I held onto the bow

We set up for the contest.

Killian, ever the silent observer, stepped forward, a gleam of amusement in his eyes as he handed me a bow. It was a beautiful piece, crafted from silver wood and adorned with delicate carvings that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. It was his own.

"For you, my dear," he said, his voice laced with a playful undertone. "May the best archer win."

My father owned a racecourse before everything else happened. I was raised on horseback. He loved his horses, so he taught me to ride every day. Archery was something I didn't need to pay to learn. A hundred yards from their abbey was designated for it. I grew up doing archery and riding horses; that's why I was so confident in performing stunt double scenes for medical films.

I was not to lose to these boys.

I glanced at Killian, a silent question in my eyes. He met my gaze with a reassuring nod, his confidence in me unwavering despite the odds stacked against us.

"Ready to show these boys how it's done?" he whi