21

Damian walked in with Lady Bea on his arm. They smiled at their usual crowd of friends as they made way into the Winsham Ladies' private sitting room. There was a good mix of women in the party so he was pleased that the gathering wasn't the slightest bit on the scandalous side; he really did not want to be lectured again.

"Not him again."

It was Cecilia who stole the words right out of her mouth. Delilah stood up to greet the Prince, slightly surprised he had appeared. His friends had each arrived at their designated timings, holding bouquets; they had looked concerned and suitably saddened but the Prince was conspicuously missing so Delilah assumed he was staying away.

"I am not to blame for this delay," Lady Beatrix announced to the room congenially, "Damian was up to something and he wouldn't tell me what."

Prince Damian handed Delilah a bouquet wrapped in silk. When she looked at it closely there were no flowers at all. What appeared to be a bouquet from the outside turned out to be a package full of candy floss.

"How did you know?" Delilah asked in surprise.

"You mentioned you were craving it, remember? I thought they would make you happy."

"Thank you! I am extremely pleased by your choice of gift," Delilah's eyes were fixed on the pink floss.

"The pleasure is all mine," Damian insisted, glad his gift was received well. The social pleasantries separated them and the conversation was lulling when Prudence's sister suddenly announced a need to have a book reading.

"The prince is a lovely reader. No one can match the clarity of his speech and his delightful expression," Charity's tone was carefully flattering without going over the top and her sister Prudence seethed a little. Isabella, Mary and Prudence were sitting in one corner, keeping Cecilia company. They were all eyeing Delilah very closely who had not even noticed their scrutiny during her conversation with Agapito Rossi.

"Indeed, the ladies were always enthralled whenever the Prince performed," Agapito smirked trying not to mock his friend about the affect he had on Ladies in the Capital. Beatrix pulled out a book from the small book shelf on the wall with little concern for the host’s privacy and grimaced when she read the print on the cover.

"Ugh, 'The magical world of herbal medicine'; I think I might drop dead just listening to the title," She announced with much exaggeration. She went through many other books but deemed them unsuitable until she found a poetry book Delilah had packed from home. The Lady flippantly opened the book and handed a random page to the Prince.

"It looks to be a sad piece," Damian uttered, looking the sonnet warily.

"No matter, you can pull it off," Lady Beatrix smirked confidently before taking her place next to him.

"I love your eyes, and they seem to pity me, knowing I'm tormented by your disdain," Damian looked up for effect. His eyes sought hers unconsciously and he swallowed. It wasn't as if Delilah was batting her eyes at him slyly or with ulterior motive; she was watching him like a dutiful audience must with nothing behind her eyes other than politeness but he felt she could look through him. Damian looked down back at the sonnets in his hand and continued with appropriate feeling.

"In black, they look like mourners at a funeral, gazing at my pain with pretty compassion. And to tell the truth, the morning sun doesn't look as good in the gray eastern sky, nor does the evening star look half as good in the western twilight, as those two mourning eyes look in your face," Damian looked back at her again. Her eyes weren't as dark as the poet's beloved but their lightness did not dispel the idea that the eyes mourned him. Those eyes felt like they could reach every inch of his pain but then Damian paused in recollection that he had no pain in his heart. Instead of feeling lighter his heart felt heavier.

"Oh, then I hope it would be just as beautiful for your heart to pity me, too, since mourning suits you so well, and for you to pity me with every other part of you to match. If you take pity on me, I'll swear beauty itself is black, and everyone who doesn't have your dark complexion is ugly," Damian finished gracefully amongst applause. He glanced up at the girl he was thinking about but she was leaning in towards her cousin, listening to whatever she had to say.

"He was looking at you," Cecilia uttered in Delilah's ear, urgently trying to gauge her cousin's immediate reaction.

"He wasn't. He was performing for all of us," Delilah shook her head at the silly thought.

