the-warrior-king:

iamthefirechild:

“If I have offended, please accept my apology.” Too late, she tried to check her steps and failed, nearly crashing into him. 

He instinctively held out his arms for her, taking her arms carefully in his as he looked at her, concern in his blue eyes and with a questioning gaze.

“Are you well?” he asked her.

Summer felt her face heat and had to duck her head away from those eyes. “I just … tripped over my own feet.” This was not good. This was very not good. “I’m fine,” she lied, even though she could feel her ankle starting to throb a bit. She made herself pull away from him, and gave a gamine smile. “I think I owe you yet another apology now, for my clumsiness.”

the-warrior-king:

iamthefirechild:

The way he turned away, Summer wondered if she’d said something wrong. Well, maybe reminding a king of lack of freedom was a bit … cruel, actually. Brushing that extra sense against him, she nodded to herself. Best to apologise before damage was done.

She laid the bow down with respect, then whirled quickly and all but ran across the yard after Henry. “Highness?”

He turned to her as she called out to him and he blinked, “Yes lady?”

“If I have offended, please accept my apology.” Too late, she tried to check her steps and failed, nearly crashing into him. 

the-warrior-king:

iamthefirechild:

“That’s when I come here,” Summer went on. She looked down at the arrows in her hands. “I can at least pretend to freedom here.” Most of them she could shoot again immediately. Good, because this conversation was starting to depress her. Striding back, kicking at her skirts as she went, she nearly snatched up the bow in her haste to turn her mind to different things.

With a quick gesture, she offered the bundle of arrows to Henry. “Will you shoot first?”

He stood back and smiled at her, “No, you may shoot, good day Lady.”

Henry stood back, and turned away from her, the manner in which she suggested there to be little freedom even for his own guests gave him cause to think and wonder on what he could do, or what could be done for it not to be so.

But he knew, better than all, that such things were not so easily rebelled against.

The way he turned away, Summer wondered if she’d said something wrong. Well, maybe reminding a king of lack of freedom was a bit … cruel, actually. Brushing that extra sense against him, she nodded to herself. Best to apologise before damage was done.

She laid the bow down with respect, then whirled quickly and all but ran across the yard after Henry. “Highness?”

the-warrior-king:

iamthefirechild:

“Oh, well, I’ve leave to do as I like for so long as we remain here. Please don’t call me Lady Rainault, that’s my mother.” She fiddled with a lock of bright hair, that had come loose while she shot, while she talked. “I probably would not be allowed to dress up in armour and compete in the melee, though,” Summer laughed. “Father does have his limits. I thank you very much for your kind offer.”

Walking down to the targets, she began to tug the arrows loose, trying to preserve the heads if nothing else for later reuse. “I sometimes feel this castle is stifling, very closed in,” she said over her shoulder.

He looked at her and watched as she walked to the targets, and Henry followed her as he too collected the arrows, he turned to her at her last comment and a faint smile crossed his lips.

He had been known in his younger days to be a vagabond and be seen across the inns in London, but those times were now gone and changed and the only freedom he had was when he rode Pointers in the mornings.

“That’s when I come here,” Summer went on. She looked down at the arrows in her hands. “I can at least pretend to freedom here.” Most of them she could shoot again immediately. Good, because this conversation was starting to depress her. Striding back, kicking at her skirts as she went, she nearly snatched up the bow in her haste to turn her mind to different things.

With a quick gesture, she offered the bundle of arrows to Henry. “Will you shoot first?”

the-warrior-king:

iamthefirechild:

Summer raised the longbow before her face and laid fingertips to the string. Finding a bow with the right draw was imperative to the ability to aim, and she had been through almost all of the bows in the training yard. Slowly, patiently, she drew the bowstring back to her ear, releasing it with a sharp twang.

“Perfect,” she murmured. Turning to the side, she picked up an arrow and fit it to the string. At least she was being allowed to continue with her archery, despite coming to London. For a little while there, she had been afraid her father was going to insist on her being a perfect court lady, in some mad attempt to catch the King’s eye.

The arrow smacked into the bullseye, and she picked up another arrow. That was really more her sister’s role, or had been, anyway. Now Winter was married and far away on the fringes of Wales, holding off the Glendower and his crazy rebels. And Summer was here, bored silly at a court with no queen and therefore no need for ladies in waiting.

She could feel someone’s eyes on her back, and elected to ignore them, firing off three more arrows in rapid succession.

Henry walked towards the woman, watching her progression of her archery, and he could not help but smile at how well she managed. He stood and watched for a while before he turned his head to her.

He had sworn he had known all the ladies in the court and yet he did not know her.

“Where had you learned how to fire my lady?” he asked her.

“The armsmaster on my father’s estate taught me. He said, blades were too much for a lady’s arms, but archery could be used on the hunt and I should be able to defend myself at need.” Summer kept firing, pacing herself and ringing the centre of the target with bristling shafts.

Drawing the last arrow from the quiver, she flashed a smile to the king, laid the arrow to the string, and sent it downrange to the farthest target. “Now the guard no longer lets me participate in their tournaments for that I outshoot them,” she confessed laughingly.

Laying the bow aside, she turned to the King and curtsied quickly. “Summer Rainault, at your service, highness.”

Summer raised the longbow before her face and laid fingertips to the string. Finding a bow with the right draw was imperative to the ability to aim, and she had been through almost all of the bows in the training yard. Slowly, patiently, she drew the bowstring back to her ear, releasing it with a sharp twang.

“Perfect,” she murmured. Turning to the side, she picked up an arrow and fit it to the string. At least she was being allowed to continue with her archery, despite coming to London. For a little while there, she had been afraid her father was going to insist on her being a perfect court lady, in some mad attempt to catch the King’s eye.

The arrow smacked into the bullseye, and she picked up another arrow. That was really more her sister’s role, or had been, anyway. Now Winter was married and far away on the fringes of Wales, holding off the Glendower and his crazy rebels. And Summer was here, bored silly at a court with no queen and therefore no need for ladies in waiting.

She could feel someone’s eyes on her back, and elected to ignore them, firing off three more arrows in rapid succession.