“Are you Fiona?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I gazed at the enchanting woman before me.

“Are you Fiona?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I gazed at the enchanting woman before me. Her deep brown eyes met mine with a spectral intensity, as if she could see into my very soul. The rhythmic clanging of hammers and the crackling of hearths filled the air, a symphony of the medieval town.

“Who is asking?” she replied, her voice as captivating as her beauty.

“I work for Lord Dixonson, the Lord of the castle. I am his new squire,” I explained, trying to steady my racing heart. “I have been sent to ask if you might be free to assist in the repairs of some ironwork in the castle.”

“Perhaps we could meet at the tavern tonight to discuss a fee for such labor. You might bring a list of the work you require, say around five?”

“Of course,” I agreed, my voice betraying my eagerness. As I turned to leave, I couldn’t resist glancing back. Her smile lingered, a promise of the evening to come. I could hardly wait for five o’clock.