They watched as the game commenced.
A steward stepped forward into the center of the garden, where a long strip of green had been cleared and measured. At the far end, tall wooden targets had been set up broad, round boards painted with five concentric circles, the smallest golden eye in the center worth the most points. Each contestant was expected to shoot three arrows in succession. Hitting anywhere on the target would earn a score, but only a shot to the innermost ring the "bull's-eye"was considered a true mark of mastery.
The steward raised his voice, clear enough for the rows of nobles to hear.
"Each archer shall have three turns. The player with the highest tally of points shall be declared victor of this round. However, if two players tie, they shall go into a sudden-death shootout, one arrow each until a winner is declared."
The crowd hummed in approval. The nobles were not truly there for rules or fairness they wanted spectacle, rivalry, and something to talk about over wine later. Still, the structure lent a sense of ceremony to the game.
LadyEliza leaned forward on her seat, acting a little more informal with Dorian. "And who do you think will win this round?" she asked, her voice light but eager.
Dorian yawned, his tone flat with disinterest. "Well, I don't know. Nothing seems to be going on yet." He stretched as though the event were a lullaby instead of a contest.
Lady Eliza's lips curved in a knowing smile. "Of course it will be master Leopold," she said with utter confidence. "He always wins every round of archery."
"Leopold?" Dorian asked, his brows raising ever so slightly, as though the name had skipped his mind.
"Duke Evernight's son?" Lady Eliza reminded him.
"Oh yes,"
Eliza replied brightly. "He is considered one of the best. He trains almost daily with his father's men. Everyone says his aim is unmatched."
The contest began in earnest. One by one, competitors stepped forward, each taking their three shots. Some hit close, others barely touched the board at all, and every mistake drew murmurs of disappointment or polite laughter from the nobles.
When Leopold's turn came, a hush swept through the garden. He strode forward confidently, bow in hand, his back straight as if the air itself carried his pride.
He nocked his first arrow, drew the string back with smooth precision, and released. The arrow hissed through the air and struck just a hair away from the bull's-eye.
"Perfect shot!" someone exclaimed.
The second arrow followed, landing right beside the first. Applause broke out.
"His grouping is tight," murmured a noble. "That is no accident."
Leopold's lips twitched into a smile as he loosed his third arrow. It planted itself firmly beside the others, the three forming a neat cluster near the very center. The crowd clapped, voices rising with approval.
"As expected," Lady Eliza said, her hands coming together. "See? I told you he would win."
Dorian smirked faintly. "I don't remember arguing about that, and maybe If his opponents were stronger, he wouldn't look so perfect. His shots are steady, yes, but hardly… breathtaking."
Eliza didn't know what to say to that, hence she only who turned her attention back to the Evernights who were smiling proudly at their son.
"Well, whatever one says," another noble added with a smirk, "his father must be pleased. Duke Evernight's heir is proving himself well today."
"Indeed," murmured a courtier, before his eyes flicked slyly toward Dorian. "But still, there are some who i would really love to see perform."
The words shifted the crowd's focus instantly. Lady Eliza straightened with renewed excitement. "Yes! Lord Dorian has been said to outmatch anyone in Riverwood. Why not let him prove it against Master Leopold?" Eliza said out of nowhere.
A ripple of anticipation spread among the nobles. Whispers grew louder, eager and insistent.
"Yes, let them duel!" someone called.
"It would be a contest worth remembering!" another added.
Mr. Evernight's smile faltered as his gaze hardened. "I'm sure Master Dorian would not wish to compete," he said smoothly. "Besides, Leopold has already exerted himself. Surely it is enough."
But Dorian's voice slid into the pause, lazy and unbothered. "Exerted? He stood in one place and pulled a string. He didn't run a marathon. I think he'll survive another round." he remarked smiling at Eliza
Laughter broke out from some of the younger nobles. Eliza's eyes sparkled as Dorian had spoken directly for her.
"I wouldn't mind a match," Leopold declared suddenly, his pride stung. He turned toward Dorian, his smirk a thin mask over his bristling pride. "In fact, I welcome it."
The nobles cheered in approval. The duel was set.
---
Leopold had the first turn. His posture was upright, shoulders squared like a man who had been trained for this since birth. He adjusted the bowstring, testing the pull as if the whole gathering had to see how steady his arms were. The crowd hushed. The only sound was the faint creak of the bow. Then he let the arrow loose.
