“Don’t.”
The boy stopped.
Something in the old man’s face eliminated every joke.
“Whose is it?”
The Old Archer remained silent.
The Prince looked down at the leather wrapping.
Then back up.
“My father’s.”
Still nothing.
The Prince’s heart accelerated.
“You said it was lost.”
“I said many things.”
“Where did you get it?”
The old man’s jaw tightened.
“Go back to the palace.”
“No.”
“That was not a suggestion.”
“I’m the Prince.”
“Here you are a boy holding a crooked stance.”
The Prince stepped around him.
The Old Archer grabbed his shoulder.
The boy twisted free.
“You lied to me.”
“I protected you.”
“From a bow?”
“From what comes with it.”
The Prince froze.
“What comes with it?”
The Old Archer looked toward the palace walls.
Then toward the sea.
Finally he picked up the leather bundle.
He placed it on a stone bench.
Slowly, he unwrapped it.
The Prince had seen his father’s weapons preserved in paintings.
This bow was longer and darker.
Its curved limbs were carved from layered horn and black wood. Golden thread spiraled around the grip. Near the center, almost hidden beneath wear, was a tiny symbol of a rising sun over three waves.
The Prince reached toward it.
The Old Archer caught his wrist.
“Listen first.”
The boy looked at him.
“This bow did not return with the fleet.”
The Prince frowned.
“Then how—”
“It appeared inside the palace four years ago.”
The Prince went still.
“Where?”
“Behind the old armory.”
“Who brought it?”
“We never learned.”
The Old Archer released his wrist.
“There was salt on the leather.”
The Prince stared at the bow.
“Father came back.”
“Maybe.”
“He came back.”
“Maybe.”
The Prince lifted his eyes.
“You knew for four years?”
“I suspected.”
“Did Mother know?”
“No.”
The answer surprised him.
“Why not?”
“Because whoever brought this through the palace gates did not want the Queen to know.”
The boy looked again at the weapon.
“Then why give it to you?”
“They did not. I found it.”
The Old Archer turned the bow over.
Scratched into the inner grip were four tiny marks.
Three waves.
A sun.
A broken crown.
And an arrow.
The Prince’s pulse quickened.
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying again.”
“I genuinely don’t.”
The Prince touched the broken crown.
The Old Archer watched him.
“Your father used symbols when writing battlefield orders. If intercepted, they looked like decoration.”
“You knew his code.”
“Some of it.”
“And this?”
“No.”
The Prince lifted the bow.
It was heavier than his training weapon.
“Can I use it?”