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She hadn’t run.

Of course, she hadn’t run.

I followed the sound to a window overlooking the practice yard, and there she was. My breath went out of me all over again, though for an entirely different reason this time.

She stood at the archery range; a bow nearly as tall as she was held with more enthusiasm than skill. Her fiery hair was scraped up into a messy knot with a few loose strands framing her face. And she was no longer wearing a gown. My brother, it seemed, had finally taken pity on her endless griping about silk and found her something rather more to her liking. Because now, there she was, dressed in fitted leathers and a pair of trousers that hugged every curve of her with such devoted attention that the breath left me in a rush. And the rest of me went hard in seconds.

I was, I decided, going to have to thank Lazaros.

And then possibly kill him.

Because my brother was, of course, right there beside her.

I should have gone down and made myself known. Instead, I found myself slowing, drifting out into the gardens along the gravel path and stopping in the shade of an old oak at the edge of the range. Content for a moment to just watch her when she didn’t know she was being watched. To see her like this. Easy. Laughing. Unafraid.

Lazaros circled her with all the theatrical gravity of a born showman, tapping her elbow lightly to lower it a fraction.

“If you hold it like that,” he intoned, in the grave, lecturing voice he saved for moments designed entirely to provoke, “you’ll not only miss the target, you may well launch an arrow straight through the window and into the kitchens.”

Alexandra snorted, and I bit down on a smile.

“Aren’t the kitchens that way?” she shot back, twisting around and swinging the still-drawn bow to point vaguely toward the north of the castle.

Lazaros flung himself flat on the ground. “Fast! Fast!” he bellowed, with entirely too much drama, and as he dropped, I caught the flick of his eyes toward my hiding place beneath the oak. I gave a small, sharp shake of my head, and he answered with the faintest wink. And just like that, without a word, we agreed she was not to know I was there.

Not yet.

“I know that one,” Alexandra said, lowering the bow at once and easing the tension from the string, but continuing to hold the arrow in place. “If you see danger, a civilian wandering into the line of fire, for example, you shout ‘fast,’ and everyone lowers their bows. Right?”

“Correct.” Lazaros climbed back to his feet, brushing dew and dirt from his knees. “Though in this instance, you were the danger. Pointing an arrow at me.” He sniffed. “You’re as bad as my brother. Always trying to kill me.”

I scoffed softly at that, knowing it was a jab made for my ears. Alexandra laughed too and shoved the loose hair from her face with her elbow. They settled back into it after that, and I watched my brother teach the woman I loved how to hold a bow, and I tried to be a bigger man than I was.

I failed, mostly because the snake of jealousy was a formidable foe to beat back every time he touched her.

He nudged her feet apart with the toe of his boot, squared her shoulders, told her not to let the arrows sense her fear until she laughed so hard, she nearly dropped the bow. He was good with her, I realized. Patient, warm, and easy in a way I had never quite mastered. But watching them, watching her snort with laughter at something he said, I felt the slow, irrational burn of it kindle low in my chest once again.

It was absurd.

I knew there was nothing between them but friendship. I knew it. And still, her reactions toward him made my chest tighten. Like when she released her next arrow, and it thudded into the target a hand’s width from the center, she spun and threw herself at Lazaros in delight. His broad arms closing around her as he laughed, I felt my jaw lock so hard it ached.

She pulled back, beaming. “I’m getting better, right?”

“Better is one word for it.” Lazaros agreed, slinging an arm easily around her shoulders.

And that was where my patience ran out.

I pushed off the oak and crossed the grass in a handful of long strides, silent as I’d been trained to be, and slid in between them before she could so much as reach for another embrace. Alexandra let out a startled, delighted laugh as I caught her around the waist and turned her body away from my brother and into me.

“Careful, little bird,” I murmured against her ear, letting every ounce of possessiveness I felt bleed into the words. “Or I shall start to think you prefer my brother.”

Over her shoulder, Lazaros rolled his eyes, though the smirk tugging at his mouth ruined the effect entirely. He lifted both hands in mock surrender, collected his own bow, and stepped well back, ceding the field to me with the air of a man who valued his head exactly where it was.

“You were spying on me,” Alexandra accused, tipping her face up to mine, not remotely bothered by the prospect.

“I was admiring you,” I corrected. “There is a difference.”

“There really isn’t.”