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 |  Fire and Blood |
| Her Story #7 - The Scarf Prompt ▼ Word Count: 978 Her mother wanted to see Caroline wear that scarf tomorrow, which meant Caroline had to go find it – tonight. Thank goodness she knew all the secret staircases and doorways. Well, actually, Jane and Louise, her ladies, knew all the secrets. Caroline slipped out of the door near her father’s study and glanced around. The cleaning maids had finished their tasks. The keep’s lights were recently recharged with oil. She spied her father’s study. A wide grin crested her lips. Her parents were in their apartments. She opened the door to the study just enough for her to slip inside and went to the French glass doors that opened up to a field which lead to a heavily wooded forest. She glanced at the pocket watch Jane had given her. Midnight. Caroline had an hour to retrieve that scarf, and she was determined not to be late. She placed her hand over the doorknob. “I ask for quiet to hide my intentions,” she whispered. The door effortlessly opened, and she stepped outside. The air was warm – inviting. A full moon overhead lit up the night, giving her just enough light to find the path where she believed the scarf was on. Caroline briskly walked to next door over and found a quiver, a bow, and several arrows. Bless Louise! She thought of everything. Caroline had no intention of going into the forest to retrieve this scarf without some protection, and aside from being the Crown Princess of Carpathia, she was the best archer this side of Ploiesti. She glanced up. Guards were in the watch towers. She sighed. She’d have to stick to the few moon cast shadows that led to tree line. Patience was never her strong suit. Mindful of her plan, Caroline made it to the edge of the forest. The quiver was secured over her shoulder, and she grasped her bow tight. She found the horse trail and began walking toward the fallen tree where she believed her scarf was at, basking in the warmth of the moon. The woods were quiet. There were no boars grunting, no squirrels stirring the tree limbs. There was just the moon leading her along the path. Caroline had always been a risk taker, but she needed to take better care of the scarf. It meant more to her mother than it did her, yet it was the distinguishing item that told the world she was the Crown Princess. She heard a rustle and glanced over. Just a fox. He stopped and paused, then waved at the path. Curious. What did he know? Warmth swirled around her body, electricity charged her senses, and the night invited her deeper into the woods. She wasn’t afraid. After all, only her parents and her ladies knew she was witch. The fox would race ahead and stop, waiting for her. She’d catch up and he would run forward. Oh, no, this fox was crafty one. She was getting closer to the fallen tree. Earlier in the day, Selene, her horse, had jumped over it with ease, but the scarf must have gotten jarred lose from her person and fallen. A moon bean fell down in front of the tree. The fox jumped over it. Electricity in the air sent goose bumps on her arms. “Hello.” Her eyes cut to the tree stump next to the fallen log. On it sat a young man, around her age, seventeen? Eighteen, she would guess, lit up in the moonlight. His brown curly hair flopped over his forehead, but it was his malachite eyes that riveted her to the spot. His brown pants were tucked neatly into his riding boots. He wore a white button-down shirt, and a navy-blue jacket with gold shoulder epaulets. He grinned, revealing a mischievous dimple. He was more than a simple woodsman. She had never seen him before – but he was incredibly handsome. “Hello,” she replied, breathlessly. He held up her scarf. “Missing this?” “Why yes, I am.” Her lips grew into a smile. “How did you come to acquire it?” “I knew it would be here.” “You did?” “I arranged for you to lose it.” There was that dimple again! “Do I need to hitch an arrow?” she asked. He waved his hand and stood up, grinning. “Nothing so drastic, Princess.” “Well, you have me at a disadvantage. Who might you be?” “Stefan Sigmaringen.” Caroline furrowed her brow. His name was familiar. She studied him, his beautiful green eyes that warmed in the moonlight, his angled nose, his masculine cheekbones, his haunting dimple, his hair, curly and full, reminiscent of a lion’s mane. “Stefan,” she whispered. “My intended.” “Ah, you remembered my name.” He slowly walked forward, stopping just outside of her personal space and studied her, drinking her features in, before raising his hand with the scarf. “You’re supposed to arrive tomorrow – with your family.” “I preferred a more intimate first meeting than an awkward one in front of hundreds of people.” “I see.” He held up the scarf, offering it to her. She pursed her lips. “I don’t know what to make of this.” “Touch the scarf.” She grasped the scarf as he instructed and felt warm emotions sliding from the scarf up her arm. The tendrils carried his own apprehension, his own worries, and doubts, and a hint of attraction. “You’re a witch,” she whispered. “As are you.” “But no one else knows that I am,” she replied. “I suspect fair princess, there is more to our arranged marriage than we’ve been told.” He released the scarf and stood before her, his hands on his hips and that incredible smile melting her defenses. One hand clutched the scarf, and one hand clutched her bow. “Am I dreaming?” He reached out hesitantly, and cupped her cheek. “No. Tomorrow we’ll have our formal meeting, but tonight, is for us.”  Dropnote ▼   |
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