Chapter Text
[ In another life,
maybe it was you and me.
Maybe there,
we loved each other right
and we were happy together.
Maybe in that life,
we did it all the things we said we would. ]
Just An Escape, Ricky Ardian
“There I was again tonight
Forcing laughter, faking smiles
Same old tired, lonely place
Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy
Vanished when I saw your face
All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you
Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?"”
Enchanted, Taylor Swift
Anyone who knew her—very few people nowadays—could say with absolute certainty that Eleanor Hope—Ellie, to the few friends she still had alive—hated parties like this.
Yet there was something. A different feeling than usual. Something that tickled her gut, as if it were calling her. Right there. In that place full of opulence and paintings. It was strange. Unusual.
And yet, she could hardly stand anything. The corset squeezed her chest. She could barely breathe. The stench of drunken nobles made her stomach turn. Not to mention their greedy laughter and teeth stained with food they didn’t deserve at all.
While those titled pigs, with too much gold in their pockets and their meticulously false courts, reveled in balls like this—organized by the wicked King Henry—the poor people of the town outside the walls, the villages in the countryside, and the scattered homes in even colder, distant regions were starving.
She was the only one left from the Organization, where she had grown up and had her first family. Everything had been burned by the greedy, hungry King. One spy inside had been enough, and he had destroyed the institution—and many of its members—the only part of the people who could resist his realm.
Now, only she remained, along with her second family: Kali and Jim, her sister and father. And the mission she had to complete that very night.
Everything will go smoothly, Eleanor thought, opening her palm to catch some confetti falling from the balconies overlooking the ballroom. I’ve got myself. She closed her hand, making the confetti disappear with her innate magic.
A gift. Hidden. Secret from everyone.
To be honest, it was precisely her powers—since birth—that had made her the best thief. And the training she had received within the Organization.
“It’s time. Let the dances begin,” she whispered, walking slowly toward the center of the room. She had spotted the perfect heir to seduce, get drunk, and manipulate at her leisure.
The long green-and-ivory dress—the only gift from her mother—fit her torso perfectly, while the skirt barely brushed the ankles of the men watching her with subtle interest.
Eleanor moved forward, chin high.
Her target was near: standing aside by the fireplace with a glass of wine already in hand, hunched sadly forward. While everyone else was having fun, he was isolated, wallowing in his own misery.
But suddenly, the minstrels stopped playing, and the dancing ceased.
Eleanor looked around, immediately finding a way to hide. As long as the darkest corner of the room and the entire court were occupied with dancing or eating—and not applauding—she could go unnoticed. She knew this. She had done it many times before.
A movement of fabric caught her attention: a couple—he in his professional ranger armor and she with curly red hair—was slipping out through one of the service doors. He had just removed her mask before kissing her and disappearing into the darkness beyond the threshold.
Eleanor picked up the mask before it hit the floor. She looked around. No one had noticed her. Good. Now, back to the mission—steal the king’s maps. Straight to the objective, no distractions.
She hid behind the nearest column and, holding the mask in her hands, changed its shape and colors to match her outfit. While she tied it without messing up her hair, her gaze fell on some men laughing and whispering across the room.
And there it was. Again.
That strange feeling: her heart shrinking, her breath fading, sounds sharpening, and her powers vibrating throughout her body. As if warning her of something.
But—what?
She shook her head and refocused on her target, still unmoved, still sad, alone with his thoughts. She stepped out boldly, without distraction, without moral objections. Only duty. Only necessity.
She reached out. “Sir.” She was about to touch him lightly with her powers, when…
He, perhaps already drunk or simply too surprised, turned toward her with too little grace for a courtier, arms and cloak spread in greeting.
Eleanor instinctively tried to avoid a hand to her face. Reflexes of a thief with powers. But in doing so, she collided with a couple resuming their dance. Eleanor stepped on the hem of another dress and lost her balance. “Shit.”