"Yes and no. He kept gazing at you like he couldn't resist it. He was even staring at you at the fair; you cannot possibly deny it," Cecilia hissed hoping her cousin would see what was right in front of her eyes. For someone with a lot of clarity in thought Delilah could be very obtuse.

Damian watched her from afar and another thought hit his head. The poet kept mentioning mourning eyes. There was more to it than the colour to her eyes; she looked like she was in mourning. Not today, or yesterday but always. Even in the gayest of colours she looked withdrawn, alone, with an air of sadness wafting all over her. That was why he had paused when he had seen her laugh. Those mourning eyes had changed and Damian much preferred her happier eyes than the one before him. At least that was one opinion he did not share with the poet; mourning did not suit the Lady he was thinking about.

"Your eyes are so grave," Damian spoke up over his tea after a few moments when people were once again occupied with each other almost as if what he were saying an appropriate subject for conversation. Bea stepped on his foot unmercifully. Cecilia who had joined her cousin as soon as Mr. Rossi was distracted looked like she smelled something terrible.

"Pardon me, but what?" Delilah blinked.

"I was only contemplating the meaning behind mourning eyes. Your eyes suited that piece," Damian tried to sound as if what he had blurted was some well thought out theory. Internally he wanted to smash his head on a wall.

"I believe the poet is contemplating the darkness of his lover's eyes. Delilah's eyes are a much lighter grey," Cecilia interjected.

"I understand and yet your eyes still manage to resonate most to the way of the poem," Ignoring Cecilia he addressed Delilah again. Lady Bea rolled her eyes and walked away without ceremony.

"The poet is merely interpreting the look in the Lady's eyes as a reflection of his own state of mind. His love for her is unrequited and he perceives her mourning along with him which I doubt is the case," Delilah brought forth her own analysis and Cecilia too exhaled loudly and moved away from the twosome.

"Leaving a lot of broken hearts in your wake, eh?" Damian chuckled, feeling pleased he had gotten rid of the company.

"Not as many as you, Your Highness," Delilah answered civilly who also noticed her cousin's absence.

"I have told you I abhor that word," Damian insisted before taking another sip.

"I know and yet I have nothing else I could call you that would be worthy of your station," Delilah folded her arms decisively.

"You could continue to call me your Prince or my Prince in that lovely little voice of yours," Damian insisted.

Delilah cheeks tinted red but she was most determined to stay as cool as a cucumber. She was now very aware of the Prince's nature and it was ridiculous to feel horrified whenever he made inappropriate comments.

"Your Highness," She said calmly.

"Yes, Lady Delilah, with those lovely, mournful eyes," Damian smirked at her.

"I don't have mournful eyes and I am not lovely either."

"Who said anything about you being lovely? I was only talking about your eyes." Her eyebrows furrowed and he sensed she was hurt even though nothing in her expression showed it.

"Oh, sorry, but you're lovelier than the diamonds of the finest water. Your hair is like silk and your skin is like milk. No one could compete with your beauty," He flattered her with clichés galore.

"Stringing a joke too long is not the mark of a true jester," She gave him a small smile. It was obvious she did not believe his words which were not untrue.

"And here I was trying to be a true statesman. What do I know?"

He suddenly took her gloved hand and kissed it before she could pull it back.

"Thank you very much, for being there when I needed someone the most," He thanked her sincerely.

"I was only doing my duty," Delilah bowed her head, "And I insist I must thank you for being there for me as well, Your Highness."

He rolled his eyes while she forced herself to look less amused.

________________________________________________

Delilah shivered as the chilly breeze hit her face. She was glad the temperature was decreasing again but due to the lack of preparation for it she was feeling the brunt of cold. Her bandage chaffed uncomfortably against her skin but without it there was a risk of infection which Delilah did not want to take. She cradled in her uninjured arm some aloe leaves Mr. Jeeves had given to her so she could apply the gel that was inside the leaves to sooth the persistent burn. The man had been quite distraught to hear of her injury and had listed numerous things she could use to help herself.

