Page 5 of The Heartless Archer

“Why are all the blouses still not hung up?” A voice as pleasant as nails on a chalkboard sent a shiver down Noora’s spine. “It is my fault, matron,” she quickly said as she noticed Lulva’s fearful gaze. The girl was frozen in fear, her brown skin taking on a greenish tint.

“But it is not you who is hanging the blouses is it?” The woman walked over and took Lulva’s small face in her hard grip.

Noora had felt that grip many times, knowing it was way harder than one could imagine.

The chair clattered to the ground as she stood quickly. “It is truly my fault; I was holding her up with my useless chatter.”

Tears gathered in Lulva’s eyes and Noora had to keep herself from pushing the matron off the girl.

“I see. As always, you’re the one to hold us up. Why don’t you make yourself scarce and help clean the bathrooms,”she told Lulva and pushed her in the direction of the entrance. When Lulva stumbled Noora couldn’t help herself to take a step forward to help her but the matron’s iron grip already got ahold of her bicep. Burning pain spread from her arm. “You stay.” Her cold gaze travelled over her spine as she watched Lulva throw a fearful look over her shoulder. With a nod, Noora told her to go.

“Has anyone told you already today?” Noora’s voice became icy as the child left the room.

“Told me what?” The matron asked suspiciously, a small glint of glee glowering in her eyes. She knew what was to come. It was their usual game. Noora did all she could so the matron’s attention would not be alerted by Lulva. Noora needed to be worse in order for Lulva to be better.

“What an unbearable bitch you are.”

The woman’s lips slid into a satisfied smile. Noora knew maybe the hits would be less if she kept her mouth shut but that was not her mission.

“How lovely that you mention it, I will let you feel my appreciation.”

But at least it made the whips more bearable if they were for her words rather than for a silly reason the matron came up with. And it rather be her back whipped than Lulva’s.

Chapter3

Nikolai

“Sir—”

“Haven’t I told you to leave me for the evening?” Looking up from the papers scattered on his bed he watched the guard stand in the doorframe to his chamber. Raphael was dressed in the usual uniform of Oy Frossen. The colour of ice, swirls of dark blue running up the sleeves and diving under the metal padding on the shoulders and in front of the chest. A pattern was burned right over the middle of the chest armour, resembling a snøfnugg. A belt slung around his waist, a sword sheathed into its place.

The guards wore their hair short, Raphael’s auburn curls cropped close to his skull. His quartz eyes were watchful as they tried to gauge his mood.

“I remember what you said, but it is your mother.”

A grimace marred Raphael’s face but with the scar running from the top of his lip to his chin it often looked like he was scowling. Knowing what bother it was to shake off his mother he suspected that Raphael was really scowling this time. “She insists on seeing you.”

Nikolai sighed, letting the notes in his hands flutter on the mattress. “Does she know about the dinner with Aileen today?”

“I fear she does,” said Raphael.

“Well then, I have no way to trick her. Let her in before she tears down the walls.” He gestured toward the wooden door not knowing if he imagined the twitch of his guard’s lips.

“As you wish.” He bowed before slipping out of his chamber faster than he would’ve liked him to.

He tried to tame the chaos of blonde locks on his head before a woman stepped into his room, dressed in a red voluptuousgown. Her black hair was pinned in an updo on her head, setting the sharp features of her face alight. Her cheekbones were sharp and angry, her brows were shaped naturally into perfection. Her green eyes were ablaze with silent rage.

With her lips in a straight line, his mother walked over to where he resided on his bed, his suit undone, trousers crumpled. He was aware of all the ways he was already failing her but he resisted to straighten his trousers or make sense of the mess on his bed.

“I have heard of your behavior today.”

“You mean Tyra went to you and ranted about what an awful man I am.”

Her brows drew into a sharp line as she took a seat beside him on the bed. Her posture remained perfect, her skin aglow in the candlelight. It was ridiculous how awfully different they were, one the perfect picture of royalty while he slumped, dark moons under his eyes and a sickly tint to his skin.

Where one was day, the other was night, the only thing resembling them were their jade eyes, so trusting and soft.

“Don’t blame your sister for telling me, Nikolai.” She placed a cold hand on his cheek. “But I cannot help and fear you’re drifting.” He pushed his cheek into her hand, closing his eyes. The soft scent of jasmine lingered around him, a scent he associated with his whole life, watching his mother spread the oil into her hair when he was still just a boy.

---