince turns, meeting my gaze with an almost panicked look in his eyes.
Then his lips twist up in a crooked smile that erases all signs of anxiety, and the words that come out of his mouth make my stomach drop down to my toes.
“Kiss for luck, Storme?”
My jaw drops. I can’t help it. There’s a teasing twinkle in Hex’s eyes, but everything about his question sounded serious.
Like he would actually kiss me if I said yes.
Dizzy from lack of oxygen, I force a breath and give him my best smile in return while I do my utmost to not imagine how soft his lips are or wonder how he tastes.
Could he really fake the look he’s giving me right now? It’s equal parts admiration and excitement, but Hex has never shown an ounce of interest in me before this week, so I can’t let myself believe it.
No matter how much I want to.
“Oh, Prince,” I say and cock my head to one side, the same way he does. “You’ve never needed luck.”
He grins. It’s the sort of smile that hits me right in the gut and steals my breath away again, and I desperately want to hold on to that smile because it feels so impossible that he’s grinning like that at me.
Still smiling, he chooses an arrow and nocks it, and I brace myself for one of his quick, perfect shots.
It doesn’t come. Instead of drawing and loosing the string in one smooth movement, he pulls the string back and aims, holding it steady for two breaths as he adjusts his grip.
He aims carefully. Deliberately. Takes his time.
And when he does finally release his arrow, he doesn’t drop his stance right away but stands frozen for several long seconds until he relaxes his body one muscle at a time.
I’ve never seen Hex do that.
Even more alarming, his arrow landed in the middle of the outer ring, granting Northam the victory.
He lost. On purpose.
Nauseous, I take a step back as my thoughts start to spin. I can admit there’s more to Hex than the man I’ve known over the years, and he’s bound to surprise me a time or two throughout this investigation. This is the first time he has ever willingly been in my proximity.
But Hex Alverra never loses. Not even accidentally. It’s not in his nature.
“I see some things never change, do they?” Northam says cheerfully. He claps him on the back and grins wide.