From the moment she had laid eyes on him, she had known that their meeting was not chance...it was fate...was meant to be...His winning of the archery competition only seemed to reinforce it...seemed to be telling her, this man is your destiny, your future...

But now that the moment was upon her, she was frightened.

Elizabeth had urged Max onto victory, every part of her being had concentrated on sending positive energy in his direction. She KNEW, without any doubt, that he had even heard her thoughts at one point...his last shot had been THEIR shot, had been fate telling them that everything that followed that one flying arrow was meant to be...and it was terrifying...

And exilirating....

She realized that the Queen was speaking to her. She forced her eyes away from Max, who was now only steps away.

"He is a very handsome young man. Every girl deserves to be kissed by a man like that once in her life." Elizabeth smiled at her guardian warily. Queen Eleanor was eyeing her, a speculative gleam in her expression.

"I don't know what you mean your Grace." Elizabeth twisted her hands in her lap nervously. Eleanor just smiled serenely and lifted a brow.

"Do you not?" Elizabeth swallowed with difficulty, slowly turning back to see the Sheriff leading Max to stand in front of the nobles' gallery. Michael of Huntington and the hooded Martin of York followed behind. Martin of York's head was still bowed. Michael of Huntington was grinning like he knew something the rest of them did not. His smile made Elizabeth nervous.

The crowd was still cheering wildly. The Sheriff raised his hands for quiet and the spectators gradually complied. "Long live Queen Eleanor!" The crowd cheered again. The Sheriff and the three archers sketched bows to the Queen Dowager, who acknowledged their tribute with a wave of her hand.

Elizabeth noticed that Max's eyes never strayed from her face. It did not seem odd, because she could not seem to stop staring at him either...

The Sheriff rose and looked at Elizabeth. "Will the Lady Elizabeth join us please?" The crowd erupted again, on the edges of their seats in delight, awaiting the the romantic moment that was to follow.

Elizabeth wondered briefly if her legs would support her. The Queen was pushing her out of her chair, a wicked twinkle of amusement in her eyes. As Elizabeth carefully descended the wooden stairs, she noticed everything and yet, strangely, nothing....It was all just fleeting images that she would look back on later in her reflections...

Sir Kyle was staring at her sullenly from near the corner of the gallery, annoyance and embarassment plain on his face. Alexander was leaning against the fence, a wide grin of amusement on his handsome face. He was not looking at Elizabeth at all, but rather at Sir Kyle.

Elizabeth had known from the moment "he" had entered the field that Martin of York was Mary and had felt a little bad that for Max to win her dear friend had to lose a competition that was most important to her. Her friend's head was still lowered, but she was beginning to watch the scene unfolding with interest rather than disapointment.

The Sheriff still looked astounded by the whole business, disapointment in his son but impressed despite himself by the qualiber of the archery that had won the day. He stood stiffly beside Max, the golden arrow cradled in his arms, ready for Elizabeth to present it to the champion.

And she noticed the two girls Max had joined earlier, after saving her, the astoundingly beautiful blonde and her smaller, but equally attractive counterpart pressed up against the fence, pride and wonder on the face of the former, bewilderment and dawning concern on the visage of the other. Kyle had called them Max's sisters when she had asked her betrothed about them earlier, but there seemed little doubt that the smaller blonde was something quite different from being Max's sister. Elizabeth wondered briefly what she WAS to him.

But then she was standing in front of Max and all other thoughts fled her mind. He was gazing steadily at her with his soulful dark eyes, shyness evident, but triumph as well.

And possesion.

Elizabeth knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was claiming her today, before all these people, whether they were aware of it or not.

She was his - mind, body, soul.

She accepted this without a shred of uncertainty, for just as she was his, he was hers.

He was hers, betrothal, duty and tradition be damned.

The Sheriff handed Elizabeth the arrow and she approached Max shyly. The crowd was eerily quiet, all not wanting to miss a moment of the event about to take place...

"I..." Elizabeth faltered, licking her lips, and raising her voice. "I would congratulate you good sir on your impressive victory." She extended her hand, as was proper. Max gently enclosed with his own, bringing it to his lips. Her heart stopped.

She stepped forward slightly. "Claim your prize." She whispered to him, so softly it might have been the breeze.

Max did not hesitate. He brought his hands up, cupping her face tenderly, gently pushing back her veil and the tendrils of dark hair that had started to escape her coiffure. His dark eyes were bright, locked on hers, telling her more than a thousand troubadours could tell her in a thousand ballads.

And his lips were on hers. It was a gentle kiss, but one full of promise.

It promised thousands of more kisses exactly like it, and thousands more nothing like it...

It made her heart race, her skin tingle, made her want more - things she had never dreamed of wanting.

It sealed the covenant of fate.