The Damsel and her Knight

22nd ☾ Ember and Smoke

"Anybody?" I tried asking.

"I'm down here," answered a familiar voice.

Swallowing my uneasiness, I was stuck there at the top of the concrete stairs. I did expect to see him here, knowing that this was one of the places where he could and would likely hide. And yet, upon confirming it, I was helplessly smitten with the mere thought of having a chance to see him once more.

I hesitantly went down and closed the trap door above me, finally locating whom I'd been wanting to see. Lancelot was here. He was alive and well. It was selfish—this feeling of satisfaction to my longing for him.

"Let me guess," Lancelot said with a good-humored voice. He was sitting on a wooden chair a few distance away from the source of light, which was the bottom of the well. There were several books scattered around him, and he closed the one he was reading as he was talking to me.

I was just staring at him, hiding the feeling that was growing strong inside me. What had truly brought me here? Was it because I wanted to ask him about what he could remember, in lieu of everything that had happened after Anthony was able to unlock a certain part of Alec's memory? Or Clave's words last night?

It was something else, I'd admitted to myself.

Even if this was clearly an excuse just to see him again, I disregarded the sudden realization away. How much could you fool yourself for you to see it as the truth?

"You're also hiding from the guards that's why you're here?" Lancelot asked, wondering.

"No," I replied, in a calm manner.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I did come here to find you," I disclosed, seeing the slightest pleasure that crossed his face.

"Really?" he asked, intrigued.

I took a seat across him, on the bottom step of the concrete stairs. The underground room was small, and he was only a few steps away. Lancelot shifted to his right, facing me. "Have you eaten yet?"

Shaking my head, I asked, "By chance, do you also have food here?"

"Enough to survive hiding for days." He laughed a bit, throwing a brown parcel to me.

"Thanks," I said. Opening the bag, I saw several loaves of bread inside. I took one, breaking it in two.

"No problem," Lancelot replied. "So what brings you here, Cassandra Montforth?"

I smiled, contritely.

"I've actually found out a few things about you."

"You did?"

He nodded. "Records."

"I forgot." I smirked, comprehending what I'd failed to realize. "Of course, you finally knew my real name."

Lancelot acknowledged this with a light nod, saying, "Apparently, your entire family have a special search warrant. The reason was not stated. It did say that you were the daughter of a duke."

I swallowed the chunk of bread in my mouth. "What else?"

"They didn't elaborate on anything. Funny enough, it was my father himself who had ordered the search."

"I'm probably more dangerous, then," I replied, humorously.

"The records said that your family was located four years ago in the Village of Moss. And I'm sorry about what happened to your parents," Lancelot said in a sincere voice, looking burdened.

"It's not your fault."

"Is that why you ended up with the rebels? After what happened to them?"