Arrows

22 May, 1358. Magdaline Castle, Islia

Camilla sat in her new bedchamber in the castle's south wing. Despite her protests that she was comfortable in her previous rooms, the king and queen had commanded she was to be moved to be closer to the other royal apartments. So she found herself sitting on her new bed watching as maids and pages prepared the rooms around her, carrying her clothes chests and stoking the fireplace.

Her new bedchamber was larger, with rose coloured silk hangings from the bed canopy. She felt small and lost within it, almost as if she was getting in the way of the servants busily working. The maids all shot her sullen, envious glances.

With a sigh, she climbed down from the bed and moved into her new luxurious presence chamber, which was less crowded. Why did she need a larger presence chamber when she had no guests to receive? She was staring blankly into the distance when a young man peered through the open doors. She recognised him as Sir Francis Lowell.

"Good morning, my lady." He gave her a sunny smile and bowed. He stepped into the room and looked around.

"Good morning Sir Francis. What brings you here?" No one had ever deliberately sought her out in her chambers apart from William, and he always pointed out it was due to royal orders.

"I was delivering some documents to Prince James and wondered what all the commotion was in the corridors. I see you've been relocated to be closer to Their Majesties."

"Yes." The irony was that being moved closer increased her feelings of being an outsider. She was growing accustomed to spending her days in quiet solitude. It was actually at dinner when she felt the most lonely, when she was surrounded by a sea of people but most of them seemed to take pleasure in ignoring her.

"Do you enjoy archery, Your Grace?"

Camilla nodded. "I'm not especially good but I do like it."

The young knight's smile widened. "Come join me for practice then! I'd like the company."

Camilla hesitated but let herself be lead to the archery butts, where several courtiers were already enjoying the spring sunshine.

The two talked about endless topics that morning, as they kept a tally of their scores. Camilla told him about what her mother and brothers had been like, and of a childhood spent in the Moraigth's southern lowlands. Francis spoke about his life as the youngest of five rowdy boys as well as about his betrothed, Lady Anne Farrington, his childhood companion.

Francis was clearly the better archer but he was gracious in victory and tried to pass on tips to help improve the princess's technique. "You must turn your left shoulder a little more towards the bullseye, my lady. I think your current stance is skewing your aim." He placed a hand tentatively on her shoulder and spun her in place ever so slightly.

Camilla felt no threat at all from his touch. Everything about Francis struck her as warm and friendly. She felt herself relax in his company.

He was adjusting her posture again when she heard someone clearing his throat. She turned and faced a pair of green eyes staring at her suspiciously.

- - -

William was walking through the training grounds, only half listening to Richard boast about his latest conquest. He was never quite sure when Richard shared these kinds of stories, given he was prone to exaggeration. Sometimes it sounded like the only women Richard hadn't yet claimed to have bedded at court were either the royal ladies or the old crones that served as midwives. He smirked.

His thoughts were interrupted by laughter. Musical sounding, feminine laughter. He looked in its direction and was rather appalled to see Princess Camilla smiling up at Francis Lowell. And not even her polite smile but a genuine expression of enjoyment. Something in his chest burned.

She never smiled that way in his presence, let alone laughed. She was always wary around him, as if she couldn't trust him to know her true sentiments. She was a mystery to him but was happy enough spending time with one of his best friends?

Richard followed William's gaze and clicked his tongue. "Well, that didn't take long. Why's she alone with Francis? I've heard from different sources that Moraigthian women are known for their loose behaviour. The talk must be true."

Though William didn't like the sight of Camilla spending her time with Francis, his first instinct was to defend her from Richard's words. "I don't think a round of archery in broad daylight, surrounded by dozens of people, qualifies her as loose. Besides, Francis isn't really the kind to get involved in dalliances either. He's mostly faithful to his betrothed."

"Well, that's because Lowell is a ridiculous coward when it comes to women. Tries to treat them as if they're all noble and he's some chivalrous hero. What a waste of time."

As they moved closer, they heard her musical laughter again. She tossed her head back and her dark hair gleamed with auburn highlights in the sun. William recalled vaguely that rust coloured hair was a common trait of the Stephenson royal line. He cleared his throat in annoyance.

Both Francis and Camilla turned in his direction at the sound. Francis grinned with easy familiarity but the princess flinched and blushed as if she'd been caught doing something wicked. The flood of colour to her cheeks made her even lovelier in William's eyes.

She greeted him courteously enough but he could see his presence was making her shrink back behind a polite veneer. He felt like snapping the arrow in her hand and demanding to know why he couldn't make her smile the way Francis did. He then felt like snapping her dainty neck from frustration.

He opened to mouth to speak, knowing the words were going to spill out in an angry torrent but being unable to stop himself.