Chapter 221 - 219: A Good Shot.

Chapter 221: Chapter 219: A Good Shot.

As if on cue, the arrow makes land several feet beyond them, and Loac quits his fidgeting just long enough to put two and two together.

It leaves him surprisingly speechless, which Khobi can’t even take a moment to appreciate because his head is ringing from the impact and would it kill this guy to show just an ounce of gratitude every once in a while?

​"...Y’know, usually when someone saves your ass you thank them ," Khobi growls with a vehement glare, disentangling himself as best he can from Loac’s body and and sitting back between his splayed knees, "Next time I’ll let you get shot, how does that sound?"

​"Hey, get back down!"

​(Hiss .)

​Loac’s eyes suddenly widen, and before Khobi can react he’s being bodily grabbed and thrown.

In the blink of an eye their positions are reversed and suddenly he’s the one back to the ground; Loac’s hands planted either side of his head.

Irritation flashes hot behind Khobi’s eyes and rushes up his neck in a flood of crimson.

​" Oi, what do you think –"

​The second arrow thunks into the ground next to them.

Precisely where they’d been lying not two seconds ago.

Khobi stares blankly at it as it quivers in the dirt, and then up at Loac hovering over him. His blue eyes gleam as his lips curl up into a smirk, and the red creeping up Khobi’s neck suddenly doesn’t feel quite as much like anger as he first thought.

​"You were saying...?"

​"...How about we call it even?"

Khobi counters, and shoves him in the chest to put some space between them.

And then a second time, just for good measure, because the first one hadn’t done the job well enough.

Loac doesn’t resist, and Khobi finds himself oddly relieved as he pulls away.

​In the distance, he can hear someone calling out to them.

​"But just so you know ," Khobi adds crossly, dusting off the feeling of Loac’s shape beneath him and the grip of his hands on his body, "...Next time, when someone yells down , you get down . Got that?"

...

"Wow, the princess is a really terrible shot," one of the soldiers comments under his breath, as said princess lets out a sigh of relief as the two figures she’d inadvertently fired on stagger to their feet, very much still alive.

Montrel just gapes helplessly.

"...Yeah, or fucking amazing one."

...

In all Xena’s dreams, wielding a weapon had always been quite glamorous.

There was something so mysterious about archers; something beautiful and fearless in the way they carried themselves.

It had always seemed quite a noble art; precise, elegant, and effortless to the observing eye.

​She had never put much thought into how much it would hurt.

​And in reality, it hurts quite a lot. In her shoulders and her fingers and her wrists as well as in her arms as well.

She only fired three arrows and she’s sure that she’s going to be sore for days.

​Those three arrows were a lot of fun, though.

​She’d like to try again, someday. And hit a target this time.

On account of almost skewering her cousin twice , it had been hard to believe Montrel when he’d told her that she’d done well –most people would tell her that regardless of whether or not it was the truth; a perk or a pitfall of a princess –but he had seemed refreshingly genuine.

​He’d told her that she was welcome to return, and had walked her back to the edge of the training grounds to where her handmaidens were anxiously waiting.

They had fussed and fluffed something terrible over the state of her dress, and had been quick to hurry her along before passing eyes could see their Crown Princess looking so unsightly.

​They were right to fuss; she did look quite awful, but before they swept her away she had made sure to appropriately thank Montrel for his time.

She’d even dropped into a curtsey, which may have been a little much given that she’s a princess and he’s a soldier –and not even a high ranking one at that –but he had done her a service today and she would not risk being chided by her father for forgetting her manners.

​Montrel hadn’t really seemed to know what to make of it.

​And as they’d departed, she’d taken one final look back at the training grounds, and found him watching them go.

​"Your Highness?" one of her handmaidens questions, as they reach the top of the stairs, "Are you feeling ill? Your colour is a little off."

​"Not at all," she tells her, finding herself a little more breathless than she would’ve thought from just a flight of stairs. It must have been the bow.

Archers used a lot more of their body than she’d initially thought. "I just overexerted myself is all."

Despite the onset of winter and the miserable day of training ahead, Rogard arrives to lunch that following day in quite a pleasant mood.

​Perhaps, in hindsight, too good of a mood.

​"You all good?" Khobi asks as he sits down, brow furrowed, "You look really weird."

​Wow, Khobi is rude .

​"This is how my face looks, Khobi," Rogard tells him reproachfully.

​"Well yeah," he admits, mouth full, "But it looks grosser than usual."

​"You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Khobi, or I’d be really mad at you for that."

​"What’s got you in such a good mood, then?" he asks, giving him a sidelong look as he eats.

​"Yeah, it’s weird," Gandy chimes in, unhelpfully. Rogard wonders if he’s always been this transparent; if there had just always been so many people telling him what he wanted to hear that he actually started to believe that he was fooling them.

Gandy pulls away from his gravy just long enough to give him a suspicious look from across the table. "...You got laid, didn’t you?"

​"What would make you say that?" Rogard sniffs airily, and he’s proud to say that it doesn’t even come out defensive, "I’m just in a good mood because I get to come back to training."