Jeff Draper

         An overcast sky hid the moonlight and a steady rain confused all sounds.  Jacob stood on a marble balcony, left hand resting on his sword hilt.  He surveyed the surroundings.  Beyond the balcony rail and twenty feet below lay the East Garden, full of fruit trees, flowerbeds and winding stone paths.  A good bowshot could cross it, but it would have to be very good.  Jacob let himself think about how fast someone could raise a bow, sight a target, and let loose a volley before the rain made the bowstring too wet.  He shook his head at the thought.  As for the beauty of the garden itself, he saw only hiding places and a low wall with a teeming city beyond it.

         He stood just out of the rain with puddles at his feet and watched a pair of roving guards make their random patrol along the paths, a patrol that Jacob noticed had ‘randomly' paused for long moments under the few gazebos available to them.  He would go down and correct them when they came back through the lower colonnade.  For now, as the muted sounds of the Spring Festival Reception continued behind him, Jacob straightened his uniform jacket and decided he could do no more on the balcony.

         A voice came from his right.  "It is a perfect night for criminals."

         Jacob turned to see Grensen, the King's Sage, walking toward him, one shoulder brushing the tall windows and the other getting sprinkled by rain.  He wore an unadorned cloak over his fine court clothing and pulled it closer to him as he approached.  Dull orange light glowed through the ballroom's curtains and illuminated one side of his face.

         "I'm sorry, sir, what was that again?"

         The Sage stopped at his usual conversational distance, which Jacob always thought was half a step too far away.  "I was saying that I can feel your worries."

         Jacob simply nodded.  "It is cold and wet out here, Grensen.  Surely you'd be more comfortable inside?"

         "Yes, I would be.  Just as you are more comfortable out here."

         Jacob shifted his feet and tried to keep his face neutral.  He understood little about the magic that Sages commanded and had a hard time trusting what he couldn't understand.  There also seemed to be some kind of hidden meaning in everything Grensen said and Jacob always felt tested by it.  "I position myself where I can best protect the Princess."

         The Sage smiled and turned slightly to face the open balcony.  "I would in no way question the manner in which you provide protection for the Royal Family.  With the King and Queen absent you are performing admirably."

         "Thank you, sir."  Jacob felt as if the Sage was waiting for him to say something.  "Are your own protections and wards still... operational?"

         "Yes.  Quite."

         Jacob stood through another uncomfortable pause, wondering if the Sage's sudden brevity meant he took exception to being asked about his art.  "I... merely asked as a means of being thorough."

         "And you are perfectly within your rights to do so.  All matters of security tonight are in your hands."  He gazed out across the garden and into the night rain.

         Jacob turned to face him.  "Grensen, is there something you came out here to tell me?"

         The Sage continued to look away.  "Only that I feel your worries, lad.  And perhaps to comfort you.  I must not be doing a commendable job."

         Jacob's brief anger subsided.  "My thanks to you then, sir.  Just doing my duty."

         "Yes, you are."  Another pause, not nearly as uncomfortable as before.  "May I tell you something, Jacob?"

         "Of course."

         "You know the King specifically asked for you to be the Princess's protector, correct?"

         "I had been told that, yes."

         The Sage took a deep breath.  "There are reasons for that choice.  You have distinguished yourself in the King's officer corps and he sees great things ahead of you.  Do not doubt your abilities.  Do not doubt your instincts."

         Jacob glanced at the windows and lowered his voice.  "My instincts are to remove every last guest and lock the princess in her tower.  And no gifts."

         The sage stared hard, as if looking through the windows and into the ballroom beyond.  "We are all bound by the possible."

         "I'm sorry?"

         Grensen settled his cloak back around his shoulders.  "She has her purpose and you have yours.  I think the King chose the perfect man for the job."

         "Thank you for saying so, sir," said Jacob with a slight bow of his head.  "Some in the court here seem to think otherwise.  They say I'm inexperienced.  They say the Princess and I are too close in age.  That it is... inappropriate."

