Page 109 of Far From Sherwood Forest
One of his knights barrels toward me, sword raised. I sidestep him and bring my bow up hard, cracking him across the jaw. He goes down, and I reach behind my back to pull out an arrow, nocking it in my bow. Spinning, I see another guard closing in on Will and release the string, hitting the man in the shoulder. He goes down too.
Henry’s sword flashes as he catches another knight’s blade mid-air. He twists the sword from his hands and kicks him hard in the gut, sending him sprawling across the floor until his back hits a column and he slumps over.
Alan drives one man back with a flurry of blows from his sword, but another lunges for his unguarded side. I snap off anarrow that strikes his attacker in the thigh, dropping him with a pained howl.
The noise of the battle is deafening—steel ringing against steel, boots pounding over stone, the shouts of men locked in desperate struggles. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and blood and spilled wine.
“Hold them!” John shrieks, his voice cracking with mounting panic. “Do not let them reach me!”
Coward.
When more knights push forward, one swings for Henry’s head, and I swear my heart leaps right out of my throat. But he ducks low and slashes his blade across the man’s knees. I feel the rush of another coming up behind me and whirl just in time, using my bow like a staff to knock his blade aside before gripping the shaft of an arrow with my hand and driving it into his gut.
As that knight crumbles, another arrow comes whizzing straight down the middle of the throne room, narrowly missing helmets and hair on its path down the entire length of the hall. It strikes the throne, embedded in the plush red cushion right where Prince John’s head would normally be.
There’s the signal.
I don’t bother looking back at the entrance to see where it came from because I know one of our other men just entered the fray. That means King Richard is in the castle and is nearly here. John and Tuck successfully convinced him to hold the horns meant to sound once the king entered the town just in case whoever orchestrated the ambush on the road had a backup plan.
The prince peers around the back of the tall chair, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the arrow.
“Put an end to this, you worthless curs!”
“What’s the matter, Your Highness?” Henry turns toward where the prince is hiding. “Are things not going according toplan?”
There’s a wide grin on his face now thatourplan is hopefully back on track. He easily blocks an attack from his side, slamming the hilt of his sword down on the knight’s helmet so hard that he drops. Blood sprays across his forearms and one side of his coat. Sweat drips down his temples as he approaches the throne with confidence.
Fuck, he’s so goddamn hot.
“You traitorous—”
“You’re the traitor, John!” Henry shouts above the din of battle. “Your brother trusted you with his people, and you bled Nottingham dry. You raised taxes until mothers were forced to sell their children for bread. You stole grain from starving families. You sent your soldiers to burn villages when they couldn’t pay. Admit it!”
The prince straightens just enough to where his head peeks over the back of the throne, a smirk on his face even as his eyes dart nervously in every direction. “I took what was mine by right! The crown needs gold, and that gold keeps my armies strong. My coffers are fuller than my brother’s ever were.”
While Henry is busy drawing confessions from the prince, two knights rush at him from either side. I nock an arrow in my bow, but I only have enough time to stop one.
“Henry!”
As though we’re in perfect sync, the moment I release the arrow, he attacks the knight on the opposite side of him, their swords clashing. The one I hit gets an arrow to the neck and falls, and Henry’s other attacker gets a blade slashed into his side.
I do feel bad that we’re both killing so many men, but this is a different world, after all. This is how it always was.
When I hear the sound of heavy boots marching beneath all the commotion within the throne room, I glance toward the open doors as it grows louder.
It’s now or never.
Turning to face the prince, I twist the knife for his final confession.
“And the mercenaries you paid to ensure King Richard never returned from his Crusade?”
The volume of battle lowers as several of the knights hold their swords steady to peer back at their prince. Frightened courtiers share shocked glances and murmured whispers.
The prince’s smirk flickers, but pride wins out over caution. “Yes. And I’d do it again! England doesn’t need a lion when it already has a ruler who knows how to control the people.”
“How dare you!”
King Richard’s booming voice reverberates off the stone walls. Swords lower as all the fighting ceases, and every eye in the hall lands on the king standing within the open doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, armor streaked with dust from the road. The lion crest burns bright on his chest. The heavy tread of his boots echoes over the polished stone as he marches further into the hall with John, Tuck, and several of his knights, hand resting on the hilt of a sword that has seen too many battles.
