It would be enough. A close hit. That was all they needed. It had worked. Not even the Goddess could stop it now.
The arrow passed the halfway point. He slowly prepared to let his hold on the arrow slip free and allow momentum to carry it onwards, then stopped.
Something wasn’t right.
It was a slight change. The arrow had been travelling straight. Now it wobbled, growing…
Hot.
Hamish raced towards his lover as he relinquished his already tenuous hold on the arrow. He clapped a hand onto Darshan’s shoulder. The man’s body vibrated beneath his fingers. “Dar—”
A gasp from the other competitors drew his attention back up.
Fire sputtered along the arrow shaft as it continued the downward curve of its arc. Smoke trailed off the fletching, followed fast by flames. Nae…
The arrow hit. Hamish barely saw where before the entire target was consumed in a blaze.
Darshan whirled on him as the target continued to burn. “My glasses,” he demanded, his hand outstretched. “Quickly.”
Hamish fumbled with his belt pouch, withdrawing the wooden case and handing it over. “Was that you?” The question was out before the idiocy of asking caught up with reason. It had to be him. Who else would’ve had the ability?
“Regrettably,” Darshan muttered, sliding the ends of the glasses beneath the scarf.
“Why?” Rage fought for dominance over his disbelief. The emotions bubbled in his gut, threatening to have him vomit hard enough to expel last night’s dinner. “I had it.”
“I know.” His lover lowered the veil and smiled weakly. He looked as queasy as Hamish felt. “I panicked.”
“What’s going on here?” bellowed one of the disqualified competitors; a black-haired woman with a brown scar puckering her left cheek. She levelled a finger at them as if brandishing a sword. “Nae one said anything about a man competing. Who the hell are you?”
Clearing his throat, Darshan casually removed the scarf to bundle it beneath one arm whilst also stepping between Hamish and the competitors. “I am Darshan vris Mhanek.” He paused, perhaps waiting for them to reach some sort of realisation.
Hamish winced. He had been expecting his mother to appear at his side any second since Darshan revealed himself. Perhaps she was far enough away that the man was unrecognisable without his usual glittering attire, but his voice travelled well.
He dared to glance over his shoulder at the temporary stage. His mother stood at the edge, held back by his father’s grasp around her shoulders. Rage blazed across her face like a bonfire, but her mouth moved silently. For now. He was going to be in for a right bollocking once she had regained her voice.
When no one spoke, Darshan continued, “I am the crown prince of Udynea by virtue of birth and blood.” That snippet of information gained a few glances between the women, but nobody chose to speak up. “For those of you who are unaware, I was sent to negotiate trade relations with your queen.” He turned his head, that hazel gaze settling on Hamish. One corner of his mouth lifted. “I stayed to woo her son and win his hand in this contest. Which I believe I have just done.”
“You dinnae ken that,” growled the scarred woman. “Naebody does.” She jerked a thumb at the now-smouldering target. “The bloody thing blew up!”
“Goddess,” another woman moaned, her milk-pale skin somehow growing whiter. “Did you do that?” She indicated the target with a shaky finger. “Have we been competing against a spellster?”
The other competitors shuffled back, as if putting distance between them and Darshan somehow helped. A few mumbles and mutters came from the group. Only a few were loud enough to hear.
“Surely the queen wouldnae let a spellster run amok,” one said. “Nae during the union contest.”
“It’s a trick!” another proclaimed. “They wouldnae let a spellster compete.”
Darshan scoffed. “I assure you, as unorthodox as it may appear, my inclusion is quite legal. And you have all been in my presence at one point or the other during this past week.”
“That’s hardly a fair match,” the scarred woman grumped, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You had magic to help you. Whether you entered legally or nae, you should be disqualified.”
“Magic,” mumbled the ashen-faced woman—the one who had been shaking since the revelation that the target had ignited via magic. Her dark eyes rolled back as she slithered to the ground.
“Did you do that?” wailed one of the women—her face red in the scant patches between the heavy spray of freckles adorning her face. She pointed at the fallen woman.
“I most certainly did no—”
“Of course, he did,” another woman cried out.
As a group, they scuttled back several steps. They muttered and whispered amongst themselves, quiet enough that Hamish caught only the occasional word.
Hamish dared to lift his attention to beyond. The fields were in chaos. The vast majority of the crowd seeking whatever exit could be had. Others milled about, seemingly torn between lingering to watch and fleeing.
Guards slowly filed through the crowd, spreading out in a wide circle around Hamish and the others.
Hunching his shoulders, he glanced towards the stage. His mother hadn’t moved. She argued with his father, who seemed intent on keeping hold of her, but didn’t appear to be ordering the guards.
“The rules do not forbid its use,” Darshan interjected as the women’s renewed grumblings grew louder. “And I thought it more than fair given that you all have full use of your vision whilst I had to do without these.” He tapped on the frame of his glasses, scoffing as the revelation seemed to have no actual effect on the women’s suspicious expressions. “If I had meant harm to any of you, I would have waited until the end.”
“T-they—” spluttered the heavily freckled women. She pointed at the other two competitors who had