She couldn’t use her powers in front of everyone to save herself. So, she closed her eyes and let fate take its course, hoping to disappear immediately after the fall.
But that never happened.
Eleanor’s breath froze. Her body suspended in midair. How is this possible?, she thought. Then she realized…
Two strong arms were holding her gently from behind, keeping her from falling in front of the entire ballroom and those stinking nobles.
Except for this person—this man, this…
“I’ve never heard a woman curse before.”
Eleanor shifted her gaze from her former target, who had already forgotten her, to the warm, gentle voice above her head.
And her heart skipped a beat.
Oh.
He was a paladin.
Beautiful, a voice inside her added, feeding the strange, wild sensation she felt while he supported her.
“Shit,” she whispered, making him laugh. “Excuse me.”
He had adorable black curls falling in front of dark, deep, yet kind eyes, and a smile… so radiant. Truly—
He helped her stand with gentle respect, and as she faced him, she noticed four things: first, he had to be her age—eighteen; second, he was the same man she had seen laughing from afar; third, he was not from this court, judging by the heart emblem on his armor; and fourth… he smelled of the deepest forest and oldest books and was… incredibly attractive.
Especially in that silver armor that highlighted his fine features, the freckles on his cheeks, and his black hair.
“Are you alright?” He seemed calm.
Eleanor had to mentally slap herself to return to the present. “Y-yes,” she said. Now I’m stammering too?! , she tried to compose herself. “Thank you,” she offered a small bow.
He responded politely.
The mission. Back to the mission. She looked around for a previously identified target. She was about to approach when a hand grasped her wrist for a moment too long for any proper courtesy. She turned, disoriented, confused by the sudden shivers and wild powers.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” the paladin said, hand on his heart, genuinely apologetic. “Could you forgive me? I… acted on impulse. Please, forgive me.”
He stepped forward, easily avoiding a twirling lady nearby. He had never looked away from her. “It’s just… I feel like… I’ve seen you before, prior to tonight.” He tilted his head slightly to look at her better.
He was really tall.
Eleanor struggled to breathe normally. What was happening to her? Never before—on any mission—ever. What was with this paladin? What did he have to do with her… and with magic? Why did her powers go wild when they touched?
“Ever since I noticed you from afar… I can’t shake this feeling. Do you feel it too? I feel like a fool… I’m sorry.” He shook his head nervously before gently taking her hand and pressing his lips to its back. “Would you grant me at least one dance to apologize, Lady…?”
“Hope.” Eleanor’s eyes were glued, enchanted for the first time by a magic outside her own. “Eleanor Hope.”
He held her gaze, even as he finally kissed her hand.
And only then did Eleanor realize the great mistake she had made. She had just given—of her own free will—the most precious and secret part of herself to a paladin: her real name.
“And I would have the honor of dancing with…?”
“Sir Michael Wheeler.” He made a gallant bow, offering his hand to lead her into one of the evening’s dances. “I’m glad you accepted, Lady Eleanor,” he whispered, beginning to move.
***
Their hands separated, letting Michael’s lungs catch the breath they had lost.
Since he had gained the honor of dancing with that mysterious lady—with the melodious name and a face so familiar, yet so distant and blurred—his body had begun to respond differently. More alive, more electric. A storm of uncontrolled shivers ran through him.
Like hypnotized, Michael led the dance with a strange, natural calm. Not that he didn’t know the court dances, but—these events, these celebrations always made him uneasy. Pure, simple socializing unsettled him more than battles, cold-weather training, or bloody wars ever had.
He was born to serve his country on every battlefield, like his grandfather, his father, and now him. In his veins flowed the blood of the most valiant, brave, and devoted paladins in history. The Wheeler lineage was one of the oldest in the region.
