Oriana's head turned to Zaroth. It was almost subconscious—she did not realize she had done it until she noticed the curiosity in her own gaze as she searched his face for any sign of readability, anything that might reveal what he was thinking.
She wondered if she truly was the only one who had not known the King of Driit.
She knew who Duchess Isabella was. She was the daughter of Grand Duke Johnson Mayhem. She was the same age as Oriana, and even though Oriana had never had a deep conversation with her, she had visited with her father before, and they had exchanged polite pleasantries. Just like Oriana, she too was one of a kind.
But she was from Gantrem.
So how did she know him?
A surge of curiosity washed over Oriana again as her thoughts drifted to the content of the letter. This could not certainly be the first time the duchess had sent the king a letter. But even then… why did it matter?
Her fingers twitched lightly at her side as she shifted her gaze away from him.
His eyes were unreadable.
He moved his face toward the arrow lying not far away, the polished shaft catching a thin line of sunlight, as if that was far more important than whatever that letter held. After all, they had come here for archery, not for letter reading.
"Take it away."
His cold, dead voice echoed through the air, cutting through the quiet court like steel.
He turned slightly, his eyes flickering to Oriana for a brief moment. His lips tilted upward faintly as he watched her glance toward the letter.
His gaze drifted to her brow, noticing the tight knit of it, even though she had tried her very best not to make her curiosity obvious.
The guard bowed gently.
Just as he was about to leave, Zaroth raised his hand.
The guards immediately stilled in place.
"Queen Oriana, perhaps you would like to read the letter?" he asked, his voice distant yet calm.
Oriana's head snapped toward him, her eyes widening slightly. In that instant, she realized that she must have made her gaze too obvious. She screamed inwardly at herself for it. She had not even realized how clear her curiosity had been.
Besides, she was not the kind of person to put her nose into other people's business—especially something as private as a letter.
And this would not make her do that.
She managed a small smile before speaking softly.
"That would be great. Hand me the letter."
She stretched out her hand, catching even herself by surprise at her behavior. This was the first time she had ever done something like this.
Her eyes turned to the guard as he stepped forward and placed the letter in her hands, his head bowed low.
Failing to see the way Zaroth's lips had widened slightly in pure, dark amusement, she moved forward, taking the letter as Zaroth walked toward where the bows and arrows were laid.
He picked one up, and despite his kingly attire, he looked even more ethereally handsome, the sunlight brushing across the sharp lines of his figure.
Oriana lowered her gaze to the letter as she began to read what was written on it. The handwriting curved perfectly across the page, elegant and deliberate.
To King Zaroth
From Duchess Isabella
Oriana, not realizing it, internally rolled her eyes and moved her hands slightly. Her slender fingers rubbed over the red, smooth paper that had been used as gum to seal the letter before she slowly opened it and drew out the folded sheet within.
She glanced at the body of the paper.
It was rich and thick, almost a milk-golden color—the kind used when sending letters to highly prestigious people—so this did not surprise Oriana, considering who it had been sent to. A soft breeze drifted through the archery court, brushing gently against her face and pushing a few strands of her hair backward.
Her eyes moved over the writing.
Royal Highness King Zaroth,
The family of Mayhem heard about your visit to Gantrem and wanted to greet you and welcome you.
Sincerely,
Duchess Isabella.
'Sincere my ass,' Oriana cursed inwardly, almost unladylike.
Her brow lifted slightly as she read the letter again, though she did not know why each word seemed to grate against her bones. She knew full well what this woman was trying to do.
She had been taught many things, and the reason behind this letter was certainly not for greeting or welcoming. It was for something else entirely.
Oriana slid the letter back into place and folded it neatly before handing it to the guard, who bowed deeply before leaving.
She drew in a slow breath, steady and quiet, before turning toward Zaroth.
He had already positioned himself for a shot.
The bow rested firmly in his hand, his posture calm and controlled as he faced the distant target.
Oriana's eyes shifted toward the target, and her lips parted as a low gasp escaped her.
Three arrows had already struck the bull's-eye.
Her eyes stared at it in pure surprise before she turned back to him, to the unbothered calm on his face. She could hardly believe how fast this man had been just while she was reading the letter.
She had not even heard the arrows release.
She waited for him to release the arrow he now held, but he did not.
Instead, he stood straight and turned toward her.
Her eyes lingered briefly on his silver hair, the strands perfectly in place. It seemed as though even the wind knew better than to disturb it.
And yet here she was.
The wind toyed with her hair, pushing the strands across her face as if it deliberately wanted to make her look slightly disordered.
"I would like to see your strike, Queen Oriana. After all, action speaks louder than words."
Her heart skipped at his words, her pulse beginning to race. She had not expected him to say that. She had thought he would ask what the letter had said, but he did not.
It seemed he did not even care about the letter at all.
And Oriana hated to admit that a small part of her felt slightly pleased by that.
"Very well," she said, lifting her chin slightly. "Be ready to be humbled."
Zaroth said nothing.
His eyes drifted briefly to her hips as he watched her walk toward him with quiet elegance. She reached him and took the bow carefully, almost as though she did not want her fingers to brush against his, knowing her body might betray her given she had not quite been herself since last night.
She moved aside and stood facing the target.
Her eyes fixed ahead as she lifted the bow, placing the arrow carefully in position. The polished wood felt firm beneath her fingers. A chill ran lightly down her spine as she could feel his gaze on her.
Of course it would be.
She straightened slightly, her expression turning more defiant as she focused.
WHOOSH.
She released the arrow.
It flew with precision toward the target, cutting sharply through the air as it shot forward.
Thup.
It landed in the grass, striking the soil and standing there awkwardly.
Oriana's eyes flew wide in shock and mortification. Heat rushed up to her face as embarrassment flooded her.
Silence briefly fell over the archery court.
Then Zaroth's cold laughter echoed through the tension, dry and almost teasing, carrying a dark, mocking tilt.
"Oh, my queen," his deep voice smooth and distant, slight amusement lingering in his tone.
"Learn to bite what you can chew."