Page 59 of The Heartless Archer

“Here.”

Noora glanced at his hands to see him hold out a piece of bread, the crust golden brown and small sunflower seeds sticking to the top.

“There is no time for breakfast today but it doesn’t feel right to let you into the task without anything in your stomach. I smuggled the bread out of the kitchens.”

Noora took a hearty bite, shaking her head. “This bread tastes better than anything I have ever eaten in town.”

Raphael nodded as if he suspected that kind of answer from her. They took a left and swept down the north corridor while Noora continued to chew silently on her bread. Her serene silence made Raphael talkative. “You seem strangely calm.”

She finished chewing and he reached for his belt to produce a small flask filled with water. Without thanking him, she took it.

“Should I not be?” she asked after handing the flask back.

“You’re about to go into an arena filled with many influential people, common folk, and royalty, who are all there to judge you upon your performance in a task you know nothing about.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I would probably piss myself.”

A small chuckle passed Noora’s lips as she followed him down the stairs, their steps echoing on the cold marble floor. She had no idea where this supposed arena was located in this giant palace.

“I have nothing left to lose, maybe that makes me the perfect participant.”

“That is not true.”

She looked up and met his hazel-coloured eyes. “Have you not seen my clothes? Or where I come from? I appreciate your willingness to oversee my obvious disadvantages—“

“Disadvantages? You mean that you are a witch?” Raphael stopped walking in front of an atrociously looking portrait of an old man with black hair. His stomach protruded past his belt, making his already minuscule, stocking-clad legs shorter.

“Why should that be a disadvantage?”

Noora scoffed. “I don’t care what people think about me, Raphael, the only opinion that counts is my own. But in thistournament, it is not only my skills that are being judged but my heritage as well. And we all know how popular people like me are.”

“The royal family will not allow any discrimination,” Raphael said and Noora felt inclined to sigh. The ever-dutiful royal guard, she wondered what it took for these men to blindly trust strangers who coincidentally were ruling a whole kingdom.

She took a step closer to him, making sure that she was meeting his gaze when she spoke her next words. “The royal family does not care what happens to anyone if it does not affect themselves or their reign.”

“That is not true. Nikolai is the best leader this country ever had. There is no one as kind and good-hearted as him, especially regarding the things he had to go through.”

Noora barked out a laugh. “What? Did he cut his finger against some regimen he had to sign? Or were his boots laced too tight and he couldn’t undo them himself?”

Apparently, Noora struck a nerve because the guard surged forward, making Noora’s body tense up, ready to defend herself. Raphael reigned himself in at the last second but dropped his voice a few octaves. “If you disrespect my king like that again, I won’t hesitate to throw you in the dungeons. Don’t confuse my humanity for friendliness because my loyalties lie with Nikolai, is that clear?”

His eyes blazed, his skin taught as if she had insulted him herself, and even though she could not understand this kind of blind loyalty she respected it.

“You should know best that not everything is always what it seems,” he pressed.

She nodded. “Clear.”

Raphael’s gaze dove over her for a moment until he nodded and turned down the hall. The rest of the way was spent in silence and once they reached the doors to the north entrance andjoined the rest of the participants, Raphael went to stand beside the door. A servant dressed in pantyhose and short balloon-shaped pants stopped in front of the group.

“Behind those doors, you will step into the arena provided by the royal family for the upcoming tournament. You are not allowed to bring any of your weapons or droughts—“ he threw a look at Noora—“inside. The jury will not only judge you upon finishing the task but they will judge your skill…”

Noora drowned his awfully nasal voice out as Pika stopped next to her, a small smile on his lips.

“I wanted to wish you good luck.”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile,trying not to show any of her suspicions. Pika had been fairly nice to her over the few days she had gotten to know him but that did not mean she trusted him. If it came down to it, he was still a descendant of a witch hunter and that was reason enough for her to stay cautious.

“You too,” she told him nonetheless.

The voice of the servant had risen again and captured both their attention.

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