Yet—balls made him nervous. Because he had to fulfill a role different from that of a simple, true paladin: follow all the royal rules expected of the first knight of his realm. He had a reputation that caught everyone’s attention. For that reason, he had always preferred to stay on the sidelines with friends he knew from various court balls: a bard, a ranger and his lady, a cleric, and some minstrels who traveled so much they always brought new stories.
Until—he saw her. That wonderful lady in a green dress and matching ivory mask emerging from the shadows, shining like an angel risen from the depths.
Michael had never felt like this—drawn by something, by someone—so much that he suddenly, of his own will, wanted a dance, among too many strangers, amidst too much useless noise. She was a miraculous flower in the storm.
And now, after circling around another man to swap places and follow the steps of the dance, he stepped forward to meet his partner, who joined him.
Their hands met again, exchanging a fleeting glance as they followed the required movements, moving toward the fireplace.
The strange, calm feeling reignited inside him, crackling between their palms. He couldn’t resist and, bending the rules, looked at her. “We’ve met… at another ball? Or… in church? Or… when I arrived in this kingdom?”
Eleanor waited before turning. “I don’t think so, Sir.”
Their grip broke briefly again to recover after a single spin in a proper partner dance. Following the steps, their bodies moved in perfect unison. One raised arm brushing the other, fingers barely apart.
“Are you from this realm?”
They spun, switching raised arms, mirroring each other.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
He chuckled, quickly regaining composure. He leaned slightly toward her. “Unfortunately?”
She averted her gaze, shyly. Michael couldn’t tell if from embarrassment or their too-close proximity. “I’d rather answer something else, if you don’t mind.”
“Are you accompanied? I was rude. I assumed you were alone, but a lady as beautiful as you cannot be alone.” A faint, wistful smile colored his mouth. “I hope I’m not causing any trouble…”
“None at all.” She turned around him, then placed her hand back in his and linked the other hands for the first time.
When all their fingers intertwined, they both held their breath. Their chests expanded and their gazes magnetically locked, drawn by a force invisible yet stronger than anything.
The silent sensation flowing between them exploded through their bodies, suddenly too warm and close.
Blushing, Eleanor broke the silence first. “I’m alone. Don’t trouble anyone.”
“And to you?” he whispered, leaning forward. He inhaled the intoxicating scent of violets emanating from her.
They began to move slowly, elegantly, and majestically among the other courtiers. Their eyes enchanted each other, leaving the rest of the world as a blurred, irrelevant backdrop of colors and lights. Their warm, synchronized breaths matched each step, and their mouths—suddenly—became keepers of a new, enticing, dangerous secret.
“No disturbance, Sir.”
“Good.”
For the first time, she smiled, and Michael thought he had never seen anything more beautiful or adorable. He imprinted that smile in his memory, wanting to see it again—especially if the creator of that spell was him.
“Can you tell me a secret? Nothing improper, absolutely. A hidden talent…”
Eleanor stiffened slightly but did not look away. Instead, she intensified her gaze.
“Do you curse often?”
She turned to avoid laughing in his face. “And do you often dance still in your metal shirt and part of your armor? Where is your silk and fur tunic?”
“Touché.”
They separated briefly to spin and turn among the other dancers, then reunited their hands perfectly.
Again facing her, a palm away from her face, Michael couldn’t resist: “You are beautiful, Lady Eleanor. The most beautiful lady in the room.”
Their bodies moved effortlessly, in perfect, delicate harmony. As if they had known each other forever. As if they recognized each other.
“Thank you, Sir Wheeler. But you are too kind. There are many other—”
“No, trust me.” He stopped her urgently. “Forgive me. Not because I don’t value your opinion. On the contrary. I could listen to you speak for hours without tiring or getting bored. But I couldn’t let your delicate lips say such a lie.”
Eleanor parted her lips, enchanted as he smiled and guided her through the final steps of the dance. “But you don’t even know me. You don’t know what you’re saying…”
“Lady Eleanor, I think—”
The applause of the courtiers quickly returned them to the present, turning with surprise and shyness. Moments before, they had shared a desperate, silent request with each other in their eyes.
