Droln wasn't too interested in a dance, even if it were a victory banquet. And even if he were one of the heroes. Besides, the weather was nice and the night was lovely. He had just stepped out of the dance hall, when, in the courtyard, he saw her. She sat on a marble bench all alone. No one else was in sight.
He had seen her before, at the first dance months ago. He had even danced with her. But the way she looked now, with the moonbeams playing in her hair, and brushing her skin like an anjelle's kiss, he hardly recognized her. The mere sight of her made his heart stop. He stood for a moment or two, struggling to breathe, partially hidden behind the leaves of a flowering tree whose blossoms had faded. She was tall for her age, but not as tall as he was, he remembered. She had soft eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Her hair was straight and brown, like maple, but it had a soft wave to it. He could have watched her forever. But then a new thought entered his mind. He desperately wanted to speak with her, but even more, he wanted to hear her voice. He stepped out slowly, speaking softly.
“Will you speak, Lady?” He did not know her name. That mattered not. She needed no name, for what name is there for taelia, for beauty? She half-smiled, amused, her doe eyes bright in the starlight. “But, what, Sir, shall I say?”
He neared her, wading through the misty emotions that clouded his senses.
“That is a mystery, Lady. For what shall you say that would not beg me of reply, therefore hearing not your voice, but mine?” He was close enough now to touch her, standing at one end of the bench while she sat on another.
She laughed sweetly. “Then I know not what to say.”
She had spoken, and he had heard her, but it was not enough. He tried to think of something quickly. The music from the dance caught his attention.
“Will you sing, then?” He inquired, sitting on his end of the bench.
She shook her head. “The music plays, Sir, though not for me.” That was certainly an easy one, if not a challenge.
“It plays for all who dance,” he said. “Will you join their number?”
“For you, Sir, I think I shall.” She proceeded to rise, and started swaying gently to the rhythm of the music. She began to dance once the beat was in her body. She twirled gracefully, her steps precise and her motions smooth. She had her eyes closed as she moved about the courtyard, circling the fountain of sculpted dancers like herself. Her lilac skirt billowed and swirled, catching the heaven's light in its silk folds and silver thread embroidered in flowing patterns.
Droln was mesmerized. He absorbed himself in her every move; with every step her slippered feet took, he was put even more under a spell. He, apart from his own consciousness, stood. When she rounded the bend in the path to meet him, she stopped suddenly, as if an invisible barrier held her. He could not find his voice, and even if he could have, he had no words. She too was caught in the silence as they stood, facing one another. Neither made a move, as each was in a slight trance.
He regained enough of his composure to realize that they stood immobile. He offered her his hand, and she slowly took it, placing her other on his shoulder. The coolness of his armor made her draw a quick breath. He led her as they started to move. Slowly at first, they danced the waltz that invited them to its rhythm. He spun her out with one hand, and she returned to him. He still held one hand, but put his other around her slender waist. They sped up, still keeping to the beat, increasing only in tempo.
As he led her around the courtyard, all he could see was her grace, her charm, her beauty. He half-heartedly tried to pull himself out of this feeling, but he could not have, even if he so desired. The music, all too soon, ended, so they stopped as abruptly as they had begun.
“Your name, Lady?”
“Lilia.” Of course. The name of a flower for such a blossom.
“And yours?”
“I am Captain Droln, Lady Lilia.” He spoke her name tenderly. She shook her head.
“Not Lady. Just Lilia.” Now he shook his head in disbelief.
“You must be a Lady. Were you not at the royal coronation ball eight moons ago? And here you are yet again.”
“I was there only for my sister,” she explained, blushing, slightly embarrassed for his mistake. “And now again for her, as well as my brother.”
“And who is this sister of yours?”
“Lady Spenfalla.”
“The Lady Dansal?” Droln was surprised. He knew not of the relation between the deliverer and this lady. They did not look much alike, but one could see the resemblance.
“Yes,” she sighed. “And Yan is my brother.”
“You have great kin.” She nodded,
“Yes, I know.” Her tone did not express much pride for them. Droln understood.
“You hear much of them. Perhaps too much?” She said and did nothing, watching the streams of starlit water pour from the fountain. He worried that he had offended her. He searched his mind for something to say, but nothing revealed itself, until something caught his eye.
There was, growing on a decorative pillar, a vine that bore many lovely blossoms. Each had five petals, like a star, and were a violet that matched Lilia's gown. He gently plucked one, and held it out to her. He had no idea how strangely surreal a flower in an armored hand looked.
His attention was drawn to her when she took the soft green stem tenderly, with wonder shining in her doe eyes.
Tomorrow they would go to war. He prayed such things would not be spoiled by the cruelties of battle.
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