Mihail watched those who shot after him, noting exactly where each of their arrows landed and sizing up his competition. Quiet and calculating, still not saying a single word. As far as he was concerned, speaking was nothing more than a distraction from what really mattered this day, and distractions were not what he wanted. His first arrow had landed in an upsettingly average position on the target, and he was not going to allow himself to make a similar mistake again. Every shot he took after that first one would be progressively better and better until he took this entire competition by storm. That was what he had promised himself and that was what he would do. Mihail was not going to act an idiot like some of these other men and flirt with their host or wish the other contestants luck he was sure they could not mean. This was a competition, any fortune you offered others was nothing short of a lie.

It felt as though barely any time had passed before he stepped forward to take his second attempt at victory. Mihail would have been nervous had he not already run his judgement of the others. The knowledge that they were of a similar skill kept him comfortable as he had raised his bow to shoot again, running himself through the same process he had only a few moments earlier, ensuring his calmness and his aim before he drew back the string, watching the target again. He inhaled a sharp breath as he did so, almost mimicking the movement of his hand pulling backwards, then let loose the second arrow.

The bolt shot forwards, a slight arch to its trajectory, and landed in an almost identical position to the one he had already shot, stuck in the blue rings once again. It was becoming a theme now, and Mihail did not exactly wish to be seen as someone without more than a basic amount of skill in archery. His third arrow would be his best, men beware.

The princess's reaction was a reassurance. She had not appeared drastically put out by Rafail's momentary failure, only smiled and shrugged in manners which more implied pity to him than anything else. Compassion did not make him feel particularly masculine, but he deemed it better than laughter and, besides, Rafail supposed it was a kindness to show a woman that he was not entirely perfect and did possess a few flaws, however minor they might have been. Had this been a competition in another subject - riding, perhaps - he was sure there would have been nought but success on his behalf.

All now rested on the man's third arrow. He could only hope he would score higher now than on his first shot, thus increasing his chances at victory and simultaneously erasing the humiliation of that second shot. It was a foolish thought, however, for as soon as the idea came to mind, the young man found himself overcome with frustration once more that even Princess Persephone's expression could not soothe. Anger does not precisely do one well when participating in any sporting event and, it was for this reason that, with his mind clouded, when Rafail stepped up to shoot his final arrow, it seemed to fly almost weakly through the air and embedded itself pathetically beside his last within the first of the black rings.

Needless to say, he was not pleased.

He had arrived at the competition with the ever-present delusion that he was the greatest at all things, and yet here he was proving otherwise. Now, Rafail had only established himself as useless, and it was a state that he somehow could not entirely comprehend. His brow furrowed, and he gripped the bow in his hand so hard that his knuckles began to turn pale and he was almost sure the weapon would snap in two. This display had been thoroughly wretched, and, upon his return to the Marikas home later that day, there was no doubt that he would be demanding extensive lessons to improve his archery prowess. Perhaps that would endear the dark-haired royal to him. For now, however, he could only watch in resigned embarrassment and disappointment as the rest of the contestants stepped up to shoot their own final arrows.

As the contestants of the competitions stepped forwards to be judged one third and final time, Persephone felt the tension in the crowd start to increase; spectators leaning forwards an extra inch, their conversations that had dimmed with each arrow loose now petering out to pure silence as everyone watched a waited. There were nearly a dozen contestants in total - mostly from the lower noble Houses of Athenia. So, it took time for everyone to fire their final shots. Internally, those who watched did the maths and kept a mental tally on who it was that took or retained the spot of victor with each launch of their weapons. The tension grew as the line of participants grew shorter, each already aware that they had not succeeded in achieving the silver arrow - the trophy crafted for the event.

When the final entrants lined up for their own shots - Lord Rafail of Marikas included and a Lord of Colchis following his attempts, Persephone watched with detached professionalism. She wanted neither to embarrass those who performed poorly, nor show too much favouritism to those who did well. She was forced to school her expression into one of calm reserve and appropriate formality.

By the time the final lord stepped up to shoot the winner would be deemed the Colchian Thanasi Lord if the son of a Marikas province couldn't take the lead. When his shot fell short by half a ring on the frontrunners, the winner was clear and a ripple of awkwardness moved over the crowd. A Colchian had won an Athenian contest. Not that it was inappropriate for him to have entered - for the event was open to all - but it was always a little embarrassing when the host kingdom didn't succeed over their allies. Though, there was less shame in losing to a Colchian in a weapons contest, given that it was common knowledge for Athenian weaponry to have been forged there and for their people to be skilled in the utilisation of them, the humiliation was slight indeed.

Being informed of the man's full name - a name she knew but had never put a face to as yet - Persephone was suddenly attended by an Antonis servant. In his hands was an embroidered pillow, an arrow made of pure silver laying on its surface.

With the raising of her hands, Persephone spoke clearly and with a tone of warmth as she addressed the crowds that now fell silent.

"Lords and Ladies we have our winner of this year's contest. Lord Mihail of Thanasi, please join me to claim your winnings..." the royal lady offered, with an elegant gesture of her hand towards the arrow that she would bestow upon him as soon as he joined her upon the satin coated staging.