         Grensen looked up at the sky as the rain lightened its fall and then at Jacob with a grin.  "They are not the King."  He turned and walked back along the edge of the windows into the dark.

         Jacob watched him go.  He felt no more comforted by the Sage's ‘comforting' words than by the dampness around him.  Spending six months around the periphery of court politics told him that friends and favors were important but he had always thought of himself as a watcher and not a participant.  Unsure of what new maneuvers might be afoot, he grasped the handle of the glass doorway and entered the ballroom.

         Stale air with scents of smoke, spice, too much wine and too many people surrounded him as he latched the door and drew the curtain.  Spotting the looks from those around him, he nodded with a courteous smile.  They continued spreading their gossip and posing for each other's view and would soon forget they had seen him.  Jacob, always just part of the background, walked slowly towards the large doors that led to the entrance hall.

         One laugh trilled above the rest of the din and drew his attention.  He saw his charge standing amongst a few others not far away.  Princess Quendelyn.  The Kingdom's Daughter, according to an enraptured city society.  She stood with practiced grace and poise, listening to conversation and adding the proper nod and encouragement when required.  Just from body language alone, Jacob could tell she was the focus of all attention within the group.  Every ear turned towards her when she spoke.  Every eye turned towards her when she moved.  Every heart turned towards her when she smiled.

         Quendelyn was just beginning another story when her eyes flicked his way and he felt like an exposed thief, stealing glances at what he shouldn't see.  He gave her a quick nod and then turned to walk out the doors.  He could feel the heat rising to his face and worried, as always, that she would think he was staring at her.

         Outside the ballroom he asked a few routine questions of the guards beside the exit and then moved on to walk the halls and rooms nearby, intending to finish with the patrolmen down below.  The party would be breaking up soon and Jacob needed to check with the staff and the guard contingent to ensure that people moved as directed.  Despite precautions of all kinds coupled with constant vigilance, it was still his responsibility to see that nothing went wrong.

         And so many things could go wrong.

         Later, when the last of the guests had filtered out of the hall, one of the butlers moved the princess's gifts to more suitable locations.  The largest present, bestowed by one of the many courtiers who spent more time worried about his position in court than anything else, was a jewelry box crafted in a remarkably lightweight wood.  Inlaid silver scrolling shone with brilliance while carved ivory handles were polished to perfection.  Inside, its soft velvet lining was dyed a striking indigo.  It immediately became Quendelyn's favorite.

         The butler carried it in white-gloved hands to an antechamber at the base of the princess's tower.  Pushing a doorway open with his back, he entered the room and looked down as a strange red glow surrounded the box.  Three heartbeats passed while he stood there with the glow intensifying, his tired mind looking for an explanation.

         Then, with a sudden surge of fear, he snapped to the realization that the box had set off the magical wards placed on the palace grounds.  The King's Sage had drilled them about emergency actions but other alarms should have been set off first, before even getting to this room.  He froze with indecision and the box top flipped open of its own accord.  The gift, which had been inspected as empty, now had a swirling dark mist inside it.

         His fourth heartbeat was not completely finished when the box dropped from his dead hands and he toppled backward.

         The rain continued to lessen but still tickled the shutters while the heavy drip of water off the eaves plunked down on the windowsill outside.  A draft whispered through the upper rooms of Quendelyn's tower and she drew a shawl around her shoulders, shaking her hair loose from its captivity.  Her chambermaid stood behind her, withdrawing the last of the pins and clips that framed the latest hairstyle, and hummed contentedly as she worked.  Quendelyn clasped the shawl together and reached out for a sheaf of parchments and her inkbottle.

         "Whomever could you be writing to at this hour, m'lady?" asked her chambermaid.  "Don't you want to get to bed?"

         "Not just yet.  I'm free of that wretched dress and that's all that matters."

