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After all, Archie was already well-acquainted with the sort of “options” generally offered to a miller’s third son.
Rupert shook his head as if sensing the subtle defiance. “You know I didn’t want to say it, but legally, the bow is mine. Same as everything else in the house and the mill. All Father left you was that filthy barn cat. So, if I don’t like the way you are carrying on, I can put a stop to it.”
The rain thundered against the roof, rising with the heat of the words, and Leo hissed as if daring Rupert to come and take the bow from them.
Archie hadn’t even realized the cat was in the room, but Leo might have the right idea. Rupert might be asking for a fight. They had wrestled more than once before—with and without staffs. Archie was large enough now he might even win.
But Archie had never liked settling his disputes like that. He might be big, but that didn’t make him an ogre. He’d rather solve his conflicts with words. Poetry. Speeches from the old plays. And sometimes if he sat on the men who challenged him long enough, he could get them to listen.
But Rupert thought he was right, and in the strictest reading of the law, he might be.
All Archie had was Leo, and Archie could barely use the bow. What did it matter if Rupert found a way to take it away? It wasn’t worth a fight, but it buoyed Archie up, just seeing the spirited cat continue to take his side. He could surrender this battle without losing the war.
“I understand. I’ll keep helping around the house, and I can pay for the bow as well, if you would like me to.”
Rupert sighed, like Archie was the one being unreasonable, but he turned away. “I’ll be asking Ellie to come and eat with us soon. She’ll be bringing her parents with her, and I would like you to be there as well.”
The goose girl. Archie had only seen his brother pick flowers for the girl once before, but she seemed a simple girl, and perhaps that along with Rupert’s full ownership of the mill was enough to secure her favor.
And just like that, Archie’s days here were truly numbered.
* * *
Leo’s tail swished as Archie picked him up, taking them both away from Rupert as soon as the morning porridge was done. Or as far away as any of them could get in such a small space.
Archie went to work repairing a few tattered arrows and cleaning other parts of the house, pouring the rest of the lingering tension into his tasks. Leo could appreciate the sentiment; perhaps the miller boy was right to avoid the fight, but Rupert certainly had it coming, and next time, Leo wouldn’t hold back. The cat wasn’t used to letting anyone dismiss or insult him. He also was never one to make commitments lightly—will or no will, Archie was his human now, and Leo took care of his underlings, whoever they were.
He couldn’t have someone else discouraging them.
And it seemed that Rupert was a man who was just begging to be scratched.
Chapter 9
Scaredy-Cat
The next day the rain had cleared up, but the sky still seemed gloomy and overcast. Archie made a half-hearted try with the bow but shot nothing. Not even a thick oak tree the size of a barn door.
He looked back at Leo. “Well, aren’t you going to catch something?”
The cat stared back at him, reproachfully. Like he knew Archie wasn’t really trying. Like he knew Rupert’s words were still repeating inside the boy’s head.
But Archie couldn’t help it. He couldn’t shoot a single thing on his own, and that made this whole scheme worse than even his brother had guessed. The cat could catch quail or rabbits when he was willing, but they could never take down a deer or any larger and more profitable prey that way. They could get the king’s charter and still not be able to use it. The elation Archie had felt in the princess’s presence mere days ago had crumbled, leaving him lower than he was before.
And then, like the thought had summoned her, Archie heard a familiar voice behind him. “Well, that was less than impressive.”
Archie turned to see the princess striding toward him with one of her guards in tow.
“I thought you might be out here. It’s the best spot for rabbits, and I saw the fur on your cloak,” she said with a bit of triumph in her voice. “But that bow. It wasn’t made for you, was it?” Princess Ainsley brushed back her auburn curls and took his bow from his limp fingers, trying it out. Archie’s heart leapt at even the brief brush of her hand, and when he looked back at the armored guard, his voice left him again.
She was the princess.
“Don’t worry about him,” she said, throwing the careless words behind her shoulder. “Sir Callum’s just here to make sure I don’t run into any bandits. And I don’t think you’re a bandit—or if you were, you’re a poor one. You already let me take your bow.” A bow you can’t even shoot, the words seemed to say, but there was a teasing note there.
Archie didn’t believe the princess could say anything that sounded cruel.
The middle-aged knight crossed his arms, looking stern. He likely saw himself as a surrogate uncle to his young charge, royal though she may be. “No, Princess, not a bandit, but maybe a mouse.” He shook his head, almost sounding apologetic when he spoke next. “He’s not like one of your courtiers, Princess. Perhaps you shouldn’t play too roughly with him.”
Princess Ainsley frowned, looking back at Archie with a challenge in her amber eyes. “Is he right? Am I playing too roughly for you, huntsman?”
