Then his eyes fixed on the bow in my hand. “Fine,” he said. “Let us make a wager.” I blinked. “What?” “You like a competition.” He tugged the bow and arrow from me. “If I hit the center, we marry.” I gaped at him. “You cannot be serious. I will not base my future on something so . . . so . . .” “Unpredictable?” I scowled. “You won’t make it. The wind is too strong. I’ve been shooting for hours and haven’t hit the center.” “Then there is no risk.” He raised my bow.