         "After such a long evening?  Well then, won't you be afraid of getting your inks all over your best linen shift?

         "Deena, I'll be fine," she said with a comforting smile.  "Please, you can retire for the evening."  Quendelyn flipped open her inkbottle and dipped her quill.  The chambermaid bowed and left the room, shutting the huge oak door on well-oiled hinges.  Nearby shadows wavered along the wall with the guttering of two candles.  The princess turned up the wick on the oil lamp next to her.

         Quendelyn's writing desk faced a large window that normally held a breathtaking view of the city with the river winding up towards the palace and it was the single reason she had taken the tower as her living quarters.  Now it simply reflected her face back at her.  She stared at herself for a while, trying to recapture the dream she'd been awakened from this morning.

         It had been a grand story, worthy of a great minstrel and a warm hearth, but she could not quite remember the flow of it.  "Bother," she muttered to herself, knowing she should have snuck away earlier in the day to write it down.  But duty called and with her parents away it became her responsibility to host the social event for a festival that the Merchant Guild had stubbornly refused to reschedule.  She remembered the barely concealed anger in her father's eyes as he was forced to decide between two important events and left the merchants to their own petty politics.

         She cleared her thoughts of affairs of state and began to write.  She would tell a story about the world as she wished it were; filled with innocent faery magic, where people could fly and had no fears and no enemies.  It was the type of story she had always loved as a child and perhaps one of her little cousins out on the marches would enjoy it as well.  Barely two paragraphs later she felt an odd change in the air about her.  The shutters sucked in and banged against the window, startling her and causing her to scratch an unintended mark on her parchment.  She frowned, wondering what letter she could use to blend in with the mark, when she felt a sudden drop in temperature.

         She looked around the room as breath clouded in front of her.  This was more than just a north wind passing by the palace.

         Jacob, his ceremonial sword and baldric now stored in the armory, finished gathering reports from the royal guards and dismissed the last of them.  The event had completed itself with the same bland smoothness that had guided it all night.  He whispered thanks to whichever gods were listening and began to relax, walking toward the servant wing where he kept a small room.

         A cold draft swirled past and prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.  He stopped, looking up and down the long service hall.  Hooded candles fixed at even intervals along the wall cast a steady shine.  Not a single one of them flickered.

         He looked for an open door next to him or anything else that could explain a wind with no movement.  Nothing.  He hurried to the end of the hall and into the kitchens.  One scullery maid stood over a barrel of water with a dripping platter in her hands.  She wore an odd and fearful expression and jumped when Jacob stepped into the light.

         "Did you feel that?" asked Jacob.

         She nodded and brought a hand to her mouth in fright.  "It was like a ghost moving right through me."

         Jacob scowled and walked past her without another word.  The chimneys still had glowing coals and rising heat.  No ashes were blown about.  He checked an outside door and found it firmly locked.  Standing next to the larder he continued looking around while wondering if he should summon Grensen.  Perhaps, but he didn't know if he was up to any more conversation with the man.

         Then a scream pierced the night.

         Quendelyn stood to gather up another shawl and she heard a shriek of sudden terror that rose and stopped short.  Silence followed and Quendelyn's heart jumped with a sudden ferocity as she realized something had happened to Deena.  The princess launched herself at the door with her loose hair bouncing around her shoulders.

         The scream had come from the floor below her, so filled with fear that it seemed to rip through the very stones around her feet.  She yanked the oak door open but caught it before it slammed into the wall.  Dark steps spiraled down the tower and her mind whipped through several possibilities.

         There was trouble.  It was serious and she could feel it.  Quendelyn wavered at her doorway, unable to force herself across and rush to her handmaiden's aid while a thousand thoughts pushed through her mind.  Warnings from her father about the dangers of the world.  Whispers about her royal lineage and the necessity of a strong presence on the throne.  Responsibilities of state and the tenuous nature of leadership.  All these things and more held her back while considering what could be at the bottom of the stairwell.