It struck near the bull's-eye, so close that many thought it had landed right at the center until the wind stirred the feather tail and revealed it had barely kissed the edge.
"A fine shot," murmured one of the nobles, and a small cheer followed, though not thunderous enough to shake the air.
Leopold did not smile yet he was too proud to celebrate a single strike, which wasn't exactly perfy. He took his second arrow, and pulled again. This time his arm was firm, his jaw set in concentration. The string snapped forward and the arrow bit into the board almost beside the first.
"Almost perfect," Lady Yvone whispered, lifting her fan to her lips.
By the third arrow, the atmosphere had grown heavier. All eyes followed Leopold's every movement, as if the nobility were watching a king declare his reign. He loosed the shaft swiftly, and it sank into the target with a thud that echoed across the garden. His third arrow hitting the bull's eye. A perfect shot!. Loud cheers filled the garden as the nobles showered hi with praises which he basked in.
"Leopold never disappoints," said one of the older lords, tapping his cane on the floor as if to seal the remark.
Mrs. Evernight, with a soft sigh, folded her hands together. "Such precision… it reminds me of his father when he was his age."
Then came Dorian's turn.
He rose from his seat slowly, without the urgency of a man rushing to prove himself. His expression remained unreadable, lips curved in something between boredom and amusement. A servant rushed forward to take his coat, but Dorian ignored him entirely, turning instead toward Lady Eliza. With a charming tilt of his head, he offered her the coat.
"Would you mind?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost teasing.
Her cheeks colored faintly. She accepted it, clutching the garment too tightly, and lowered her face slightly, inhaling his scent which she seemed to have been addicted to since the afternoon as now it was close to evening.
"I'm sure he knew this would happen" muttered Nathaniel under his breath, " he's all dressed up for it. Even at an archery field, he manages to turn it into theatre."
Dorian walked to his place, he held the bow as though it weighed nothing, as though it were some plaything he picked up in boredom. He touched the string lightly, testing it with the back of his finger. The nobles leaned forward in their chairs. Some expected greatness, others expected embarrassment, but no one could guess his pace as he handled the bow too carelessly.
He drew the first arrow and released it without ceremony. It flew off, not even close to the board, but flew directly to where Leopold sat, stabbing the chair, almost his hand.He smirked faintly, just enough for Leopold to notice.
A collective murmur swelled in the crowd. Some gasped, others laughed nervously. While Leopold's face twisted with silent anger, but nevertheless, he still relaxed.
The second arrow followed, sharper than the first, yet it still did not strike the center. Dorian's calm remained unbroken, though Nathaniel caught the slight narrowing of his eyes.
"Perhaps the tales about Lord Dorian's skill were only that tales," one of the young men whispered too loudly. A few chuckled in agreement. When in truth, it was just lady Eliza's forward mouthed tales.
Leopold's smirk widened, as if he had already won. He folded his arms, tapping his fingers on his sleeve with impatience.
Dorian's third arrow, however, was different. He raised the bow higher, his eyes narrowing in concentration. For a brief moment, all the laughter and whispers died away, because the way he held the bow was not casual anymore. It was exact. He pulled the string back, the muscles in his arm flexing beneath the violet fabric of his sleeve. The string groaned, the arrowhead glimmered against the sun, and the garden seemed to hold its breath.
He released.
The arrow cut through the air with a hiss, faster, sharper, and straighter than the two before. It flew directly into the center of Leopold's last arrow splitting the shaft clean in two. Both halves trembled and fell apart, leaving Dorian's arrow standing proudly in the bull's-eye.
A stunned silence washed over the crowd, broken only by the faint vibration of the bowstring. Then, as if shaken awake, the nobles erupted.
"Impossible!" one shouted.
"Did you see that?!" cried another, rising to his feet.
Mrs. Evernight raised her hands to her lips in shock, while Duke Evernight himself frowned darkly at the sight. Lady Eliza, holding Dorian's coat still pressed to her chest, nearly forgot to breathe as her eyes shone with awe.
Leopold's smile vanished entirely. His face, once lit with arrogance, now burned with humiliation. He stared at the broken halves of his arrow as though the wood itself had betrayed him.
Dorian, however, merely lowered the bow with a lazy grace. He turned to face Leopold mockingly, his expression holding mischeif as he formed an "oops" with his lips, before a wide grin appeared on his face as it was his turn to bask in the praises which was far greater than that of Leopold's.