A Captive Heart

Eamon’s gaze was diverted by a woman in a deep purple dress who stood alone, her back resting against one of the large marble pillars encircling the edge of the banqueting hall. Her solitude was what attracted his focus. She did not join in the revelry and drunkenness, but simply stood and watched, much like he himself was doing. A feathered mask hid most of her face, but it couldn’t disguise the fact that she was a beauty. The strong chin and jaw surrounding her alluring lips elicited a sharp intake of breath on Eamon’s part. He leaned back into the shadows and watched this woman. She was breathtaking, a commanding presence in a room full of otherwise unremarkable women. As he watched her conversing with various members of the court, he saw none of the brash and flirtatious behavior displayed by the other women in the ballroom. She neither hung onto the men, nor did she make a spectacle of herself. It was as if she were putting on a show of enjoying festivities, though she would rather be anywhere else. This young woman intrigued him; her demeanor indicated she was full of grace. He watched her make her way through the crowd of people and found himself enjoying every movement she made. The hour was growing late when he realized he had been focusing on this woman far too long. He reminded himself he needed to discern which of these masked ladies was the princess. Just as he started looking more carefully at the other women, his attention was once again drawn to the woman in the feathered mask. She walked over to the king and queen, kissed them each on the cheek, and quietly exited the great hall. The knight’s breathing constricted as his mind reeled, but he regained his composure. As a veteran soldier and loyal servant to his own king, he had to force himself to let go of the pleasant feelings he had while watching this young woman and get back to his assignment. So she is to be the victim. A sly smile crossed his lips. Her royal title befits her. ***** Isabella had enough of the ball. The hour had grown late and virtually all she spoke with swayed on their feet and slurred their words. Courtiers had been drinking all evening, and as the night progressed, so did their degenerate behavior. Foul language and coarse jokes hung in the air while flirtations became open displays of inappropriate touching. The princess never had a fondness for wine and deplored the lifestyle of so many around her that enjoyed entirely too much of it. Rolling her eyes and stifling a yawn, she walked over to her parents, kissing them each on the cheek. “I am off to my quarters for a long-awaited night’s sleep. Good night.” She then made her way through the throng and exited the banqueting hall. She shivered as the night air greeted her. Isabella walked along the portico with its magnificent stone pillars and gazed up at the bright stars through the arches along its hallway. She released a great sigh, glad to be alone once again. Only she was not alone. The dimness of the torchlight combined with the long hood of the cloak he wore made it impossible for the princess to see whom this might be. She could tell by the stride it was a man and wondered what costume lay hidden beneath the dark cloak. Even at a distance, she could see his boots were well worn and quite dirty. She smiled to herself. Needs a little more work on his outfit to be presentable at such a fashionable ball. As she continued walking, the cloaked figure also continued towards her, his footsteps silent even on the hard stone floor. Isabella thought it strange a courtier would not bow in her presence but then remembered she, too, wore a disguise and this man surely did not recognize her. As he strode past her, his cloak parted in such a way that she noticed the sword hanging at his side. It was not a fashionable thin blade carried by a courtier. Rather, it was a broad battle sword. How strange. Isabella turned to look back at the cloaked figure. She never saw it coming.