         But then she thought of Deena and all her service over the years.  In the span of a few heartbeats she felt her mind firm up and regain the rage that had forced her into action.  Her hand clutched at the door until her fingertips turned white. Pushing concerns for her own safety aside, Quendelyn leaped forward and started bounding down the stairs.

         Jacob sprinted up spiraling stone stairs, taking three at a time and wishing he could run faster.  He passed by the first level of the tower without looking into the open doorway; he knew that the trouble would be further up the stairs.  Candles fluttered as he charged past them.  Cold air coming down from Quendelyn's levels drove him harder and faster, even though in the back of his mind he knew it had not been her scream.

         He came up into an open room just as two guardsmen rushed in from their patrol on the outer wall.  Two floors were stacked above them with the topmost serving as the princess's private rooms.  He was just about to tell the guards to follow him up the next set of stairs when a shift in the light caught his eye.  The temperature dropped and nearly took his breath away as he skidded to a halt and turned.

         Filling the other side of the room was a shadow that swirled and writhed like a pile of angry snakes.  The light from lanterns and candles behind it shimmered and wavered as it moved.  Jacob could not clearly make out its edges or shape but could see light bend in towards it and get dimmer.  Looking through it, the furniture and wall hangings seemed distorted, as if they kept melting and returning back to form.

         "Sweet mother of..." began one of the guards.  The shadow spun and shot across the room.  Everyone dove out of the way, Jacob dodging towards the staircase.  The shadow swirled around one of the guards like a whirlwind of shifting light.  He started to yell but his breath was sucked from him and he fell with a hard "thunk" against the stone floor.  Jacob, on his back at the foot of the stairs, saw the frost crystallize across his body.  It looked like he had been frozen through.

         The shadow curled like a wave towards the other guard who barely had time to draw his sword before meeting the same fate.  The shadow floated back to the center of the room.  It was slower and smaller and seemed to pause in indecision.  Jacob could hardly feel his fingers and his ears burned from the intense cold but he crawled backward up the first few stairs.  A thin film of ice coated the stone steps.

         Another scream came from up above.  This one did belong to Quendelyn but it was a heart-rending wail of sorrow instead of the terrified shriek from before.

         The thing stopped completely.  Tendrils of shadow then started to flick outward and it rose off the floor like a gull hovering on a sea breeze.  It moved towards the stairs.  Jacob reached to grab a handrail and pulled himself up.  The thing stopped again.  He could feel it searching for a way past him, as if it were a predator circling its prey and looking for an opening to attack.  Jacob knew of nothing else to do but stay between it and the staircase. It paused and then with a whirl and a whoosh of air, the thing drained itself out the open door and into the night beyond.

         Jacob turned his shivering body and ran with clumsy steps up to the next level.

         Quendelyn cried over the frozen body of her chambermaid.  Covered in ice crystals like a gentle snowfall, Deena's face was locked into a contortion of terror with glassy eyes staring wide at the ceiling.  The princess knelt at her side, tears running down her face and a helpless ache in her heart.  She rubbed at the fingertips of her right hand that had been stung with instant frostbite when she first reached down to touch the body.

         She heard a scuffle downstairs.  Loud noises and the dull roar of wind came to her and Quendelyn realized she was still in great danger.  Footsteps now, and a shadow moving upwards.  She reeled back and scrambled to her feet just as Jacob came around the spiral stairs, bumping into the wall as he went.

         "Jacob!  What's happening?"  She hurried across the carpet to the top of the steps and could see he was hunched over, shaking uncontrollably.

         "I don't know, milady.  Something is attacking."  He spoke through an uncooperative mouth and slurred some of his words.

         She took him by the arm and made to help him down the steps.  "What do you mean ‘something?'  Do we get out of the tower then?  Go to the armory?"

         He shook his head.  "No, m'lady.  It is a haunt of some kind and it is after you.  We have to go up.  Away from it.  Lock ourselves in your rooms.  Wait for help."

