Chapter 147

Adrian had chosen a secluded section of the palace grounds where they could practice without causing any obstruction or attracting an audience. A target had been set some distance away, and the afternoon air carried the scent of freshly cut grass and damp earth.

Cassandra stood with the pistol in her hand, listening as Adrian once more rattled out instructions about her stance and how she ought to grip the firearm.

The weapon felt heavy in her hand. She didn’t think she would ever get used to its weight.

She raised it at Adrian’s command and took aim. Her hands shook. She clutched the gun more firmly in an attempt to steady it.

"Relax your shoulders," Adrian chided gently. Cassandra’s shoulders were hunched so high they nearly touched her ears. "You are more likely to snap it in half than hit the target when you grip a pistol like that."

"Your commentary isn’t very helpful," Cassandra groused.

Adrian clicked his tongue. "On the contrary, my commentary is renowned for being both informative and entertaining. Wouldn’t you agree, Montague?"

Draven had been too occupied watching Cassandra to notice that Adrian had addressed him.

It was only when Adrian’s expectant gaze settled on him that he realized his name had been mentioned. Draven looked at him, momentarily lost, trying to catch up with a conversation he had not been following.

Draven opened his mouth. "Uhm..."

Adrian’s expression immediately brightened. "See? Even the Duke agrees," Adrian declared, turning to her with a pleased look. "I believe that settles it."

Cassandra gave him an unimpressed look as she took aim and fired. The sound was deafening, echoing across the secluded grounds.

The recoil jolted through her hand, making her flinch and sending the shot far wide of the center of the target.

The flinching was an involuntary reaction and she struggled to control it.

Draven stood nearby with his arms folded, watching silently as she reloaded and prepared to try once again.

Another report. Another poor shot.

This time, she managed not to flinch quite so violently, but the weapon still jolted in her hand from the recoil before she could correct it.

"She isn’t very good at this, is she?" Draven murmured, and he sounded truly concerned. Whether it stemmed from her truly appalling lack of skill or the very real chance that she might accidentally shoot herself in the process, she would never know.

"No, she is not. Her lack of coordination is both frightening and fascinating to watch. However, I generally prefer to observe from a safe distance. Since we are on the subject, would you please—" Adrian gestured for Draven to take a few steps back, putting some distance between himself and Cassandra.

Cassandra shot them both a scathing glare that could strip the paint from the walls.

"Are you an expert now?" The exasperated question was directed at Draven.

"I am a better shot than you," he replied cheekily. He had always thought her beautiful. She was a siren, come to lure him in with her enthralling spell. But then, at times like this, she seemed more like an angel descended from heaven. And, dear God, the sight of her glaring at him was perhaps the most adorable and beguiling thing he had ever seen.

"That is hardly difficult," Cassandra retorted. "Given your years in the armed forces, it would be frankly embarrassing if you were not better than me."

Draven bit his lip, but he was still smiling. He liked that she had a sharp tongue, but he liked even more that she had grown comfortable enough around him to speak her mind without filtering her words as carefully as she had in the beginning.

Turning away from them, Cassandra forced herself to refocus on the target, regardless of how daunting it might seem, and raised the pistol again.

Her hands were steadier than before, but the same could no longer be said after her finger curled around the trigger.

CRACK!

It was just as bad as the last.

"I dislike this very much," she grumbled, expecting another quip from either Adrian or Draven, but none came.

"That is because your grip is too loose," Draven said. "Hold the pistol firmly, but do not make your hand rigid. A weak grip will allow the recoil to throw off your aim."

Adrian nodded in agreement. "And keep your wrist steady. The recoil will shift the barrel if you let your wrist move with it. You will get the hang of it; just focus on keeping it steady."

"Perhaps I am simply not meant to shoot," Cassandra said, resigned. "I can’t possibly be good at everything I do. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of you."

There were excuses, and she knew it.

"I never took you for a quitter," Draven said, goading her. "Perhaps I gave you too much credit."

It worked. Her lips parted, and she stared at him in outrage.

"What an awful thing to say. I have learned from the error of my ways, and next time I will be sure not to invite you to join us."

"Next time?" Draven quirked an amused brow. "Darling, I thought you quit."

"I— I—"

Draven drifted closer as she struggled to come up with the right rebuttal. The teasing curve of his mouth remained, and Cassandra found herself suddenly far more aware of his presence than she was of the pistol in her hand.

"May I?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

Cassandra went utterly still, like a rabbit caught in a snare, and a moment later, she felt herself nodding.

With a gentle touch, Draven guided her around until she was facing the target once more. He moved to stand directly behind her, and Cassandra was painfully conscious of the small distance separating them.

His chest brushed against her back as he positioned himself behind her, the warmth of his body radiating through her clothes. She became acutely aware of every point where they touched.