TWENTY-FOUR

“BARON,” said the knight as Fabian approached the steps. “I was just singing to the lady. I arrived to find her looking so alone and melancholic I just had to try to make her smile.”

She looked towards him and could not know what to say. In all intents and purposes, that was what he tried to do. But she did not know she appeared sad when he came.

“I was told you were here to give me a message, Bertrand?” he asked in a formal voice, “and not to sing to my guest.”

“Yes. But your guest is so lovely and I can’t help but coax a little smile out of her lips.”

“Bertrand,” the Baron almost growled.

“You shouldn’t leave her unattended, then. Where were you, Fabian? The lady did need company.”

Adalene gasped. “Oh no, I am not a Lady, Sir,” she corrected, alarmed that the Baron might think she let the man think that, or introduced herself to him as that. “I am just Adalene Duvre without a title. Though... I am wed, which means you can also call me Adalene Didier.”

The knight took a step back has