         He took her hand and led her up the other staircase.  She could feel his shivering cold skin.  "Jacob, you're freezing to death."

         No reply.  He just pulled hard on her arm and ran up the steps.  She had never seen him like this.

         They reached Quendelyn's upper room and Jacob slammed the door shut.  He turned and bolted it, then grabbed a small chair and propped it against the handle.  Quendelyn, looking to focus on anything but the fear nagging at her heart, started throwing shawls and blankets over his shoulders.

         Jacob drew the fabrics close around him and turned in a circle, examining the room.  The two windows were closed and shuttered.  He looked up at the peaked ceiling then rushed to pull a rope along the wall that shut the smoke dampers.

         "What is it?  What are you doing?"

         "I've never seen anything like this," Jacob said through chattering teeth.  "I think it needs an opening to flow through.  And it seems to be weakening.  I think it weakens with every death it causes.  It didn't want to kill me after it heard you scream."  He kept pacing around the room, watching the walls and windows.  "I think it's only got the strength for one more murder." 

         Quendelyn stopped and rubbed her arms as the cold settled into her.  One more murder.  There were two of them in the room.  "I don't understand.  What do you mean by ‘it?'"

         "I don't know.  A moving shadow of some kind.  Not a man, not a beast."  He shuddered and pulled his coverings closer.

         "What is it doing here?  How did it get here?"

         "I don't know."

         "But why would it be after me?"

         "I said I don't know, Quen!"  He stopped, the look on his face changing from irritation to embarrassment.

         She turned away, cheeks flushing.  Her breath lightly fogged in front of her and the awkward silence was only broken by some distant shouts, probably from the courtyard below.  For a few moments she didn't know what to say or do but then she realized that Jacob was still standing in the middle of the room, looking at her.

         She turned her head slowly and locked gazes with him.  He stared at her as if about to say something and there was a look in his eye that went beyond the moment.  It was deeper and held the type of meaning of something usually left unsaid.  In the months since he had become her personal protector she had grown accustomed to his steady but quiet presence and drew strength from it.  Quendelyn found herself wishing now that he would say something of comfort, something of assurance.  But he closed his mouth and turned away.

         A pain stabbed at her ears and her hands leapt to the sides of her head.  The shutters bucked against their windows.  She saw Jacob wincing, mumbling something, and motioning for her to get down.  With the wrench of metal and splintering wood, the shutters from one of the windows ripped apart and the glass shattered.  The wreckage pulled away from the windowsill and flew into the darkness.  A wind roared through the room and lifted Jacob off his feet, spinning him towards the open hole.  Quendelyn stumbled, lurched into a heavy piece of furniture, and grabbed on to it.

         The wind struck quick and fierce but then dropped away.  Quendelyn pushed herself up, her hearing returning to normal.  She staggered to the opening and saw Jacob hanging from the scarred stonework.  The river lay some fifty feet below and ripples from the falling wreckage glinted in the lights of the palace. 

         "Get back, m'lady.  Get back!"  Jacob's hands were bleeding as he hung over the river.  She watched him lift his feet and try to get some purchase against the cold stone of the tower but they kept slipping away.

         "No!" she shouted, grabbing his forearms.  "You're so cold you can hardly move.  You won't survive a fall into the river."

         Jacob looked past her towards the roofline and she saw his expression change to horror.  Quendelyn felt him grab one of her wrists.  "You always wanted to fly, m'lady," he said with a gravelly voice.

         Jacob yanked her out of the window and sent her tumbling through the air.  Quendelyn screamed when she felt the shock of sudden weightlessness and couldn't believe what he had just done.  Her shift clung to her body.  The shawl clasped at her throat flapped past her eyes.  Hair wrapped around her face and the confusion terrified her.  But then she righted herself, her body acting naturally and going into a dive, and everything cleared.  For a brief flash of time, for one priceless moment that rang in her mind with crystal clarity, she flew.

