The night was cold in the County of Winterborne. Yet Marie Anne cared little for such things.

It was a moment of celebration. From her room she could see the lights, hear the laughter; everything was beautiful, and, from nearby, surely even more so. 

But she could not be seen.

She slipped into the crowd. The scent of roast chicken drifted in the air, children darted between stalls, and the slight young girl disappeared among them, her face hidden beneath a hood. The fair was crowded, the entire county gathered along a single street. Still, she did not stop.

She walked. Searched.

Soon she found them: knights astride their war-horses. Handsome. Majestic. Heroes returning home.

Their commander rode at the front, and behind him followed the others, their shining armour gleaming beneath the lantern light. Marie Anne did not know their names, nor did she pay that detail much attention. Not when she could not see him.

Marie Anne tried to approach, but the throng pressed her in on all sides. People shouted, women wept. She strained to see; he was not there. No, no…

Her heart quickened.

Flaming red hair, a youthful gaze, and upon the shield—a white wolf chased by a running stream. She did not even think.

Marie Anne sought to run toward him, but before she could take a single step she fell. Her limbs would not obey her. Pain seized her chest. The air fled her lungs.

“Run!”

A roar. A scream. The crowd scattered, and her consciousness slowly slipped away.

***

When she awoke, there were no festivities, no knights, no lights. Only memories along with a lifetime of seclusion.

Throughout her youth, Marie Anne saw little beyond books and the shelves of her bedroom. And now, at twenty-three, nothing had changed. Because of her frail health, she could not go out—and even if she could, where would she go?

Since the age of nine—when monsters ravaged the county—she had lived in a small village to the south, with her father and their servants. They had never been a military family; they financed the army, not joined it. And even if they had, her father was too old now to be of any use.

Yet instead of idly languishing in bed, today was an extraordinarily special day. She had eaten or drunk nothing; excitement alone sustained her. For her elder brother, the only one to break the family’s “non-military” tradition, was returning from an expedition.

She had not seen him in years. And when she had, the moment had hardly counted; Marie Anne had overexerted herself and fainted, nearly dying when a monster crashed into the parade. That memory always lingered, though she knew nothing of her rescuer’s identity. She only prayed he lived, so that one day she might thank him.

But today was not a day for sorrowful recollections, was it?

“My lady,” her nanny said, shaking her head gently, “compose yourself. Sir Frederick will remain in the village for an entire week.”

Marie Anne sat before the mirror as two maids fussed with her hair. “I know, but I have not seen him in a year!” She turned, eyes bright. “Just think, Lucy: we might go camping, walk in the garden, have lunch together, even visit the capital. I can scarcely wait!”

“Lady Marie Anne, I understand your excitement, but—”

“It is not merely excitement, Lucy.”

“I know.” A soft sigh. “But my lady must remember that, above all, she must follow the physicians’ instructions. And in your current state, it would take no more than a twig to break you.”

It was not a lie. Or, as Marie Anne preferred to phrase it, it was an inconvenient detail. Yes, it was true that after her outburst of joy she spent a week feverish. And it was equally true that she had worried everyone terribly.

Even so, as far as her spirit permitted, she felt well. Especially well for someone in her condition.

“I appreciate your concern, but I am quite all right.” She smiled, rose, and smoothed her dress. “Now, shall we go to the parlor? Father must be waiting.”

Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but something shifted in her expression—not the absence of concern, for that was always present, but a touch of guilt and pity mingled in. It was nothing new; Marie Anne had seen it countless times.

Before the nanny could finish gathering her thoughts, the sound of applause and horses echoed loudly through the village.

They had arrived: Frederick was finally there.