It was a bleak morning.

Gray storm clouds had filled the sky, hiding the sun behind a curtain.

Damaro awoke from a nightmare, his brow beaded with sweat, his muscular bare chest heaving. His nightmare was so real, it felt like it had almost happened. But there was no way that Eniarron could have really escaped.

He shoved his blankets off, and swung his legs over the side of his bed. His long black sleeping pants barely swept the floor as he strode to his closet. He dressed himself hastily, his impatience taking its toll. Formal black pants now covered his legs, his torso hidden by a silk shirt of a royal purple that matched his eyes.

He stormed out of his room, and walked along the many hallways alone. He raced down the stairs, and into the main corridor of the dungeons. His footsteps echoed through the empty cells, taking him nearer and nearer to the end. "Eniarron?" he hissed as he rapped on the door impatiently. As no answer reached his ears, he dared to peek inside. His jaw dropped as his eyes scanned the empty cell. She was gone.

He sprinted back past the other empty cells and up the stairs again. He walked as fast as his feet would carry him to his father's study, where the doors were shut. He burst in rudely, his chest heaving as he looked from his mother to his father. "She's gone. Escaped."

Sadabio merely stared, his shockingly blue eyes filled with hate ad anger. Adelaide gasped, quickly covering her mouth with one hand. "Did you check the stables?" Sadabio asked.

"No, but I'd be willing to bet that her stallion is missing, along with her horse's saddle."

Sadabio nodded, and sighed softly. "She's out of our range now, Damaro. She was bested by you once, she won't fall to your blade again."

Damaro nodded, smirking slightly. "That's why we have to arouse the armies. If it will take the entire Empire to bring her to justice, so be it."

It had been three weeks since Damaro knew Eniarron had escaped.

Summons had been sent out immediately to the rulers of the other four kingdoms. Replies were also sent back immediately, and soon three armies were marching to join the other two at the capital. Kadamierna's army of dwarves arrived in one day, and helped stock provisions for the rest. The army from Auslonuea arrived in 5 days' time, and the elfin army of Jevarci arrived the day after that.

Two days later, the five armies began the march. Damaro had ridden at the head, along with Prince Anmordel of the elves, General Eidolon of the south, Master Grimaulden of the dwarves, and General Dierno of Byalito. It was a strong assembly of the finest of the five great armies, all ready to take on one single being: the Black Knight.

Damaro had told none but the four leaders the true identity of the Black Knight. Prince Anmordel was the only one who hadn't appeared to be surprised, but his tone when he spoke revealed just the opposite.

The broken towers of Rednalwen came into view in the middle of the morning. The leaders quickly issued orders for the troops to infiltrate the city while they explored the palace themselves.

Noise was heard all across the Red city once more as the troops began scouring the city. Hooves clicked on the yellowing white marble as Damaro steered his horse toward the palace. The gates were just as he had left them: broken. He dismounted, the others following suit behind him. He unsheathed his sword, and stepped into the deserted palace first.

The courtyard was just as bleak as it had been for some time. Damaro walked straight through, heading into the palace with General Dierno right behind him. Master Grimaulden stomped along next, with General Eidolon at his heels and Prince Anmordel not far behind. Damaro looked around the large entryway, his eyes meeting no signs of life. "Spread out, search this level and the dungeons only," he ordered, his voice grim. "This could be a trap."

"Aye," Master Grimaulden grunted. "An elfin witch can single handedly trap all five of us at once," he hissed, his words trailing away as he headed towards the dungeons alone.

Damaro shook his head, and walked into the huge dining room. The old table was completely covered in dust, the candles untouched for quite some time. He strode through it quickly, and into the library, where Anmordel was scanning the shelves as he made his rounds. Damaro sighed softly, and stepped out into the entry hall again to wait for the others, who arrived one by one, none of them having found anything.

The second floor was searched in the same fashion, and not a trace was found there either. It was with great anger and fear that Damaro treaded up the old stone stairway to the highest tower. The door at the top was unlocked; the old handle was loose in his hand. He pushed it open, and looked about.

