I scramble to grab my first arrow and align it to the farthest knight. Five horses launch powerful muscles and extend to their full reach, galloping to bring the men on their backs ever closer to running me through with a faux lance. The beat of hooves drowns out the pound of my heart. I pray my slick fingers won't affect my aim.

The first arrow splats, covering the mesh covered eyehole with red paint. The man jingles his reins and stops his seat to slow the monster down, but the steed rears at the sudden check in speed. He expertly gets the youngster back under control, but I have no spare time to gawk at the expertise of the knight staying on the bucking horse.

I knock, aim, and fire. The next arrow splats at the mesh covering where the shoulder meets the chest plate. Another kill shot.

I rush my next two shots, just pinging them off chest plates. Not kill shots, but all that is needed for them to be out of the running.

The last rider is so close I can see the whites of his eyes through the mesh coating. His blue roan steed looks at me and almost trips. The boy is finally warming up to me, and it makes my heart happy. He about snapped my head off the first time I met the fellow.

The knight brings his sword overhead, ready to chop me down, but I take a deep breath—“Don’t rush, little cub.”—aim, and release.

He would be the only one able to deflect my arrow. The others held bulky lances, but not him. He and his sword is lithe and quick enough to block or dodge an arrow. I know. I spar with him daily. I needed him close.

It lands right where I wanted. I give the knight a mocking bow, to which he knocks me lightly on the head with his padded sword, trotting past. I rub my throbbing head even as I grin and admire the big red splatter of paint at his shoulder joint. Kill shot.

His eyes twinkle at me through the mesh before he turns to his king with a salute. The blue roan with silver speckles sidesteps over to me and laps at my fingers. I rub his head with a laugh.

“No apples right now, big boy.” He huffs his displeasure, then rolls his eyes as the knight on his back nudges him with his knees. The horse ignores him, keeping his eyes on me. His pleading reaches through my Gift and I feel him wanting both my approval and the apple I typically keep in my pocket just for him.

I chuckle. “Go on, big guy, don’t get in trouble.” I look up at the glaring blue eyes drilling into my head, then whisper. “I’ll bring apples later." I send with the words an image of crisp apples and oats... if he obeys his master. His head bobs happily. With a slight whicker he turns to leave, prancing in the direction his master asks. They ride back to where the rest of the knights have descended into the bowels of the arena, the large, gaping black holes large enough to hold dragons.

I wipe the sweat off my brow and drop to a knee when my head swims. I take deep breaths, my muscles aching with the strain of the past few minutes. That was way too close for comfort. Hans just about took me out. No thanks to a certain Timber Wolf.

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My heart stops trying to beat itself out of my chest as we wait for the results to be tallied by the officials.

Baa-aad Timber Wolf.

Not my fault you were busy gawking at the handsome prince.

My cheeks color, but thankfully it’s already flush from the adrenaline, so I don’t have to worry quite so much about Mr. Handsomelot rubbing it in.

“That was well done, if a bit rushed.” I bite back a squeak as the voice again materializes to my right. I turn to find twinkling blue eyes watching my hand that fell automatically to my hidden knife. One that I coincidentally took from a certain silver-eyed assassin.

“Ahhh—well—you see—“

He pokes my ribs, and I jerk with a wince. His eyes somehow light with some weird understanding, and it makes my stomach quiver thinking about what he might have just figured out.

“I owe you a favor,” he says lightly.

I just stand there like a fool, trying to figure out what exactly he’s talking about.

“Hold out your hand,” he commands with a hint of humor in the undertones.

I do it automatically.

“The other one.”

I huff out an annoyed breath. But he gives me a look, so I set my bow on my back and hold out my other hand. The one with the scar where I had cut myself on a Bamshee what feels like ages ago but was only mere weeks.

He slaps a golden filigreed Token on my hand, and I want to slap myself. That’s what kind of favor he was talking about.

“My first bestowed Token on a wager. I knew you were better than you were letting on. Who taught you?”

I take a breath, puffing out my cheeks. Might as well. “My father.”

“What was his name?”

“I’m sure you don’t know of him, your highness. He wasn’t of noble stock.”

He rubs his chin, a calculating gleam in his eyes. “Indeed. A commoner with talent is not entirely uncommon. Take care, Sir Ri. Broken ribs are nothing to scoff at.”

I stare after his retreating form, forgetting to bow. That. Man.

How’d he know? Unless he is the Silver-Eyed Assassin?

My mind explodes.

Could it be? No. No, it can't be. I stare at his back, glaring daggers. Sure, he seems similar and my heart wants to jump in joy like Ran with a rabbit at his voice, but... my Silver is not princely. He's cold and hard on the outside and doesn't talk until he has something to say. And he can use his eyebrows like a commanding officer to make anyone—from the vilest criminal to the most uppity noble woman—sweat.

I can't be in love with a prince. It wouldn't work. Silver must just be an assassin. That's it.

Did I just hear the L-word, my sister? Ran's voice is all shades of naughty.

Shut your mouth and I won't put peppermint in the cook's bambrandy cookies.

Mouth? My mouth isn't moving.

Of all the peppermint strudels and hashbet lillybuts... gah!

But my mind can't help itself and constantly compares the two men. Both move like panthers, a grace only known by one with complete control over themselves... and they know it. It’s assuredly possible, especially with Gifts from the little fairies, as I know since my Timber Wolf was turned into a pony. A glamour?

Somehow that makes my heart hurt, and I absently rub it as a question smacks itself into my brain.

“Hey, what would you have got if I lost?” I shout after the prince’s retreating form.

He looks back at me and grins, not missing a step.

“Your Highness? More like Your Mysteriousness,” I grumble. He waves, disappearing into a side door without answering my question.

I huff and hunch my shoulders. He is going to be the death of me.