I had not realized how late it was. Nearly midnight. All those hours wasted dancing around a floor chatting about things that hardly mattered. Yet the ball remained in full glory, not a sign of fatigue or sleepiness among the smiling guests in the entire room.

Amazing how I noticed them. In all I felt, in all that was happening, how odd it was that what I remembered was the gleam of the ballroom, the orchestra's instruments, the sound of laughter and chatter.

Of course I followed Wyatt. What sort of fairy godmother or guardian angel would I be if I did not?

How far had Christine allowed the hunter to take her? She could indeed be an idiot, but I trusted her to be much more sensible than that. They were not in the hall, nor anywhere surrounding the ballroom's entrance.

Outside. What could be more romantic than the privacy of the outdoors on the night of a ball? Balls were so crowded, and the midnight air all the more intimate. If the hunter were as smooth as he appeared around Grace those would be his exact thoughts.

And Christine? What would she be thinking?

I all but tumbled out the door. It was a beautiful night. Not a full moon, but waxing toward it in a sky heavy with stars. Romantic indeed.

Wyatt ran across the palace grounds. Did he see something I did not? With a prayer in my heart I ran after him. Behind me the sound of the ball still rang with all the power and charm of a bell, unaware of the world outside of it. Christine should be in there. Dancing, laughing, surrounded by more admirers than a single one.

At last I saw two figures, half-hidden in the trees. To the hunter's credit he had not taken her terrible far from the palace and still remained within the limits of a romantic excursion. One lay on the ground, held fast by force of the other. A knife lay in the grass, glinting from moonlight. Another strong arm reached for it.

Christine had fought back. Of course she would. The little ghost of a girl had knocked the knife from his hand, a single great triumph that lasted for a few brief moments. But it had been something. Good job, Christine.

"Stop!" Wyatt's voice broke through the trance of sound coming from the ball. He was soon there, the hunter stepping back from Christine.

"She attacked me, sir!" was his defense. "The little wench attacked me."

Christine stood up. Her beautiful dress was torn and dirty, her eyes wide with fright. A slipper had fallen off. "I did not attack him."

"Get inside," was Wyatt's command.

Christine nodded and ran fast.

"She lies, Your Highness," said the hunter. He was no longer as handsome as he had appeared in the ballroom. "She lured me out here, the vixen. She held the knife."

The size of the knife was impressive, and I scoffed at the very idea of the lie.

"In her gown?"

The hunter had no response. He stared at Wyatt, lips fumbling for something to say. Then he swooped down to the knife.

I screamed.

Both men turned.

The moment was selfish, as was the scream, but it was what I felt. All I could see was myself, in that lone hallway of my home, and the man above me. And the image changed to the present, a starlit night in a northern country, two men, another murderer. And I wished I had not screamed.

The hunter's movements were quick. He wasted no time on drama, realizing that the grounds were quiet save for a woman's scream and that despite the lack of guards in the area a scream would bring them soon enough. He had been noticed, he had been caught in a lie. So the knife met its mark.

No.

That was my prayer.

The knife sank into Wyatt's flesh, just under the ribs. Not the heart? I had to wonder at that. What was more painful? Or perhaps he had missed the heart unintentionally. Because of me? I felt the coolness of the metal, the sting of its cut, the rush of heat toward open night air.

I bit back my next scream as Wyatt sank into the ground with his own share of the pain.

The hunter wiped the blade on the grass. Then he fell. A hand had grabbed his ankle.

So childish, so unfair. Wonderful and brilliant. I ran to Wyatt's side. Blood spilled from his wound, but he was far from dead.

The hunter kicked, but Wyatt was strong and held tight. His other hand reached out toward the knife.

I plucked it from the hand of the hunter and placed it in Wyatt's hand. I was invisible. I was sure of it. I don't know what they saw, Wyatt took the knife without blinking, and the hunter kicked again, hardly registering his weapon was no longer his.

Wyatt was on his knees. He removed his hand from the hunter's ankle and pressed the knife against his throat.

"I came only for the girl," the hunter whispered. "Not you. You don't understand."

By that time guards had appeared.

I found Christine crying inside. Not in the ballroom, nowhere near it. I could not even hear the ball from her point. I'm not even sure how I found her. But there was Christine, weeping outright, hair disheveled, lovely dress a mess.

"I'm so sorry," she said to me. How she sensed my presence through her tears I did not know. "I didn't mean for anything to happen. I'm so sorry!"

I put my arms around her, and immediately my shoulder was soaked.

"I didn't think. I thought… I thought he wanted to talk. He just kept on walking until we were outside. Then he kissed me, so hard it hurt and…"

Oh, dear. "And?"

"Nothing else. I didn't know if he were trying or not, but I was scared. I hit him. Then he pulled out the knife…" The tears intensified. It was amazing she had been able to speak as much as she had.

I stroked her hair. It had ended well. She was safe. "It's all right. Everything's fine."

She nodded, but that did not stop the crying. I had not intended it to.

"He's been caught. Don't worry. The guards have him." I hoped the reassurance was enough. I did not want to mention Wyatt's injury. I still felt it. Just how much of it had I taken? Good thing I had already been murdered once.

"Fawn," came Bernard's voice. "Is it done?"

I gave Christine another tight hug and turned around. It was all of him this time, looking far brighter than I had ever seen him. He looked like he had the first time we had met. So kindly. I smiled. "Yes. I think so. Thank-you for the warning."

"I had to give it. Why wouldn't I give it?"

"You would never let your own child die, would you?"

He laughed. "Never. My business with you is now complete."

"The hunter?" I hoped he would know whom I meant.

"Grace bit off more than she could chew, playing for Queen. I'm only glad nothing happened to her." He looked at Christine. "May I?"

"Of course."

Bernard put his arms around his only daughter. He was invisible, possessed nothing physical that Christine would notice. But I hoped that some part of her would sense something. He held her tightly for a full minute.

And he was gone.