“I know. I get it, Aaron, I do.” I was going to have to spin this in a way that would bring Rowan more satisfaction than it would me. Before I’d even spoken them, the words already tasted bitter on my tongue. “But I’m just a woman, and my typical evening rides have me out here pretty late compared to other students.” The words were ash in my mouth, each syllable a small death of my pride.
“You could forgo the extra rides,” Aaron suggested, his tone reasonable but firm.
“I’d die.” The declaration came out more dramatic than I had intended, but it was honest.
Aaron raised an eyebrow at that. Behind me, I heard Rowan mutter something under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like, “If only.”
“Okay, bad wording.” I forced myself to continue, hating every syllable. “Listen, he’s family. He’s very protective of me. Like a big brother.” The lie slid out smoothly. “You can call my dad if you need a reference. But with everything going on, I’d feel better having him here. To protect me.”
There. I said it. Little scared Violet needs a big strong man to keep her safe. The role of the helpless damsel in distress made my skin crawl, itchy and wrong. . . but if that was what it took to get Rowan access, I would play the part.
“You would feel better havin’ him to protect you?” Aaron repeated slowly, turning the words over like stones he was examining for cracks. “As in, guard you?”
I nodded, dying a little inside with each movement. “Yes.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Sweat trickled down my spine despite the shade of the barn, the Georgia humidity wrapping around me like a wet blanket. The air smelled like cut grass and distant rain, though the sky was cloudless and blue. Hyacinth shifted in his cross-ties and snorted in our direction, the sound wet and impatient. Aaron glanced at him, then back to us, his expression unreadable.
“Ah, sure I’ll be callin’ your father now, so I will,” he said finally, still pensive but no longer outright denying Rowan’s presence.
Relief flooded through me, cool and sweet. “Perfect. I’ll let him know to expect your call.”
Aaron looked at Rowan and extended his hand—calloused palm, dirt under the fingernails from a day working with horses.
“Rowan, my name is Aaron. I am the Stablemaster here, but also Violet’s tutor for her lessons.”
Rowan grasped his hand firmly, the handshake lasting a beat longer than strictly necessary. Some masculine assessment passed between them that I wasn’t privy to.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Rowan said. “I appreciate you allowing me to play bodyguard for the brat.”
Aaron smiled, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. They remained cool, assessing. “Yeah. Well, you might be surprised to see how little this rascal needs lookin’ after.”
Rowan stayed behind the fence while Aaron and I geared up. The fence around the pasture was white-painted wood, weathered and peeling in places, separating the practice field from the observation area. I felt the weight of Rowan’s curiosity as he watched me carry my bow—a recurve with a rich mahogany riser, the limbs midnight black—in my right hand, the quiver slung over my shoulder. The leather was worn soft from use, smelling of oil and age.
Aaron had already set the field: twenty large targets arranged in a serpentine pattern across trampled grass that was more dust than green. Each target was a hay bale wrapped in canvas, painted with concentric circles in fading red and white. The track he’d carved with his mare earlier created a clear path, hoofprints pressed into hard-packed earth.
My heart raced, anticipation singing through my veins like electricity. I turned to Aaron with a smile that stretched across my face, genuine and unguarded.
“Can I start?”
His mare danced beneath him, her hooves striking the ground in nervous rhythm. She was always more anxious during mounted archery sessions, feeding off the energy. He nodded, careful to stay near the fence where Rowan watched with those pale, unreadable eyes.
I mounted Hyacinth in one smooth motion, muscle memory from years of practice. His body was warm and solid beneath me, muscles coiled and ready with power and magic I relished in. I pressed my thighs against his sides, trusting him completely.
Within seconds, he began to canter, his gait as smooth as running water. He was already anticipating my intent from the tilt of my hips and shift of my weight, the way I breathed, the tension in my calves. We’d done this dance a thousand times.
The first arrow notched smoothly, the shaft cool against my fingers. I barely took aim before releasing, letting instinct guide me. The string sang against my leather bracer—a sharp, clean sound—and the arrow hissed through humid air thick with the smell of grass and horse. It struck the center of the target twenty paces away with a satisfying thunk.
Joy radiated through me, pure and uncomplicated. Hyacinth felt it through my body, the way my seat relaxed, my posture opened. He showed off with a playful kick, his back hooves flashing in the golden sunlight. I easily stayed mounted, as I was expecting his display.
“Hooves down!” Aaron’s voice cracked like a whip across the field.
Hyacinth snorted but complied, settling back into his canter. His ears flicked back towards me, listening.
I notched another arrow and let it fly without conscious thought. The world narrowed to movement and breath and the perfect release oftension. The arrow landed just shy of center, close enough. The target seemed to shimmer in the heat, edges wavering.
Eighteen more to go.
Aaron’s voice carried across the field, cutting through the drum of hoofbeats. “If canterin’ is too easy, do it at a gallop!”
