#Chapter 18: Who’s the Marksman?

Behind Miles rode a group of adoring men and women. They laugh at Garnar and Thea now, and at Miles’s wonderful takedown of the pair. “You can’t even handle a horse,” one man snickers. “God knows how he treats his wife.” “Poor woman deserves better,” says a younger woman. “True men know how to lead with a gentle touch.” “Those who deal a heavy hand are most deserving of one in return,” says another woman, with her nose turned up. “Isn’t this man a CEO?” someone laughs. “Let’s see if his company holds out until the end of the year.” Garnar’s face scrunches up, as red as I’ve ever seen him. “Mind your own business, Representative Hamilton,” he snaps. Miles simply shrugs. I lift my hand to hide my smirk. Garnar deserves worse ridicule than this, but I’m ever pleased to see him taken down a peg or two. “Then don’t make such a scene,” Miles tells him. Then, with a click of his tongue and slight pull on the reins in his hand, he guides his horse away, back to where most of