         She sliced into the river and arched her back, surprised that the water felt warmer than the room above.  When she broke the surface and shook the droplets from her face, she quickly turned and looked up at her tower.  On the rooftop she could see a shadow boiling like a cloud of dark steam against the starry sky.

         Above her, Jacob hung below the window and succeeded in planting his feet against the wall.  He watched the thing sway and could feel its indecision once again.  "Come on, now," he whispered.  "Take the bait."  With things happening so quickly, he could only hope now for delay.  This foe was Grensen's realm, not his.

         The shadow drew itself up like a panther about to strike.

         Jacob couldn't feel his fingers anymore and his arms burned with pain.  He felt his legs cramping and feared he would fall too soon.  It was then the full realization of his forming idea grew clear in his mind.  He felt detached from the moment, like watching himself from afar, and the answer to the question all soldiers ask popped into his head.  This is the day I'm going to die.

         The shadow curled up and shot itself off the roof, streaking down towards the river.  At the same instant Jacob pushed off from the wall and stretched out his arms.  They met, both thrashing and struggling in the night air.  Halfway to the river Jacob stopped moving.  His body spun out of control and splashed into the water just a few feet from where the princess treaded water.

         Quendelyn watched in disbelief, fighting with her linens and trying to stay afloat.  She swam forward a stroke or two but then stopped.  Chunks of ice started bobbing to the surface like tombstones in an ancient graveyard.

         She could see no trace of the shadow.  All light around her seemed normal and the wind across the water was natural and full of floral scents.  She felt a surge of anger and determination within her.  Jacob was still under the water and would need her help so she dove into the dark and reached out, kicking hard with her legs.  She ignored her fear and kept going deeper, hoping to do the impossible.

         Just when her lungs were about to burst and she thought that no amount of luck would help her, her hand struck something.  She grabbed hold of it and started kicking toward the surface.  She could feel the rough fabric of Jacob's uniform coat and knew that she had his arm.  She struggled and pulled, frantic now with the lack of air, toward the top of the river visible as a wavering ceiling of dull light.

         Breaking through and gasping for breath, she tried to pull Jacob up as well but only succeeded in pulling herself back down.  Memories of swimming instruction came back to her and she wrapped her arm around his neck and kicked upward again.  They both came up and she struggled with his uncooperative body, keeping him buoyed while swimming toward the stone rampart that sloped out of the water toward the base of the tower. 

         He felt so cold against her side and his face looked so deathly pale that she knew her rescue attempt was in vain.  But as her feet found the slope of stone and she dragged him up out of the water, she told herself that a grave of pebbles and silt was not a proper final resting place for one such as he.

         With her strength fading fast and the sopping fabrics confining her movements, she made one last tug and let his body slip from her hands.  Jacob fell flat on his back against the rock.  She was stunned when the wet thud was followed by a retching gasp.

         Jacob coughed up some river water and his whole body spasmed.  He coughed again and she pulled him onto his side, facing her.  In the light from a nearby lantern she saw him open his eyes and look into hers.  His skin was sallow and drawn.  His lips were blue.  He was cold to the touch yet didn't shiver like he had before.

         She stared into his eyes and saw recognition.  His expression did not change, his face seemed carved in ice, but a sparkle glimmered as he looked at her.  There was comfort and assurance.

         Sounds of shouting and running boots swirled around her as she became aware of the rest of the palace.  Within seconds people crowded all around her, Grensen's voice shouted orders, and she felt herself lifted up and carried away.  Her strength had fled and she could do nothing but turn her head back toward the river.

         The last thing she saw before passing out was Jacob's body lying very still at the water's edge.

         Carriages rocked with gentle swaying motions as they crossed uneven ground.  Above stretched towering pine trees, a bright blue sky, and a sun that warmed everyone in the procession.  Many guards on horseback surrounded the two traveling carriages and despite the beautiful day the mood was subdued and quiet.