She slouched back to the castle and nodded to two gardeners cutting grass before entering the courtyard that would lead her back to the main corridors of the guest rooms. She was moving swiftly to escape the cold and in her haste bumped into something solid.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you," She said absentmindedly as her leaves scattered to the ground.

"Oh no, the fault is all mine," A familiar voice prompted her to look up.

"Mr. Rossi, what are you doing up so early in the morning?" Delilah asked curiously before bending down to pick up her precious cargo.

"I have been challenged to a duel, my lady," Agapito Rossi answered enigmatically as he joined her on the ground to help her.

"Surely you jest," Delilah stilled and looked at her companion probingly. His solemn face broke out into a grin and he nodded bashfully.

"Hardly a duel; I am to spar with your Crown Prince. He thinks I have been too generous with fruit cakes and haven't had enough practice with my sword," The man groused, "He only wants to see me fall flat on my face."

"I hardly think that would be the outcome; I have seen you on the dance floor many a times and you are excellent on your feet," Delilah said with a smile.

"Ah, you confidence is refreshing but while I am good on my feet, the Prince is good with a sword." The man scooped up the remainder of the leaves and placed them in a pouch he had pulled out from his pocket.

"Here, take my pouch. It would be far easily to carry your baggage," He offered generously. Delilah wanted to refuse but realized it would be foolish to say no.

"You are very kind, Sir," She complimented him sincerely.

"And that you are, Rossi," A hand appeared from behind Mr. Rossi's shoulder and gripped him carelessly. "What is the lovely Lady Delilah doing here so early? Come here to referee our match?"

"I hardly think that would be proper," Delilah answered with a wrinkle of the nose eyeing the crown Prince slouch over his friend.

"That is actually not a bad idea, Lady Delilah," Agapito Rossi insisted, eyebrows rising as he considered the idea.

"It might make our match more interesting if we had a Lady to fight for," Damian urged with a half smile. He challenged Delilah with twinkling eyes and she resigned herself to the torture.

"I gather I shan't be let off until I watch at least one round of this Tomfoolery," She cocked her head with defeat clutching onto the pouch.

"Nope," Damian smirked. He took a step forward to take her arm but his friend was quick to reach her side.

"Allow me, Lady Delilah," Rossi spoke in his lyrically, accented voice and offered his arm to the Lady with a bow. She took it with a nod, berating herself internally for letting herself be this easily cajoled.

"You are cold," The man murmured as she was led into a door on the left of the courtyard. The unnoticed door creaked open to expose a training area built in the walled confines of the castle. He took off his coat, leaving himself in only his waistcoat and shirt in a blink of the eye and before she could protest hung it over her shoulders. She swallowed and looked up and her eyes met the Prince's who seemed to have lost all his earlier gregariousness. He raised an eyebrow at her but she wasn't sure what he meant by this gesture.

"Really, should I be here?" Delilah eyed the almost empty sparring courtyard. There were a few soldiers going about their daily fitness routine but they seemed to be in a hurry to finish. Delilah imagined the presence of Royalty and a Lady was not conducive to their concentration.

"If it makes you feel better our Lady friends come here often. Beatrix's personal favourite is that slender katana hanging in the left corner. Believe me these men are used to seeing our friends," Agapito tried to reassure her with a pat on her cold hand.

"If you insist," Delilah answered softly wishing she weren't so polite.

The Lady imagined her cousin's worry after waking up and not finding her in their room; she knew there would be a committee waiting to interrogate her. Delilah shook her head as she looked at the dusty benches and hoped her maid was adept at cleaning white muslin but before she could decide to sit down Prince Damian took off his coat and laid it out on the bench with a careless move of the hand.

"My, my Damian, I have never seen you this chivalrous," Agapito clapped his hands twice with sarcasm.

