Ruler of Angels | The Royal Legacies Series

| 𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 |

𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 |𝖆𝖉𝖏| 𝖊𝖝𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖞𝖊𝖙 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖙; 𝖍𝖎𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝖔𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖉

Felimid was barely in his room, deciding to spend his time with Vaeril instead of being by himself. While the king needed space, the mercenary started training once again. He never lost his ability, but he had to be careful to let the wounds fully heal before he even attempted a real fight.

"You know, I still can't find a pattern."

The mercenary turns around swiftly, sword still in hand. Vaeril smiled, "I didn't think you'd be up yet..."

Vaeril moves forward, clutching his coat close to him on impulse, "There's nothing much else for me to do. I do paperwork but the maester said I can't do anything "extraneous"."

"Wait. You've watched me before?"

The king smirks, "I need something to do like I said."

Felimid stops and looks at the man, "How long?"

"I've watched you off and on for the past week."

The mercenary chuckles, and leans against the weapon shelf, "And?"

"And, what?"

"You said something about a pattern..."

"Ah yes," the king walks down onto the field, "I notice you don't have much of a pattern in practice unless you're doing the same move more than once."

Felimid nods, "I would hope you're right, seeing as if I was predictable I wouldn't be a very good mercenary."

Vaeril steps forward and reaches for the sword in his hand, "Hey. Hey. You're not supposed to be doing that."

The king sighs, yet there is a part of him that's almost thankful, "May I use a bow then?"

"You shoot?"

He looks offended, "I am an elf. Do you think I shoot?"

The human laughs and moves to grab him a bow, putting the sword away at the same time. He comes over holding one and a singular arrow.

Taking it with a smile, the king aligns the bow and moves into a simple position. The target at the end seems to shine in the sun. Felimid can only watch in wonder as he lifts his arms up and settles the arrow in the air.

Time seems to stop as he concentrates on the target, "No offense here, but shouldn't you be faster with that thing? Something could be coming at you-"

The arrow lodges itself in the target. A perfect shot.

"Just because you're accurate doesn't mean much of anything if you can't hit a moving target."

The king walks over and grabs another arrow. He wanders back with a smile, tosses a rock into the air, and shoots at it.

Felimid nods, "Alright, I get it."

Vaeril gives him a smirk, "Impressed?"

The mercenary wanders over to him and looks at the target, "I am. I'm not that talented with a bow. I can hit something but I'm not that accurate."

The elf chuckles and places a hand on the other's shoulder, "Well I'm sure you will have the time to practice."

He hums, "Yeah. I think I will."

Felimid offers a hand, which the elf takes and helps him walk. He can do well on his own, but he could always use the help.

They wander into his personal library to meet the others. Morian is the first to come up to the two of them. He drops a pile of papers into Felimid's hands, gives a coy smile, and finally turns back to his work at the table.