Page 80 of The Heartless Archer

They didn’t even need to stitch his side, they only cleaned it and wrapped gauze around his torso. It turned out that the king only went unconscious because of his enormous intake of liquor.

“Your Majesty, how are you feeling?” Raphael was at his side in an instant.

“Of course, he asks him how he feels,” Noora grumbled but was ignored by the royal guard. Despite her grumpiness, she sat back down, her vision turning blurry again. A painful throb started to itch at the back of her head,slowly spreading down her body. Usually, she was wary of the participants but it turned out the king and a sword was a much greater threat.

“I am feeling splendid, why thank you.” The prince sat up and grabbed his peacoat, his hair smushed to his face and a soft tint painted the highs of his cheekbones.

“At least one of us does.”

“Don’t be that way, darling, no one likes a sore loser.”

Noora blanched. “Loser? As far as I know, I won the fight.”

“As far as I know, I was the one on top in the end.” He raised a brow at her and her cheeks flushed rapidly.

This time when she got up she did it slowly before she stalked over, past a glaring Raphael, and halted right in front of Nikolai.

“You had to be carried away like an infant because you can’t hold your liquor. Because of you, every breath hurts and my head feels like it’s going to explode!”

“Dear, I wasn’t aware how strongly you felt about me.”

“I’m going to choke you to death.” Noora lunged at him but Raphael was there in an instant, his grip like iron shackles around her wrists. Nikolai’s gaze darkened instantly. “Raphael.”

Raphael retreated immediately. Like a lapdog scolded by its owner.

“Give us a minute.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Raphael nodded and bowed before leaving the chamber. When passing the doorframe he turned back to throw Noora a warning glance.

“It’s very brave to send your personal guard away when I’m seconds away from killing you,” Noora said ready to go into another round of fighting, it seemed like it was their thing.

“I am sorry.”

“No, you—what?” She blinked at him and jumped when his hand gently took hold of the back of her thighs pulling her in closer to the prince.

“What-t—“ she breathed but Nikolai was faster.

“I never intended for you to get hurt. I was feeling reckless and I was drunk—,” Noora raised a brow, “—Iamdrunk. I cannot forgive myself for hurting you in the process, it was just a jest, I wanted to goat you but never hurt you. Noora, I swear by my life.”

She huffed out a breath. “Well, your life isn’t as important to you if you drink so much that you pass out.”

He looked up at her, his gaze burning. When his hands softly squeezed the back of her thighs, the last bit of anger dissipated from inside her.

Before she could tell him though that she was not seriously angry, besides her usual annoyance, he hung his head, pressing his forehead against her stomach. Noora inhaled sharply.

“I am deeply sorry, this will not happen again, forgive me, please.”

Noora didn’t know if it was her concussion that made her feel like the room was spinning or if something monumental happened at that moment. Here he was, a king, begging an orphan, a half-blood whore, for forgiveness.

She swallowed when he looked up at her, his hands shackling her thighs like he was a drowning man, trying to cling to the cliffs. His irises shined like Chrysoberyls in the bright candlelight and she swore she could see something shift in him.

“I forgive you.” The words passed her lips in a whisper and he nodded one, two, three times.

“Thank you.”

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