[b]THWACK![/b]

Out in the courtyard, the youngest princess of Apura was in the midst of a dilemma. Inhaling slowly, she withdrew another arrow from the quiver on her back. Today was the day she was to meet her future husband. Today was… not a good day, in her book. She nocked the arrow, exhaled, and released. The arrow soared straight into the center of the target, right next to the other that she had just shot. Despite everything, her aim was still as true as ever.

Jinayah smiled broadly, but that flickered out and faded as her thoughts took over. In her mind, being married meant the end of her freedom. She felt sick just thinking about it. How could she possibly hope to find a prince who understood who she was and why? No, it was impossible. She was going to be stuffed into skirts for the rest of her life, with her beloved bow packed away gathering dust and wood rot.

She had been back and forth about it with her sisters in the past weeks since the announcement had been made by their father. Jinayah had been quite vocally opposed to being married at all – she was not even an adult yet, after all. Why marry now?

But she understood, even if she did hate the idea. Alliances were important. Being friendly to the neighboring kingdoms even more so. So she went along with it, quashing her thoughts of fleeing and living the rest of her days as some strange, short, unknown archer in a different kingdom. If there was one thing Father had done, it was raise four daughters with courage.

“My lady…” 

One of the handmaidens was in the opening to the archery range, politely calling out for her.

Jinayah heaved a heavy sigh, shoulders dropping. “Right. It’s time.”

She took her time collecting arrows and unstringing her bow. After wiping it down and treating it to protect the wood, she headed inside with the older woman to be bathed and dressed. 

In the bath, she let her hands roam over her muscled arms and warm brown skin. She was not soft and pale like Annalise, or pretty and musical like Marabella, or even popular like Emily. She was just the odd one out, the trouser loving sharpshooter that got strange looks from other nobles. No one would understand, especially a pampered prince from another realm.

She was dressed in a soft and brilliant lavender gown, her short black hair brushed to gleaming and decorated with silver accents. At the very least, they had chosen her favorite colors. She knew the handmaidens knew how she was feeling; the servants knew everything. Maybe they were trying to make her feel better.

With a faint sigh, Princess Jinayah, fourth of the line, alighted the castle steps toward the main hall. Perfumed and primped and every bit the princess she felt she was not.