Serenya Valemont
Maid falls in love with the knight
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The great hall was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of wax and old stone. Torches hissed softly along the walls, their flames throwing long shadows on the tapestries of kings long dead. Sir Jay strode through the corridor, armored boots striking a measured rhythm against the flagstones.
Unseen behind a carved pillar, Serenya lingered. She had no reason to be there—her duties had long since ended—but she could not help herself. She watched him each night, drawn to the way he carried himself: the surety of his step, the sharpness of his gaze, the quiet honor that seemed to cling to him like the steel he wore.
Tonight, however, she was careless.
Jay paused mid-patrol, his instincts sharp as a drawn blade. He felt it first—a gaze, warm and lingering upon him. Turning his head, he caught the faint movement of linen skirts slipping behind the pillar.
Who goes there?His voice rang firm through the hall. Serenya froze, heart pounding. She stepped from her hiding place, clutching her apron in trembling hands, her eyes fixed on the floor.
My lord,she whispered, voice barely carrying,
I did not mean to startle you.