An eerie hush fell over the boisterous arena when the judge walked in, flanked by several coaches and some scribes, the blue Messenger broaches sitting proudly over their hearts.
Messenger trials drew a lot of attention. It was almost entertainment for some. The place was ridden with the poor, the drunk, and the angry. It was definitely no place for a royal, and a girl to top that.
Or so your lady in waiting, Lia, would groan.
You only pulled your hood lower as you dodged a man's flailing arm. Maybe you should've listened to her warnings.
You glanced to your right, ensuring that Chan, your personal guard, was still there before forcing your gaze back to the center of the arena. Various targets were set up, seemingly getting tougher to score the farther down the twisting lane.
Right, today was for archers. You silently cursed at yourself for not checking the schedule before sauntering into the Messenger House.
A suspenseful beat of the drums signaled the beginning of the trials and in came the first rider. He mounted a grey horse and maneuvered it skillfully throughout the course, aiming and getting almost perfect scores. He seemed to like landing his arrows a hair away from the red center. You couldn't judge him, however, Messengers were fairly impressive in what they did.
To be able to fight or attack while riding a horse and carrying important messages wasn't an easy feat. It was an honorable job, but it was one that required steel resilience and more than adequate skill.
You weren't attending to become a Messenger yourself, though.
Being the King's only heir meant that you were often sent on arduous journeys, and being the hands-on princess you were, you decided to choose the Messenger for this trip yourself.
In all fairness, you were tired of the general's poor choices.
The tenth rider was called into the arena and you watched with decreasing interest as he finished the course with less than sparkly scores. Might be new, you guessed.
Your feet began to ache from standing for so long and you'd debated returning to the castle empty-handed when the thirteenth rider's name was announced and the arena erupted into deafening cheers.
"Lee Minho, rider number thirteen, please enter the arena!"
You raised a brow, mildly intrigued. He must be a favorite.
And you soon learned why. Minho guided his gelding along the course with such grace it felt as though he was communicating with it. His control and posture made those before him seem like amateurs, and perhaps what caught your attention the most was his use of the bow. The first arrow landed on the borders of the red spot in the center, but every arrow coming after that buried itself in the center perfectly.
It was a performance that called for applause.
His trial flew by, and you had to pick you jaw off the ground to clap with the rest of the crowd enthusiastically. A light nudge made you look at Chan, and you found him grinning at you knowingly. You bit your lip to stop the smile growing on your face. Perhaps your visit wasn't in vain after all.
"He's perfect."
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