"This is too much, Your Highness. My clothes are not worth a fraction of what your attire must be," Delilah tried to object but was silenced by a look that clearly meant he wasn't in the mood to hear her argue. She wished she had the strength or even the charm to dissuade the man but she was so achingly weak to have any kind of power over anyone.

"Don't worry, I have a hundreds of coats like this," He responded stiffly, not catching her eye for once.

"He is not exaggerating," Agapito stifled a laugh which barely caught the other man's attention; he was too busy pulling the Lady in their presence forward so she could claim her jacket covered throne. Delilah half heartedly tried to pull away but two firm hands on her shoulder pushed her downwards.

"You needn't look so troubled, Lady Delilah; I shall set my prisoner free as soon as I obtain the promise of a reward from them," Damian picked his weapon of choice from the scabbards placed on the wall with a calculating gaze.

"A reward? I doubt I have anything of value to you," Delilah spoke with curiosity lacing her voice.

"You underestimate yourself," Damian gave her a half hooded look and poked his friend, who was taking his time deciding his sword, lightly on his back with his weapon. Mr. Rossi glared at him and went back to looking confused by the array of blades in front of him, "A dance."

"A dance! That is hardly worth your time," Delilah scoffed.

"It's funny you should say that 'Miss Chaperon, who doesn't give the dancing floor her time of day'; I should like to see you on the dance floor with me; that would be worth my time," He said decisively as if had already been decided.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Agapito interjected.

"You will never win," Damian sighed as if this were a long worn out argument being reignited.

"Today is different; I believe I have luck on my side," Agapito dangled his sword by his side and walked towards the softer, sparring ground looking more confident than he probably felt.

"You wish," Damian winked at him but his friend's expression continued to be unaffected and the man bowed towards the Prince signaling that he was ready. Both men eyed each other for a few seconds before they began circling the sparring area. Delilah leaned in, fascinated by the change of air; There was enough tension in the air that she had to sit up to view the fight.

The Prince circled his friend with his torso strongly placed forward and his feet spread apart. His eyes were fixed firmly on his friend's sword and his caution proved useful when Mr. Rossi without even a second's warning thrust the sword at him. The Prince blocked it sliding himself to the left and swiped his sword forward keeping his elbows bent. Mr. Rossi took a step backward but managed to block the Prince's attack and the next one after it. In desperation he tried to jab at his friend's unprotected legs but that only left him without adequate protection for his middle. As soon the Prince defended himself he went straight for his opponent's torso. He attacked again and again and again overpowering Agapito with echoing clangs and he was going to tire him enough to make his friend lose the sword when the view behind his opponent cleared in his vision.

The Lady that he was fighting for, regardless of what she wished to believe, was watching the match with bated breath; her hands were clutching onto each other in her lap and her eyes were wide with apprehension. Their eyes locked and the next sensation he felt was of the sword flying out of his hand. He tore himself away from the Lady and looked down at his empty hands in disbelief.

"I believe I just won this match," Agapito announced though he didn't seem to believe it himself.

Damian swore incomprehensibly before kicking the ground in disgust. Agapito patted him on the shoulder hoping his friend would remember the company they kept and the man did seem to wake up. He gave the Lady a searing look before walking off the sparring mat. An attendant handed the Prince a towel, which he snatched from the man without acknowledgement and wiped the sweat off his face.

Mr. Rossi turned to the Lady with a jubilant smiled. He walked towards her and raised her hand which he kissed impulsively. She started because she wore no gloves and he realized his mistake almost immediately.

"Forgive me but I could not resist. You have been my Lady luck this morning."

"Your winning has absolutely nothing to do with me," Delilah uttered ignoring the urge o pull her hand away. From the corner of her eye she noticed the Prince glaring at them.

"My winning had everything to do with you. I would never have won if he hadn't been so distracted by you," Agapito leaned in close and hissed in her ear.

She was all at once confused by this statement and tucked her hand back into her other absentmindedly. Delilah looked at the Prince again and after a moment of eye contact the man turned away for good.