Violet Sunset

She watched the violet light of the sunset reflected on the whitewashed walls of the tower. From the forest, his black breeches and sleeveless shirt made him an easy target against the light walls.

She should teach him a lesson and remind him his duty was to protect the tower and not to get himself killed. She pulled her knife and targeted the halo of light reflected through his tousled red hair.

Her ears caught a rustle; her knife changed direction and pinned the hand of the archer to the tree.

A cloud passed over her eyes, and she stopped to take a few deep breaths. She tied the archer and bound his hand to stave off the blood.

Two pairs of eyes turned to the man leaning on the wall. He lost the fight with the wineskin, and his head lulled on his chest.

Her eyes turned in question to the archer.

"He's not for you my lady. He's... a nobody."

She put her knife under his chin.

"Go. Make sure I never see you again."

She strolled toward the wall, falling now under the shadow of the night. He was a commoner; she suspected that much. A self-made man, bearing the proof of his ascent on the cuts that slashed the tattoos on his arms. Or perhaps a runaway serf, judging by the flare of his nostrils of his rather strong nose, a singular flaw on his handsome face.

A man who kept to himself for the two years he spent in their service. A man who she came to respect and admire.

She picked up the wineskin and found it almost full. Cold sweat trickled between her shoulder blades as he raised his liquid green eyes to look at her.

A man who she came to love.