Eniarron was chained to the far wall of the chamber, her black hair scattered about her face untidily. Her form was limp, and there were several rips in the crimson dress she wore. There was a large cut on her lip, as well as several bruises and smaller cuts on her neck. A long gash was visible where the sleeve of the dress had slipped from her shoulder. She looked up from her miserable position, her eyes lacking the force that was usually behind them. Damaro stared. He couldn't believe it. Someone had beaten him to it.

Behind him, the rest of the group filed in. "Her?" Grimaulden asked. "She is the terrible Black Knight?" he asked, his voice cruelly sarcastic.

"She seems no stronger than a piece of wet bread," Eidolon teased, laughing wickedly.

Damaro glared at both of them, and turned his gaze to her again. "What happened?"

"Gaerizons," she murmured, her voice weak. "They're invading."

"Gaerizons?" Dierno asked mockingly. "The goblin-like beasts of the northern mountains? They're only myths intended to frighten young children."

Damaro looked her in the eye, his gaze still icy. In her eyes, he saw something stirring. It looked like an axe swinging at his head. Instinctively, he ducked and wheeled around in one motion, coming face to face with a Gaerizon. The creature was indeed goblin-like, but quite a bit larger. Its canines hung over its lip like an animal, its eyes yellow and fierce. Damaro swung at its stomach, killing it instantly as the blade connected with its body. He looked to Eniarron again, and sheathed his sword. "How long have you known?"

"Nine years," she whispered. "I've been keeping them out with the Black Knight's reputation. Word had spread through their scouts that I was gone, and several were sent here. There were two that survived, one only barely. He died only a few hours after helping the one you just killed to chain me here."

Damaro sighed unnoticeably, and looked around to the other leaders. "Alert the troops. Scour the stocks for extra provisions, and search around for any extra weapons. We need to be prepared." All four nodded, and filed out of the room slowly. As Anmordel disappeared after one more glance at Eniarron, Damaro walked over to her. "Where are the keys?" he asked. She pointed with one finger at a hook on the wall with the key ring. Damaro fetched them quickly, and immediately started working on freeing her. "I'm sorry that happened."

She shook her head, and rubbed her wrists as he released her. "You couldn't have predicted that." He nodded, and stood, offering her his hand. She took it reluctantly, and he helped pull her up. She stood shakily, barely gaining balance on her own two feet. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice raspy.

"I should have believed you. But I just couldn't fathom that they were the reason you started scaring the people away from here."

"No one did. I had to escape in the middle of the night after I found out it was my duty to fend them off. It was fate," she added, and moved her hair away from the left side of her neck, showing him the rose tattoo. "I never wanted to do any of it," she murmured, her crimson eyes meeting his purple ones once more.

"You are elfin royalty, then?" Damaro asked gently, moving a strand of hair from her eyes.

She nodded grimly. "I had to fake my own death in order to escape, which explains Anmordel's silence." He merely looked at her quizzically. "I was betrothed to him." His gaze softened, and she sighed softly. "Thanks again," she whispered, bowing respectfully. She turned quickly, and headed down the staircase.

Damaro sighed heavily. There was just something in her tone that implied she hadn't been the happiest to see him. And frankly, he wasn't too happy to hear that. He shook his thoughts away violently. I can't be falling for her, he thought. She's an elf! Betrothed, too. But she's just so different. He shook his head again, and left the chamber.

Eniarron emerged from the kitchen into the dining room, bearing a large tray laden with several different dishes. The leaders had been sitting around the table, strategizing. She had been forbid from entering the conversation because she was a woman. Naturally, she had protested, but her words fell on deaf ears. Instead, she had busied herself with fixing lunch after she had changed from the ripped dress.

