The courtyard might not have been entirely silent (which was certainly the way that Astren would have preferred it), but what few sounds permeated the vast stone enclosure were not altogether enough to distract him from the task at hand. He eyed the straw target some sixty feet away, encased in heavy canvas and painted bright white, a blood-red spot situated roughly in its' center. It was propped up on a wooden tripod that had been lashed together with tightly intertwined strips of leather-a silent subject which almost seemed to be waiting on him to take action.
Yes, it was indeed time again. He raised the long, slender recurve bow up from its' low-ready position and began drawing back the bowstring. The nocking point of the arrow was clasped firmly between his index and middle fingers, the bright red fletchings drawing closer and closer to his face until his right hand was level with his chin. Immediately he ceased any and all movements, going as still as a statue. The few intruding sounds around him-the gentle breeze blowing over the courtyard walls which only just ruffled his dark brown hair, the calls of a few distant birds, and the distant ruckus of the city marketplace-seemed to dissipate entirely as he sighted his target.
Now.
He released the breath he'd been holding and loosed the arrow; the brief, sharp 'thunk' of the bowstring breaking the relative silence like a brick through plate glass. The arrow whistled as it cut through the air like a razor, and Astren felt a swell of pride-as he always did-when he saw that the shaft had struck deep and true within the boundaries of the red bullseye, joining the ranks of roughly a dozen of its' kin. He relaxed, smiled to himself, and paused in order to admire the unique bow in his hand. It was hard not to, as it had been carved from the finest woods that could be found from the Eastern Gravestone Mountains to the sandy shores of M'zaera, and had been expertly engineered and assembled according to his own specifications. What made it stand out more than anything else, however, was the fact that all of its' components had been stained a deep blue-almost to the point of appearing black. Even the drawstring had been dyed to match, leading to his father casually dubbing it 'Midnight'-a moniker that Astren had since decided to keep. He preferred it largely for its' simplicity: no elaborate carvings, engravings or-Three forbid it!-damascening. These were the sorts of things which many of the less tasteful nobles of the world might have opted for, but not Astren. Like his mother and father, Astren had an appreciation for the practical things in life-and Midnight was just that, which was why he found it suited his needs so perfectly. It had never once let him down in any regard.
He reached instinctually for the quiver which hung on his back, and his fingers found what they were looking for. In a flash, the arrow-one of three that he had left-was nocked and ready to draw. But before he could breathe in and begin to pull, a voice called out from his left.
"You really must give those targets a rest, dear brother, you've likely torn up more of those things over the past year than all of the Guards and the Army combined!"
Astren, without looking away from the painted canvas, smiled and chuckled softly. "Tell me, Astrea, would you have me spare the targets, but then miss a crucial shot later due to lack of practice?"
He looked over to see Astrea striding toward him, her deep auburn hair pulled back into an elaborate braid, her slender figure clad in a simple forest-green dress that ended just above her ankles. She smirked at him as she approached.
"You practice so often, Astren, that I doubt you could miss unless someone hit you over the head with a mallet while you aimed."
He snorted, smiling as he rolled his eyes. "And I maintain that if I do not practice as much as I can, it may come to pass that when it comes time to skewer a record-size elk-or, perhaps, a crazed brigand-I will miss and come home empty-handed...or within the confines of a casket. Then how would you feel, dear sister?"
Her expression darkened as she came to a stop beside him, placing her hands on her hips in an unconscious imitation of their mother. "You know full well that I do not wish for either of those things."
His heart sank as quickly as his smile fell. "Apologies, Astrea," he said softly.
She let out a sudden laugh that was almost musical in nature as she wrapped her arms around Astren's torso, giving him a playful squeeze. "Three above, Astren, I'm only toying with you! Jokes aside, you really ought to consider competing on the archery circuit! I can imagine it now: Astren, pride of Ralleah, the Archer Prince!"
Now laughing himself, he broke free of his sister's embrace and looked back at the cluster of arrows on his target. "Would that I could," he said quietly, his smile fading, "though I fear I am not ready. Not yet, anyway. I couldn't begin to compare with the mastery found on the tournament grounds."
"You doubt yourself still," Astrea said, disapproval slipping into her tone, "but I know, brother, that even at nineteen you are already one of the most skilled archers in the Kingdom. Even the Guards marvel at your skill! Speaking of which," she lowered her voice and stood on her toes in order to whisper into his ear, "Silira is here with me. She's standing by the door. Go on, Archer Prince, show her what you can do!"
Immediately, Astren stiffened and felt his hands go cold. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, whereupon they careened around his insides like marbles. Astrea seemed to sense this, and softly placed a hand upon her brother's shoulder.
