“All right,” he said, addressing the company. “If Percival can split his arrow, then no one should be impressed that I did. If not, then I had a lucky shot. And I’ll welcome the challenge to do it again, with any conditions.”

“Any conditions?” Percival grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

“Now that you’ve seen Trist’s bare arse, are you so eager to view mine?” Lance teased.

“Are you so eager to volunteer?” Percival asked with a smirk.

“Are you so afraid you can’t hit the mark?” Lance challenged.

“Oh, my aim is true,” Percival assured him. “As is my stamina.”

This last comment drew loud hoots from the guards. Their rivalry was well known amongst the company. After Lance, Percival came a close second in most weapons. With his friendly manner and country charm, the others were instantly at ease around him, and he was the obvious frontrunner to be their next captain.

Percival carefully notched an arrow into his bow, sweat glistening against his dark brown skin.

It went so quiet that Lance could hear the birds circling overhead.

Perce adjusted the tip of his arrow, sighting down the shaft with one eye closed, and then the other.

And then a castle falcon dove toward their practice field, its talons extended, heading straight for Percival.

“Agh!” Perce cried, letting loose the arrow in surprise. It went wide. So wide it would miss the target entirely.

And hit another one.

Guinevere stood rooted to the spot as Percival’s arrow headed right toward her.

Lance didn’t think. He just reacted, reaching for his own bow and shooting as fast as he could. There was a searing pain as the bowstring snapped against his forearm, but he hardly noticed.

“Look out!” he yelled.

The arrow was going to kill her.

One moment Guinevere had been watching the jocular guards challenge each other to hit a difficult target, and the next, it was as though she had left her body, and was watching the moment unfold from far above.

Then the golden-haired archer shot another arrow, knocking the first harmlessly aside. And it was over.

Time snapped back into place, and through the deafening beat of her heart, she became gradually aware of Lady Elaine’s loud hysterics.

“Princess!” the golden-haired archer called, hurrying over. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, the horrible moment replaying in her mind. She was trembling. She didn’t know how to stop trembling.

“Guinevere,” he said, taking her gently by the shoulders. “Say something.”

His hands felt soft and strong wrapped around her, and they seemed to quiet the thunder in her chest.

There was something comforting about him, and even familiar. He was uncommonly broad and handsome, with honeyed blond curls and the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. He stared down at her in concern, thick muscled arms bulging from beneath his mail. She definitely would have remembered seeing him around the castle.