"…left flank indeed, but we'll still need to have a main central force," Dierno said, and looked up as Eniarron entered, the other four pairs of eyes following his gaze. She set the tray on a part of the table that hadn't been covered in maps. Knowing all eyes were on her, she merely curtseyed, and exited the room via the main doors, the skirt of her silver dress sweeping the floor as she walked.

"Eniarron!" a voice called, but she didn't turn. She started up the main staircase, but the person managed to snag one hand as she fled up the first two stairs. She spun around, only to find herself looking down at Anmordel. He squeezed her hand, and pulled her nearer gently. A smile lit his face, his green eyes sparkling with joy. He wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug, which she reluctantly returned. He pulled back, one arm still around her slender waist. He reached up to her, and caressed her cheek gently with his finger tips. "I thought you were dead," he whispered, pulling her closer.

"Anmordel," she said softly, her face smiling but her eyes not. "I had to fake my own death. I had no choice in the matter."

He shook his head, leaned closer, and kissed her forehead. "You have no idea what it means to find you here, alive. My heart died that day, and I nearly faded. But something kept me alive, some glisten of hope in the darkness. And now I finally know what it was." He paused, and merely looked into her eyes. "The sparkle of crimson behind every tale of the Black Knight." She smiled weakly, her gaze sweeping downward. He traced her cheek again, and tilted her chin upwards gently. "You never truly dwelled on me, did you?" he asked, his tone stern.

Her gaze fluttered away from his once more. "It was a forced betrothal, Anmordel."

"Not on my part."

"But on mine!" she said angrily, her eyes finally locking with his.

"You never protested," he argued smugly.

"Just because they never reached your ears didn't mean that I didn't."

He pulled her closer forcefully, his gaze still met with hers. "I loved you, I love you, and I swore to forever." He leaned closer, and pressed his lips to hers. She struggled against the kiss, only to have him kiss her harder. He finally pulled back, his breathing slightly heavier than before.

Enraged, Eniarron did the one sensible thing she could: she slapped him, using the back of her hand, with all of her might, on his right cheek. He freed her, and staggered backward. "I hated you, I still hate you, and I swear to for all eternity." She glared at him for one more second, then turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs.

Anmordel glared at her retreating back. His pride was just as hurt as his cheek, and his heart remained broken. Angry, he slinked back into the dining hall, his cheek still noticeably red. He took his seat without taking any notice of the others, who had already started on lunch without him.

Damaro looked up as Anmordel sat down, immediately trying to read his feelings. As there was only one other in the palace with the strength to redden a man's cheek like that, it could only mean that he had angered Eniarron. Damaro quickly stood, his fork clinking as it hit his plate, and excused himself.

He walked from the room as quickly as he could, and dashed up the stairs. Only one door had been shut, and he immediately went straight for that one. He knocked on it lightly, and waited for a response. When no answer came, he knocked again. "Eniarron?" he called out softly, knocking again. As no reply came once more, he gripped the handle, twisted it, and let himself in.

Eniarron was sitting on the windowsill. Her lengthy black hair was twisted into a braid that hung over her right shoulder. Her crimson eyes were fixated on something in the distance, staring hard. Damaro opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. "I knew someone would figure out what had happened; I just didn't realize that it would be so soon."

He nodded, and walked over beside her. He leaned against the other side of the window casually, his purple eyes resting on her. "Why?" he asked softly.

Her head turned quickly, and looked up at him, her crimson eyes meeting purple ones for a brief second before she looked away again. "He hugged me in greeting, and then told me what he had a thousand times, one arm of his still around my waist." She looked up again, her slender fingers now toying with her braid. "That he loved me."

Damaro shrugged. "Why is that so trivial?"

Eniarron stood up, and looked Damaro in the face. "Because he kissed me the very next moment. I struggled against it, and he just held me tighter."

"And then you slapped him with enough force to free yourself." She nodded, and he smiled gently. "His face was so red that it might even blend in with the walls of this city itself. It takes a very strong arm to leave a mark like that."

She laughed softly. "Thank you," she said gently.

