The throne room buzzed with frustration. Evelyn sat atop her throne, legs crossed, chin resting lazily in her palm as she listened to the same dull proclamations of strength and wealth.

"I command the largest army in the east!" one suitor declared.

"I could offer you riches beyond your wildest dreams," another boasted.

Evelyn sighed, tapping her fingers against the armrest. Boring. Predictable. None of them saw her as anything beyond a prize to be claimed. None of them, except her.

Her eyes flickered across the room, landing on the archer leaning against a stone pillar, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement. The same archer who had been by her side since before the crown. The same one who, despite standing among the guards, had her undivided attention.

Evelyn smirked, rising to her feet. “Since you’re all so capable, let’s test that.” The suitors straightened. “In the royal gardens, a golden ring hangs from the tallest tree. From this balcony, strike it with an arrow, and you’ll have my favor.”

Murmurs filled the hall. The shot was near impossible. But one by one, they tried—and failed. Confidence shattered, frustration rising.

Then, Evelyn turned to her.

The archer stepped forward, rolling her shoulders. As she reached for her bow, Evelyn playfully blew her a kiss. Without hesitation, the archer caught it, pressing it to her chest. The room stilled. The suitors bristled. Evelyn smirked.

She lifted her bow, eyes locked on Evelyn rather than the target. A breath. A heartbeat. Then—release.

A sharp clang. The ring swayed, pierced through its center. Gasps echoed, but Evelyn only had eyes for the archer lowering her bow with a knowing grin.

She descended the steps, slowly taking the archer’s calloused hand. “It seems,” she murmured for all to hear, “my choice has already been made.”