"Send it home, Astren," she whispered, "I know you can do it."
He fought the urge to glance over at the door to the courtyard, fought the desire to look upon his second observer. He closed his eyes, sensing Astrea as she stepped away from him, and he assumed his firing stance. He opened his eyes, his right hand rising up and back next to his chin-all familiar motions, of course-but now, he found that he was suddenly less sure of himself. Calm, yourself, Astren, he commanded himself, remember what Master Galek taught you: relax, breathe, and don't rush. Shut out the world...and put your enemy out of his misery.
Right.
He lined up his shot, took a deep breath, and tried to relax. The target was sighted; he could see the deep red spot clearly. He breathed out, and just as he released the drawstring, he realized-too late, of course-that his bow hand was shaking ever so slightly. With another muted 'thunk', the string shot forward and sent the arrow soaring downrange...where it buried itself deeply into the white, three inches to the right of the bullseye. Astren lowered Midnight and let it hang limply at his side. He let out a quiet sigh, then looked back over his shoulder at his sister, who blushed and shrugged sheepishly. He smiled and nodded.
"I think that's enough for today."
"One bare miss out of many hits, Astren," she scolded as he strode towards the target, her hands back on her hips. "A fluke, and you know it!"
He began to pull out the arrows and slip them back into his quiver. "True," he called back to her, "but were it not for your teasing and distracting, I may have ended my session with a perfect streak!"
"Maybe so," she laughed, "but you're my brother; it's my job to tease you a little! Why not get a second opinion, then? Silira, help me talk some sense into Astren, would you?!"
Astren swore that, in that moment, his body temperature had plummeted to half of what it should have been. He turned to see the familiar sight of the armor-clad Royal Guardswoman-tall, blonde, strong and beautiful-walking away from her post beside the courtyard door and toward his sister. He pulled the last arrow from the target, and walked back to the pair of women on legs that felt as if they were missing half their bones.
"Princess?"
"I said, help me talk some sense into my brother! Tell him that one miss-a near one, at that-out of a dozen does not a failure make!"
"Frankly, my Prince," Silira said, turning to face him, "I saw your grouping, and even with the outlier, it was far better than what most could accomplish-and I include myself, as well as the majority of my brothers and sisters in arms in that."
Silira's soft voice (surprising for someone of her height and prowess), in conjunction with her bright green eyes-which in his mind rivaled the brightness of Nocturne emeralds-seemed to drain what little confidence and charisma he felt he possessed straight out of his body. He broke eye contact with her and cast his gaze downwards.
"Apologies," he said, "I know I should not doubt myself so."
"You owe me no apology, my Prince," Silira replied. "Self-doubt is a normal thing, a demon with which we all must contend sometimes. Even the most skilled masters of any craft can face it. But I believe that you will overcome it, given enough time."
"You see, Astren? I'm not the only one who believes in you."
He looked back at Astrea in an attempt to avoid meeting Silira's green-eyed gaze. "I suppose I brought this upon myself. By the way, were you looking for me earlier, or did you really just come to distract me?"
"No, dear brother, I merely wanted to watch you work. I find it absolutely inspiring! I know Silira does too!" Astrea scooted over and nudged the Guard with her elbow, who took the both the verbal and physical jabs in stride, merely smiling dryly at the young Princess who stood nearly a head shorter than herself.
"Ever the stoic warrior," Astrea joked, "but one day I swear I'll get you bantering freely."
"Your verbal jabs have about as much effect as your physical ones, my Princess-because so far, I remain unmoved." Silira glanced sideways at Astrea, a knowing smirk spreading across her lips. Astrea's jaw dropped and she let out a mock gasp, feigning comical offense. Astren could not help but laugh, and even Silira chuckled as Astrea joined in.
"Well," Astren said as the laughter died down, "I'm afraid I must take my leave, ladies. I wanted to visit the market today, perhaps see if I can find some good hearthwood arrows."
"Go on, then, leave me to die of boredom," Astrea said, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes, "but do Silira a favor and take her along with you, or else she'll just sit around bored whilst I read in the garden."
Astren blushed. "I-I don't need to be-I'm not-"
"It is no trouble, my Prince," Silira said kindly, "I could not bear it if trouble were to find you and I had not been there to protect you."
"Well, I do have my hand axe," Astren mumbled, running his hands through his hair.
"And no one doubts your abilities with it," Astrea said pointedly. "I know that you are not helpless, and I am not trying to imply otherwise. But you are the King and Queen's son, and while our family may be beloved throughout most of the Kingdoms, things can and sometimes do happen. Please, Astren, just humor me and take Silira with you."
