The Warrior of Avelyn

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Victor felt like pulling all his hair out.

His father left him the kingdom at its worst. His uncle ignited a flame within his people, making them destroy the very thing they thought they'd regain through the protests; safety. Clara was overworking him and he was exhausted.

He felt as if the world was against him.

Or was it just Clara?

The protests were getting longer by the day, and he was bound to the castle by Clara to keep him safe.

He hated it.

He wanted to do more; to help calm his people and prove to them that Clara was the perfect general and that they were only blinded by hatred and deceit.

He hated that she was right.

He couldn't protect himself enough yet, not against a whole mob of angry people.

And yet here he was, worrying about her.

Letting out another frustrated huff, he grabbed his bow and arrows and headed for the archery field, knowing the knights were too busy dealing with the townspeople.

Thankfully the protests only took hours of each day rather than continue without rest.

Making sure no one was around, he walked into place, facing one of the targets and readied himself to shoot out all his anger and fear.

He shot arrow after arrow, only getting more and more frustrated with each awful shot. His arrows were nowhere near the bullseye and his aim only got sloppier the more he held his breath and tensed.

"Your highness."

Startled, Victor snapped his head to the source of the sound, seeing Alan standing there cautiously, his eyes full of sympathy as he looked at him.

"Alan, hello." He calmed down a little. "There's no need to be formal, you know that."

"I didn't want to cross any boundaries since Clara is not around."

"We're friends even when she's not here, aren't we?"

"That we are, Victor." He smiled and Victor returned the favor. "You seem tense."

"What gave that away?" He joked, chuckling dryly, going for another shot that completely missed his target and winced at how bad he did.

"Here, let me help." Alan spoke calmly, walking closer to him. Victor failed to notice that he too had his bow with him, too engrossed by his own thoughts.

Alan raised his arm and elbow, positioning it correctly as he gazed at the target in front of them. He noticed Victor's knuckles turn white from his tight grip on his bow.

"Relax your grip." Alan advised. "Fix your posture, raise your shoulders...and Victor?"

"Hmm?"

"Breathe." He let out a small chuckle, smiling when the prince finally let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Now, I want you to wait ten seconds before each shot."

"Why?"

"Just trust me."

And trust him he did. 

Reminding himself to breathe, Victor counted to ten in his head before he let the arrow fly, and for the first time that evening, he finally hit the bullseye.

"You really are the greatest archer in the land." Victor chuckled, glancing at his friend.

"I wouldn't say that." Alan laughed lightly, humbled by the compliment.