Their bodies were the only ones still too close among the dancers, chests brushing in prolonged breaths. They had been holding their breath too long.
“I find myself in disagreement with what you say,” he pronounced, still panting. He shook his head before offering his hand. “Would you grant me a walk in the courtyard? I’ll prove you wrong.”
“I’d love to—” She immediately bit her lip, as if regretting the words.
He gestured for her to follow him behind the darkest column. From there, the balconies of the upper floor were visible. “Would you come with me there?”
“The upper floors? But they are reserved for nobles closest to the court.”
Michael proudly touched his clothes. “You are lucky.”
She seemed very hesitant. She carefully scanned the balconies, then returned her softened gaze to him. Something held her back.
“I’ll protect you. You won’t be in danger up there, if you fear—”
“I’m not afraid.” Eleanor sighed, nervously touching a stray hair from her updo. “I can’t.” She softened her gaze before looking at him with disarming intensity. “Please, don’t ask me why. I just… can’t.”
Michael didn’t understand, but nodded. He tentatively lifted an arm to brush her cheek. “I just wanted to…” He lowered his voice as his eyes fell on the fingers touching the edge of her mask, “see you. The real you.” Then his gaze instinctively moved to her parted lips. “Without the mask.”
Eleanor, too, fell into the longing for Michael’s soft lips, letting their bodies naturally draw close. “Me too,” she murmured like a secret. “I want to see you without your armor.”
Michael immediately looked up.
So did she, blushing furiously. “I didn’t mean—Never! Damn! I’m sorry! I—Damn, damn, damn!”
The paladin burst into heartfelt laughter, soon followed by her.
“I’m sorry, Sir. Wheeler.”
“Call me Sir Michael. That will do.”
“Very well, Sir Michael. I’ll remember.”
“May I—?” Michael gestured to the silk ribbon of her mask. When he brushed her flushed cheek and strands of hair—their skin already trembling unnaturally—she stopped him.
“Please, I’d prefer—”
Michael stopped at once. But something trembled in her eyes, prompting him to ask instinctively, “Are you sure?”
“No, sir.”
“Then… may I—?”
“I would like you to. But I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“I will not harm you. You can trust me.”
“That—could ruin everything for you. Me. See me.”
“More than wars, bloodshed, and all the horrors my eyes have unfortunately witnessed? You would be a soothing balm for them.”
Something trembled within her. Her gaze grew deeper, more inviting. There was a kind of silent connection between them; a message that prompted Michael to slowly begin to lift her mask, revealing only half of her gaze.
“You’re truly beauti–”
When…
A burst of confetti filled the ballroom as more wine was announced, just as King Henry made his entrance.
The two abandoned the deep connection of their eyes and turned toward the golden doors, where the King was announced with trumpets. They peered to see the lavish, carnival-like spectacle of music and dancing.
Michael was amazed by all the movement. A cold shiver ran down his spine, completely nullifying the warmth and familiarity he had felt until that moment. He immediately turned to Eleanor, but she had vanished into the darkness.
Gone.
Just as she had appeared, she had dissolved.
***
It’s time. With her body still in turmoil, shaken by too many emotions and the heat that had flustered her chest until now, Eleanor exited the ballroom through a servant’s door—after putting the attendants to sleep with a snap of her fingers.
Before closing the door behind her, she sent a sly smile toward the King, who entered, greeting his subjects arrogantly. “No more temptation,” she whispered.
But her eyes deceived her. In the last sliver of the door left open, her gaze searched for him.
And—fortunately or unfortunately—they found him immediately.
The paladin was still there, in the same spot she had left him. Only, instead of the beautiful smile he had shown her, his expression was curved in a sad grimace.
“I’m sorry, paladin. You weren’t part of the plan. You weren’t expected.”
She closed the door completely and ascended to the upper floors.