Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 352: The Archer’s Triumph

Alistair stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders with easy confidence. The afternoon light caught the edges of his features as he turned towards his companions.

”It appears my turn has arrived,” he said, just as Benedict reached them.

Benedict’s time had been fifty seconds.

The result was impressive enough that Alistair could feel the weight of expectation settling upon him, though he gave no indication that it troubled him. His smile remained easy, his posture relaxed.

Julian rolled his eyes.

”You know perfectly well that it is your turn,” he said. ”There is no need for the ’it appears.’”

Alistair chuckled, entirely unbothered by the correction.

The baron possessed an unusual talent for pointing out the obvious with such solemn precision that it became almost endearing.

”Then wish me luck,” Alistair said, spreading his arms slightly, as though inviting them to offer him their blessings.

No one did.

He laughed.

”You are a heartless lot.”

He turned and made his way towards the weapons rack, his strides unhurried, his posture carrying the confidence of a man who knew precisely what he was doing, even if he had every intention of making a spectacle of it.

Baron Fairmont had already arrived at the rack. He stood before the array of weapons, his gaze moving slowly across the blades with quiet concentration.

He reached out and selected a sword, testing its weight. The blade caught the light as he turned it in his hand, its edge gleaming coldly.

Alistair, however, made a deliberate show of considering his options.

He moved along the rack, examining the weapons with exaggerated deliberation. He picked up a sword, weighed it in his hand, then set it down with a thoughtful hum.

He selected an axe next.

He regarded it for several seconds before returning it to its place with a faint shake of his head.

A dagger followed.

He turned it over between his fingers, examined the blade, and then returned it to the rack as though it had personally disappointed him.

The crowd began watching with growing amusement.

Alistair was clearly enjoying himself.

At last, he reached the end of the rack, where the ranged weapons had been arranged.

He stopped before a bow.

For a moment, his expression changed.

The playfulness faded, replaced by something quieter and more assured.

His fingers brushed lightly over the polished wood before he lifted it.

He tested the draw.

The bow bent smoothly beneath his fingers, the string taut and responsive. He selected a quiver of arrows and slung it over his shoulder with an ease that suggested he had done so countless times before.

Julian’s frown deepened.

”Why is he choosing a bow and arrow instead of a sword?” he asked, genuine confusion colouring his voice.

Evander shrugged, ”I imagine it is because he knows how to use one.”

Julian glanced at him.

”I am aware of that. I merely find it surprising. I thought he would choose a sword.”

Benedict watched Alistair for another moment before speaking.

”Every fighter has his preferred weapon. I have known Alistair to be quite proficient with a bow. I have seen him practise with one before.”

Julian’s eyes remained fixed upon the duke.

”How proficient?”

Benedict’s lips curved faintly.

”Proficient enough that I would not advise standing at the other end of an open field with him.”

Alistair’s head turned slightly, as though he had heard the remark from across the distance.

Lucian hummed thoughtfully.

”There is also the possibility that he wishes to make an exhibition of himself.”

Benedict nodded.

”That possibility should never be dismissed where Alistair is concerned.”

Julian sighed. ”I should have known.”

Alistair walked towards the centre of the arena, his bow held loosely in one hand, the quiver of arrows resting against his back.

He appeared entirely at ease.

Baron Fairmont, by contrast, stood ready with his sword, his posture alert and his attention fixed upon his opponent.

The difference between them was almost amusing.

One looked as though he had arrived to perform a task.

The other looked as though he had arrived to enjoy himself.

Alistair stopped several paces away.

He gave the Baron a polite inclination of his head.

”Baron.”

”Your Grace.”

The exchange was brief, but perfectly courteous.

Then the bell rang.

Baron Fairmont moved immediately.

His sword rose as he advanced, his boots striking the stone with quick, purposeful steps.

He had barely taken three steps when an arrow struck the ground directly before his feet.

He stopped abruptly just as a collective gasp rose from the crowd.

His eyes snapped towards Alistair who had already nocked another arrow.

Then another.

He drew the bowstring back.

The easy smile had disappeared from his face.

For the first time, he looked entirely serious.

Baron Fairmont raised his sword just as the first arrow struck the blade and was deflected with a sharp clang.

The second came immediately after.

The Baron twisted his body aside.

The arrow passed so close that it disturbed the fabric of his sleeve.

A murmur swept through the audience.

Baron Fairmont began to run.

He had understood the danger.

If he remained at a distance, Alistair controlled the fight. His only chance was to close the distance and force the duke into close combat.

Alistair seemed to understand his intention as well.

He darted forward, meeting the Baron’s advance with surprising speed.

Baron Fairmont swung just as Alistair dropped low.

The sword swept over his head, missing him by inches.

He slid across the stone, using the momentum of his movement to carry him past the Baron’s guard.

Baron Fairmont turned but he was too late.

Alistair came up behind him with another arrow already nocked.

The tip rested lightly against the back of the Baron’s head.

Silence fell.

For one brief moment, neither moved.

Then Baron Fairmont slowly lowered his sword.

He raised one hand.

”I concede.”

The arena erupted.

Cheers rang through the stands, the commoners once again proving themselves far less restrained than the nobility. Whistles and enthusiastic shouts echoed across the arena.

Even several nobles applauded.

Alistair lowered his bow and stepped away.

On the royal dais, Lyria found herself clapping along with the rest of the audience.

The way Duke Thorncrest had moved had been seamless, each motion flowing naturally into the next. Even the apparent recklessness of his opening attack had been deliberate.

Lyria was beginning to understand that skill did not always announce itself through strength.

Sometimes it appeared in knowing precisely when not to use strength at all.

Beside her, Jacinta fanned herself, her expression one of grudging admiration.

”Using a bow and arrow is hardly the most gentlemanly manner in which to conduct a spar,” she remarked. ”Nevertheless, I suppose one cannot argue with the result.”

The time had been one minute and thirty seconds.

A fresh murmur travelled through the crowd.

Evander let out a low whistle, his eyes glinting with approval.

”That was mighty impressive.”

Lucian nodded, his expression thoughtful.

”It truly was. Fairmont barely had the opportunity to make use of his sword.”

”He never intended to give him one,” Benedict observed.

Alistair bowed towards the crowd, his movements graceful and theatrical.

The cheers grew louder.

He turned towards the royal family and bowed again, this time with considerably more flourish.

Then, just as he straightened, a mischievous smile appeared upon his lips.

He winked.

Towards the princesses.