Hal wandered the cold stone corridors of the castle, his steps guided by naught but a restless heart, until he found himself before the narrow passage that led to the bedchamber of the princess. With quiet resolve, he ascended the winding stairs, the faint glow of torchlight flickering on the ancient walls. At last, he stood before her sturdy oaken door, and with bated breath, rapped thrice upon its surface.

The door creaked open, and there stood Margaret, the princess’s trusted handmaiden. A woman of some twenty years, wise beyond her time, she alone was privy to the forbidden bond shared between her mistress and the lowly guard. With a knowing smile and a silent nod, she stepped aside to grant him entry. Hal slipped into the chamber, his eyes quickly falling upon the princess herself, seated at her carved looking glass. She was loosing the jeweled pins from her tresses, and her hair fell in gentle waves, glimmering like spun silk in the dim candlelight.

Hal’s lips curled into a soft smile as he closed the door behind him with care, “A fair eve to you, my lady,” he murmured, bowing low in deference as he took measured steps closer to her.