Candlelight dances to the tinkling of glasses. A feast fills the length of the mahogany dinner table. After months of hardtack and dried meat, it seems too grand to believe. Then again, it is a week from Christmas. Perhaps this could be counted a gift.

Gilbert is all too familiar with wealth. Balconies, wine, and the glitter of jewels. He grew up with it.

Violet did not.

Her eyes are round, blue darting around to take in the lush space, of a fireplace, emerald carpet, and ornate woodwork, obscured by evergreen and the flock of ladies and gentlemen in their finest attire. All friends of the Bougainvillea family, of course. All whisper of their youngest son, and the child known as the weapon.

If he wasn't sure before, now he knows, the invitation for this evening was more than cordiality or social obligation. It is curiosity.

Gilbert wouldn't have brought her here, of all places, but she'd insisted. Not that he should have been surprised. Violet hardly left his side since the day he decided to take her in. He only wanted to protect her from being the target of gossip and source of entertainment for the evening. To shield her from socialites that saw her as a shell of a girl, because that's what they call her.

Though he did his best to tame her appearance for the dinner party, she reminds him of a jewel that is uncut, surrounded by gems already prepared and in their settings. Her polished shoes are still old boots, her clothes still a uniform too large. At least he managed to brush out her hair and into a neat braid.

A train of children snake around full skirts and huddles of guests. For a moment, he wishes Violet did belong here. That she could be like the other children. That she could have a dress that fit her, and bows in her hair. That she could laugh the way they did.

But she does not.

Violet doesn't say a word through the entire evening. For all the conversation she sparks, no one cares to speak to her. All until the Mistress of the house, Lady Silbern, drifts over to them.

"There you are. How are you finding the party?"

"Everything is wonderful," Gil assures her. "You're very kind to host us."

At this, her hazel eyes drift to the girl. Something warm, something no one ever has in their eyes when they look at Violet is there. "How about you? Have you had enough to eat?"

"It was sufficient."

The cool response doesn't seem to bother Lady Silbern at all. In fact, she smiles. "Good." Her hands had been hidden behind her back, but now she reveals what she's been holding. A thin package, wrapped in red paper and decked with a crisp white bow. "This is for you, dear. Call it an early Christmas present if you will."

Something catches in Gil's throat as he watches the exchange. Violet accepts it with thin hands, holding it out oddly, stiffly. She. . . she's never received a Christmas package before, let alone a gift. Her blue eyes drift to the kind face in front of her. She doesn't speak.

He touches her elbow lightly, and leans closer to whisper to her. "Say Thank you."

"Thank you, Lady Silbern." Violet folds her arms around the present and holds it tight against the dull green of her uniform.

Their hostess clasps her hands together, content with this. "You're so very welcome." Her gaze drifts to the Major. "Have a good evening, both of you. And Merry Christmas."

Violet is the first to return this. The words come out if a bit unsure, like she's tasting them for the first time. "Merry Christmas."

That night they stay at the Silbern House, in beds that are soft and dry with feathered pillows and fluffed comforters. The murmur and laughter of guests still enjoying the company and their drinks drift through the walls, and the scent of cigars and pine linger in the air.

The clock, feathered with gold that sits in Gil's room chimes softly to sound off an evening that has reached midnight. It's then that he ventures into the hall and down its dimmed length to check on Violet, to see if she's gotten settled.

"You may enter," she says at his knock.

He finds her huddled at the end of the bed, facing the glow of the fireplace. Their hosts provided her with nightclothes, and the light blue gown pools around her. It's the first time he's seen her in something so feminine. She's almost doll like, trimmed in lace this way. Firelight caresses the softness of her face, and strands of hair that fell from her braid frame her blue eyes, eyes that remain intent on the red package at her feet.

"Are you going to open it?" he asks.

"Open it?"

"Yes." He comes closer. "It's a present. There's something inside."

"I see."

She slides the ribbon away, and her finger catches at the seam of paper. Eyes like blue flushed diamonds widen further at what lays behind the wrapping. A storybook. One filled with illustrations, of castles, and knights, and a dragon. It's about a princess that looks startlingly like Violet, painted in a mauve gown with a golden tiara atop her willowy hair.

Violet's ghostly hand finds a grip on his sleeve. "Major, will you read this to me?"

He allows her to guide him closer, to sink into the soft bedding by her side. The book spreads over their laps, and he turns to the first page. The logs in the fireplace shift, sending a flurry of sparks upward into the chimney. And in the ever growing quiet of the midnight hour, he begins. "Once upon a time. . ."

As the fable goes on, and Violet is silent, listening to every word, captivated by the colors and characters on the page, he decides that he will teach her to read. He will teach her to read and write, and then she can have every book she wants, learn anything she wants. He will see to it.

At last, the knight in shining armor defeats the gnarly green dragon. The princess is rescued. As most fairy tales do, it ends with a happily ever after.

"What does that mean?" Violet asks. "Happily ever after?"

He closes the book, and hands it back to her. "It means they were safe, and happy, and together forever after that."

Silence.

"But you know," he goes on. "This is just a storybook."

"They're not real."

"Right."

Once again, her arms draw around the book. Already, it has become precious to her. After all, she has so little in this world. Her voice drops near a whisper. "Can there be a happily ever after in real life, Major?" While her gaze is steady, void of any tell of emotion, for a moment, in the flicker of the fire, he sees a crack. "Will we ever be safe, and happy, and together for ever?"

It is in this moment he realizes in this tale, in their story, he isn't the knight at all. No. He is the dragon.