         Princess Quendelyn rode in the first carriage.  She kept her gaze out the window at the pastures and hamlets of her uncle's lands and said nothing to Grensen and the armed guard sitting across from her.  Ahead she saw a fortress and soon the column turned onto the flagstone road leading up to it. 

         She had been rushed to a local barracks of the city guard the night of the assassination attempt where she spent several cold, dark hours recuperating.  The time had been a blur and she had moved to two different locations around the city before it was decided that she would be safest at her uncle's estate.  The dead butler had been found and Grensen had determined the jewelry box had been magically rigged to release the spectre directly underneath her tower.  The plot took an ominous twist when the gift giving courtier had been found murdered in his rooms by some type of poison.  It had been a time of confusion and worry, with many concerns that were far above her station.

         She looked up at the castle's ramparts.  "So I'll be safe here?"

         "As safe as possible," said Grensen with a nod.

         "Would you have said that two days ago?"

         "Yes, yes, and even more so now.  There are many enemies to the Kingdom.  They have many means at their disposal.  But now we know what is needed to truly protect you."

         She kept gazing out the window.  "Yes we do," she said softly.  And as the carriage pulled to a halt inside the bailey of the Duke's castle, she knew that all things would be right again.

         The door opened, letting in gorgeous rays of sunshine, and a smile beamed from her face as she stepped out.  Jacob waited at the foot of the stepladder and extended his arm to assist her down.  She took it with both hands and felt weightless again as she lighted on the paving stones and looked up at him.  He smiled down at her, looking hearty and hale with the strength she remembered so well and she found that she could not let go of his arm.  "It is good to see you, Jacob.  I was delighted when they finally told me you were all right."

         "Returned to full working order, m'lady."  He placed a hand on hers and felt the warmth of her skin while she searched his eyes.  Grensen and the guard stepped down beside them and Jacob noticed the Sage give a slight nudge to the guard.  They both moved off.  With a glance he saw that the other guards had ridden ahead towards the stables and the carriage driver was attending to his horses.  He and Quendelyn were effectively alone.  He found himself staring silently into her face and wondering what he should say next.

         She blushed a bit, looking down but still smiling.  "I couldn't begin to thank you enough.  Even if I lived a hundred years."

         He thought about telling her how he wanted to be with her for all those hundred years.  He thought about revealing what he now knew he truly felt about her.  Senior Guardsmen had anticipated this, or perhaps he had not hidden it very well, and told him repeatedly over the last few days to request a transfer.  There could be nothing worse, they said, than an emotional attachment to someone you're protecting.  And so Jacob knew that if he was ever going to tell her he loved her, the moment was now.

         She read into his eyes and tilted her head in anticipation.  He started to speak but then stopped as his instincts rose up and caught hold of his heart.  It simply couldn't be.  He let go of her hand and his smile faded.  "Just doing my duty, m'lady.  That's all it was."  With that he could see disappointment cloud her face but to her credit she maintained her composure, a true noble.  No, he would not tell her of his real feelings.

         But he would not request a transfer either.

 

 

Copyright 2006, Jeff Draper

Jeff has been writing fiction since childhood, starting with stories of atomic robots who worked for the Carter Administration.  Plots and characters have gotten better since then and his focus is heroic fantasy in the vein of David Gemmell and Greg Keyes.  Married with three children, Jeff lives in the Seattle area and is one of many who are convinced the Pittsburg Steelers stole the Superbowl.

 

 

Cover: "Alien Tower" 

Copyright 2006, L. S. King

A homeschooling mom, and a gramma, L. S. King taught martial arts for years, and currently coaches gymnastics. She loves Looney Tunes and the color purple, and adores Zorro, which might explain her fascination with swords and capes. When on the planet, she lives with her husband and youngest child in Delaware.

Visit her website Loriendil's Dreamland < loriendil.com > to read her published short stories or her blog.