Page 14 of The Wicked Prince

Guy was supposed to be watching the other archers in the competition to see if one of them matched Robin’s vague description and skill, but he’d been eliminated relatively early on because he spent more time staring at Lady Marian than his target. Pathetic.

So now John was watching some shriveled up, hunched over older man with brown and gray hair, a red tunic, and an eyepatch, beat every other able-bodied young man.

In hindsight, that probably should have been the first clue.

Hadn’t the Sheriff claimed he’d know Robin Hood just from his shooting alone?

But… John’s job was to declare a winner and give Robin Hood a speedy trial to make it official enough for legalities and then a swift execution. He wasn’t there to figure out which archer was Robin Hood.

But there was something about the old man’s face… Like the wrinkles weren’t actually shadows… And his hair… the roots weren’t brown or gray, they were dark blonde. His tunic was too big, and he wore a closed cloak despite the fact that not wearing it would make shooting easier.

But then there were his eyes, and John doubted. They were a brilliant blue, but they were tired, exhausted, and worn down, with a weight to them that seemed like it could only come from age. The way John felt most days.

If he’d known when Richard had appointed him as regent what it was actually going to entail—particularly that some folk hero was going to crawl out of the woodwork to make it even more of an impossible job—he’d have thought twice. In thinking twice, he would have thought about all the swords, the arrows, and the soldiers and how he would have the biggest target on his back in a war zone and he still would have chosen to be regent. But it would have taken more time to decide.

At least in Astren he had guards, a castle, and the people out for his head were peasants and not killers.

When the old man straightened up and drew back for the last shot, John spotted the lining of the cloak was a vivid green. It wasn’t lining. The cloak was turned inside out.

That was when everything went really wrong.

A scrawny little page ran up to John to deliver a message. Apparently the reason the Sheriff’s men hadn’t spotted any of the Merry Men in the crowd was because they were robbing the tax wagons. That, apparently, the Sheriff had arriving on the same day as his big plan to catch Robin Hood, hoping the competition would be a sufficient cover instead of thinking thatmaybethe tax wagons were the bigger draw for the thievesfamous for robbing tax wagons.

No wonder they hadn’t even gotten close enough to this outlaw to have a description if this was the level of competency John was working with.

It was chaos.

And the old man wasn’t really an old man, and instead of shooting at the target, shot at the Sheriff. Within seconds, the figure quickly inverted the cloak back to green, ripping the eyepatch off and throwing the hood up. Robin Hood.

Like every intelligent man, when any sign of danger appeared, John immediately turned tail and ran in the opposite direction as fast as he could to the safest place in the city.

The castle.

But not before grabbing the golden arrow. There’d been no winner of the competition, and he wasn’t going to lose it to some backwater uppity peasant who’d crawled out of the forest and was too good with a bow for John’s own good.

His guards brought him safely to his room, where he was going to wait and hope the Sheriff wasn’t so incompetent as to completely fail to catch the outlaw that had shot at him.

John had no desire to be anywhere near the fighting.

He could get hurt.

By the time the sun went down, John received word that the Sheriff and Guy had pursued Robin Hood and his Merry Men into the forest.

Where they had made off with the taxes.

Again.

John tossed the golden arrow onto the ground and collapsed into his bed, his temples throbbing. The last thing he needed was this problem to solve on top of everything else.

Every day it was something new. Someone else unhappy with the way he did things. Always complaining. Always something. Even though Richard was gone, he still found ways to berate John about everything he did wrong in his letters.

A shuffling sound broke John’s unpeaceful sleep.

If it was the Sheriff back to tell him that he’d failed, John was going to sendhimto the frontlines.

John rolled over and opened his eyes, sitting up to chew out whoever it was, and that was when he spotted the cloaked figure, standing in front of the open wardrobe. The hooded head turned toward him, and the figure froze just like he did.

The only light came from the moon and through the open window, and everything in the room was in shadow, except for the figure. The cloak was green.

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