Page 58 of The Heartless Archer

“She is notmywitch,” he pressed as his mother started to advance on him. He knew what she was doing, trying to lure him out of his security and use his kindness towards Noora as an excuse to let someone like Koa judge in the tournament.

“I hope not. Surely you have not forgotten about Princess Aileen-Akamu.”

“You don’t have to remind me of my duties, mother, I am perfectly aware of them. Stop distracting me from the subject matter. I don’t want him on the jury.”

“Why? Because Noora is a witch? You and I will both be on the jury as well.”

Nikolai barked a laugh and turned his back on her. “Because you are so prone to protecting any minority.”

“That is just presumptuous of you.”

He turned around to look at her. Her hands were clasped in front of her, the perfect picture of calm. But he was not as stupid to judge a book by its cover, his mother did not marry the king because she was stupid. She was more cunning than people realised and he once found pride in taking that characteristic from her.

“I don’t know what your problem is. Marid will be on the jury as well.”

Marid might be kinder than his mother, she was the eldest friend of the royal family. Nikolai trusted her to judge everyone fairly, though he did not think she would go against his mother’s opinion.

“As if that would make anything better,” he scoffed.

Euphemia narrowed her dark brows at him. “What do you want Nikolai? Marid Winter is as much witch as any other so we have representatives of both species, what do you want more?”

He advanced on her, shaking his head rapidly. “That is not the same and you know it. No one knows of Marid’s heritage, they will think her human. The people are angry enough that we allowed a witch to participate in the tournament and instead of confirming their thoughts in bringing a witch hunter into the jury, we should make sure they respect Noora, treat her like she deserves to be treated.”

“And what does that entail, Nikolai?” She zeroed in on him, her hand reaching for his but he quickly drew it back, not ready to give up yet.

He would not let her win. He knew exactly that it was a calculated move to bring a witch hunter to the palace, especially a high chief. It would throw everything off balance and especially Noora would feel rattled about it. He needed her in that damn tournament.

“Bringing that child into the palace? Giving her a better room than any of the other contestants? Writing her name over and over so it was sure she was picked for the tournament?”

His eyes widened in surprise. How could she know?

Euphemia drew a short laugh. “I am the queen, I know everything.”

“You are no queen anymore. I am king and the woman that I will marry will be queen,“ he said.

His mother’s lips pulled into a smile before she grasped his chin in her hands, squeezing tightly until his teeth gnashed together.

“Your father always scolded you about showing your feelings, son. You have still not learned.” She shook her head while tilting his head to both sides.

Her grip turned so painful tears were gathering in his eyes but he dared not to move.

“I know you Nikolai, you are my son and I know the look in your eyes when you see something you want. And I dare you to take her. Take her and it will be the last thing you do.”

His heart skipped at her words, his brows drawing closer.

“You’re wrong. I do not want Noora, the only thing I want for her is to have a fair chance.”

His mother let go of his chin and he couldn’t stop himself from releasing a small exhale.

She stalked back to the green settee, picking up her discarded cup of tea. Her green eyes met his, a satisfied smile adorning her lips.

“Well, then everything is settled.”

It was at the crack of dawn when Noora got woken up—or rather dragged out of her warm, cosy bed— by Raphael to tell her that she was to get ready for the first task of the tournament. Since bringing Lulva to the palace, the guard deemed it appropriate to tell her his name. The participants were provided with leather gear made for any task that they would partake in. The suit buttoned up in the front, the material clinging to Noora’s skin familiarly. If she dared to, she could get used to these kinds of uniforms; it felt a lot safer to hunt in than her usual breeches and shabby shirt.

She quickly braided her pale strands so her hair would not get in the way of whatever she would have to do that afternoon and without a second glance Raphael dragged her out of the warm chamber, showering her into the cold morning air of the hall.

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