“Sorry—imaginary target, imaginary arrow. Don’t ever loose the string without a real arrow.”

“Why not?”

“Think of the bow, and all the energy that you’re holding in when you draw the string. When you loose an arrow, all that energy travels into your target. But if you release the string without an arrow, all that energy has nowhere to go, but back into the bow itself. Then you have a broken bow.”

Elena pointed. “That bow’s not broken.”

“Eventually you have a broken bow.”

“Eventually you’ll always have a broken bow.”

“Not if you treat her well.”

“God’s teeth,” Will laughed, “is that what they teach you in the royal archery? How to talk sweetly to your bow? Do you sleep with it and rub her every night?”

Elena laughed so hard she snorted, and met Will’s eyes for a moment. He was grinning wide but flashed her a hand gesture, tucked close to his chest, of his middle finger and thumb extended. It was a symbol meant to point out an arrogant mark who deserved to be robbed, but in this context—combined with a raised eyebrow—it roughly translated to, This guy’s a prick, right?

Elena wiggled the same sign back to him and shrugged her shoulders. Probably, it meant, but it doesn’t matter. They owed it to Lord Walter to give his son the benefit of the doubt. This younger Locksley simply wasn’t important enough to get under her skin. He was just a poorman’s dandy who couldn’t suffer to not be the center of attention for even a moment. It was no surprise—son of a nobleman, right hand of the king, he’d been told his entire life that he was important, special. No wonder he believed it. Elena, on the other hand, had been told every day of her youth she was shit. Told she was a bitch. By men like Robin of Locksley, who thought themselves taller than the world.

She had known Robins of Locksleys her entire life. They were her marks in Red Lion Square or the parlies, and their coinpurses were always lighter for having known her. Men born with privilege, with money, with title, and thought they were humble to complain about it. Elena had left the gangs of Nottingham behind, her and Will, but the instincts were still there. That street stab in the gut that tells when a person is trustworthy, or when their every word is candied shit.

And Locksley’s mouth stank of it.

When he described the king’s personal guard for a third time, how they were like brothers, it was more than Elena could stand. “What about your real family, then?” she asked through a smile. “You have any actual brothers?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said your friend is like your brother, so it stands to reason you’re familiar with having a brother.”