He smiled, his eyes fluttering down to her neck. "The rose," he said, awed. His gaze then moved to the small scratch. "And the mark," he added, his eyes locking with hers once more. "You're the one spoken of in the prophecy."

"How do you know of it?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"My mother…" he started, but his voice trailed off. "My mother!" he exclaimed, suddenly surprised. "She freed you, didn't she?" he asked, his temper rising. Eniarron merely nodded, her head turning to look out the window again. Damaro reached out, and touched her cheek gently, turning her head lightly. He met her eyes again, her eyes filled with tears and her cheeks slightly red from those that had already escaped. "I should have known from your silence, Eniarron. I am so sorry," he whispered, his hand still on her cheek. He wiped away some of her tears with his thumb, and just looked at her. "I've hurt you purposely, Eniarron, I've offended you, and I've let them push you around. If there is anything I can do, Eniarron, just say the word."

She shook her head, and wiped away the remaining tears on her own. "There is nothing," she said softly, her left hand straying to her neck, where it rested on the tattoo. "The prophecy was right."

He nodded, moved his hand from her cheek, and rested it on top of hers. "Why were you marked with the rose?" he inquired.

"In our language, 'en' means beautiful, 'iar' means crimson, and 'ron' means flower. Most roses are red, but in the year I was born, the crimson rose was more prominent."

He nodded, smiling. "Your name suits you," he whispered.

Her cheeks reddened slightly, but she continued anyway. "It is also the mark of the Vianere."

"The what?" he asked curiously.

"The Vianere are very, very rare. Only one is born every seven centuries. They are more commonly known in your lore as Guardians."

Damaro gaped, squeezing her hand lightly. "By the Gods. I knew something was different about you." She smiled weakly, and he grinned back. "But you have no wings."

She shook her head gracefully. "But I do. We are gifted with a special ability that few know we have: invisibility. We can hide our wings, and ourselves, at will." She took a step away from the window, and closed her eyes for a second in concentration. Behind her, a pair of wings appeared, attached to her back. They were bird-like, with black feathers making up most of it. Crimson feathers rounded out the edges, bringing out the color in her eyes.

Damaro's jaw dropped, and he met her eyes once more. "I never would have guessed," he whispered. "May I touch them?" he asked softly. She nodded sheepishly, and spread them out fully. He stepped closer, and reached out to touch her left wing. He ran his hand up along the front of the feathers, starting at the bottom, and then ran his hand along the back. Her feathers felt like velvet, and he continued stroking them gently. He ran his hand along the ridge of her wing, stopping at the very tip. "Thank you," he whispered, "your wings are beautiful." He grabbed one of her hands, and kissed the top respectfully.

She smiled genuinely, her cheeks slightly brighter than before. His hand had felt like silk, just brushing against her feathers lightly. "You're the first person I've let touch them," she whispered in reply. She retracted her wings, and hid them from view once more.

"Thank you once more, then, because I must say that I've only felt one thing softer." She looked at him curiously, clearly urging him to continue. "Your skin," he whispered. She blushed lightly again, and smiled bashfully. He stepped closer, his majestic purple eyes still locked with her crimson ones. "You stole my kingdom, you stole my city," he said, pausing. "And you've stolen my heart," he finished, placing one hand on her cheek gently. He leaned in, intent on bringing his lips to hers, but she turned away.

"Like it or not," she said sternly, "I am betrothed."

Damaro turned Eniarron's head back towards him once more, stoking her cheek with his thumb. "As am I. But I wish to follow my heart, not my head." He leaned in once more, and pressed his lips to her gently. The kiss was light and innocent, and yet, still beautiful. After what felt like a blissful eternity, yet was only a few seconds, he pulled back, smiling. She grinned back at him, and he took the opportunity to slip his arm around her slender waist, pulling her closer. "If perfection has ever existed, it is you."

She shook her head, and looked away. "As far from it as possible, actually," she murmured.

"Don't think so lowly of yourself, fair Eniarron; you are greater than you think."