Page 47 of The Heartless Archer

“Noora...” Tyra trailed off.

“Well, a dramatic sob story, I know. But I am glad that I do not remember my parents since whoever did this could not ever be a real mother or father. I do not practice magic and I will not ever. My hair might tell you I am a witch, but I am not.”

Tyra stared at her, her golden eyes glinting compassionately, though Noora was glad she did not say more. She revealed more than she should’ve but she was tired, and she was allowed to make mistakes. As if Tyra could see her tiredness, she cleared her throat and spoke again.

“I know you are exhausted, I can imagine but you have to endure my presence for a little longer.”

“You remind me of your brother.” Tyra hesitated at the words, looking at Noora. “Why?”

“You’re just as arrogant as him.” For a moment Noora feared she’d gone too far. But then Tyra broke out into a small laugh. Her voice grated slightly and Noora was not surprised that even her laugh sounded perfect. “I would take that as an insult but I take pride in my confidence.”

“Spoken like a Gyldenlove,” remarked Noora.

Tyra smirked.

“You are the only girl in the tournament which makes it my obligation to support you, no matter if you are as rude as a sailor.”

Noora was surprised at the princess speaking her alliance to her so openly.

“You have only tomorrow until your first task of the tournament, and I can tell you the other contestants are not starving themselves. And I would be disappointed to see youfail.” She reached forward and Noora quickly caught her wrist in her hand before she could touch her hair.

“I don’t like people touching me.”

Tyra nodded before retreating her hand. “Take this as an opportunity, Noora, no matter what they say and call you. You are what you want to be and your heritage does not define you. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to change your whole life, don’t take it for granted.”

“I am not,” Noora insisted.

Tyra got off the bed, nodding as if satisfied by her answer. “Good. And don’t listen to a word my brother tells you, he is a liar.”

“I know, better than you think.”

A small melodic laugh escaped Tyra again before she turned elegantly.

But instead of exiting, she hesitated before she turned around. “Was she your sister?” She turned, elaborating, “The little girl with the red hair, that stood in front of you.”

“She is from the Southern Isles and she—” Noora stopped herself before nodding.

“She is my sister.”

Tyra nodded as if she could understand how important Lulva was to Noora, just by that one sentence. “I promise you, nothing will happen to her.”

Noora’s lips turned into a cruel smile. “I know it won’t. Or else I will rain hell over this damned kingdom.”

The princess finally left her room, closing the door quietly. Once she was gone, Noora’s eyes flit over to the tray, the potatoes still steaming.

As much as Noora wanted to stay stubborn, Tyra was right, she had a tournament to win.

Nikolai

Nikolai barely made it through his breakfast as Raphael interrupted his morning. The guard stepped into his study, standing still until the king spoke up. “Yes?”

“I retrieved what you sent me out for this morning,” he said and Nikolai stiffened, discarding the opened letter of the King of Ka-Hema on his desk and stood up.

“And?” he pressed and watched Raphael step out of the study, before reentering, a small girl at his side.

Her hair stood horribly in the air, the red strands looking like the girl went through an explosion not long ago. She was dressed in a dull gray dress, no doubt gifted by the orphanage, and dirt lay in thick layers under her nails.

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