It was the dead of night in the small village; most respectable inhabitants were already in deep sleep by the time the pair had entered conspicuously onto its main road that cut the hamlet in half. While keeping their heads low and their bodies huddled together, Amelia had adjusted the hood that drooped over her head so that it no longer cut her vision in half while Antoine scanned the landscape ahead of and behind them. The rough terrain below them began to feel likes shards of glass poking through the worn down shoes that were on her feet, and she used Antoine’s arm to steady herself each time a rock found the ball of her foot. 

“How much longer, Antoine?” Her voice waivered as it attempted to remain as hushed as possible without becoming inaudible. 
“Should be up towards the right,” he replied in the same volume. “When we hear the drunkards and whores shouting and laughing, we shall know we have arrived.” He smirked down at her as they plodded north at a slow but steady pace.

Amelia’s head perked up when the sounds of distant voices began to echo against the short and wide homes that scattered the grassy, rolling hills, and her eyes met his – both burning with excitement – and they quickened their pace to a small tavern illuminated by a roaring fireplace in the heart of the structure. 

Before entering, they evaluated their disguises: Antoine adjusted the sun-bleached cloak so that it slumped off his shoulders in an undignified manner, and Amelia worked to make sure that she had ample cleavage present, which was always a wonderful distraction for the men she was extracting information from, and she pinched her cheeks and lips so that a rosy hue would fill them.  She nodded to her partner to signal that she was prepared.

Immediately, they took on a demeanor that any passerby would assume as drunkenness, both hanging on each other and laughing ferociously as they made their way to a small wooden table in the corner. Amelia took a seat on Antoine’s lap, and he buried his face in her neck and kissed it slowly. “He,” a breath, “is in the adjacent corner.” 

She forced a giggle as if to be enjoying the moment, running her hands through his hair and leaning down into his ear. “Light eyes?” she whispered. 
Antione nodded, not breaking character, and he pressed a kiss into her neck once more before standing up and placing her down onto the ground. “I shall return with mead,” he winked as he made his way to the other side of the dimly-lit establishment. 

She nodded, accepting the cue he had given her, and she locked eyes with the man to the right of her with corner sitting with two other men, all nearly shouting at each other as they conversed. 

“Come here,” the man called out to her, waving his fingers towards himself.
In an effort to look flattered, Amelia smiled deviously as she waltzed over to the man and sat in his lap in the same manner she had sat in Antoine’s, batting her eyes at the man’s, only inches from her. 
“You are too beautiful to be a harlot,” the man chuckled – his friends agreed – as he began to touch her chest and neck. “But I cannot say that I am displeased.”
Amelia did her best to choke down the feelings of utter disgust. “Why, thank you, [i]Monsieur,[/i] but no need to speak such pleasantries to me. It will now lower what you would owe to me, that is, if you decide to come outside with me.” She winked at him as she began to touch him back. “I would just need your name and a show of good faith so that my Master,” she nudged her head towards the Antoine, “will know you shall not cause me harm.”  
“You know, I do not think I have seen you here before,” he admitted as his eyes narrowed. 
She laughed. “We are travelling, [i] Monsieur[/i]. Are you always so paranoid?” 

“You are right. I am Henry.” The man replied.

“[i]Henry,[/i]” Amelia replied, changing her tone to one that dripped of her fake sexual desires. “Are you ready for me, then?”

Instead of answering, he placed a coin in her hand and lifted her up bridal style, both laughing. She flicked the coin to Antoine and winked at him. 

It was time. 

Henry had carried her outside to the back of the structure and began to tug at her dress. “Hmm, [i]Henry,[/i]” She began as she helped remove the cloak she was wearing. “That sounds familiar.” 
The man ignored her, nearly bursting with animalistic urges, as he continued to work at the buttons trailing down her back.
“Have you ever been to Touraine, Henry?” She asked as she once again assisted him with the buttons. 
His fingers had stopped fiddling with her dress, and he gripped her shoulder to spin her around aggressively. 
“Shut it, you [i]whore,[/i]” He yelled, particles of spit landing on Amelia’s nose and cheeks. This caused her to bubble with anger. Antoine had yet to come to her rescue yet, but she found herself unable to control herself. 
“Ah, Henry. The free-lance knight who killed three of my men a fortnight ago, yes? The coward who took their lives while they slept.” 
His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Who are you?” 

She smirked and reached under her dress to unsheathe the dagger that had been hidden. It was now to the man’s neck, causing a bright red stream to trickle down onto her hand. Antoine had finally made his way behind the man, and after a nod from Amelia, he hit the man over the head, rendering him unconscious. 

“What took you so long?” She groaned as she worked to tie the man’s hands and feet together. “He about to get his money’s worth.” 
“Sorry, I got distracted,” he admitted as he helped her. 
“Christ, Antoine,” she chuckled. “Well, the King wanted his head. Shall we bring him into the trees?”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s too public here.” 

[center]* * * * *[/center]

Antoine and Amelia arrived to the kingdom on horseback a few hours before the sun was due to rise, and he walked the beast to the stable before returning to Amelia’s small candle-lit room and removing his shirt. She had already undressed to prepare to sleep, and she wiggled her body over towards the wall to create room for Antoine next to her, and as he entered her bed, she through her arms around his neck and began to kiss him passionately. “Antoine,” she whispered as he began to kiss her neck as he did in the tavern, but this time, there was no fabric between them. 

The moment was short-lived, however, when shouts of their fellow men began to flood the room through the crack in her window. “What do you think all that commotion is?” she said between breaths as she kissed his jaw line. They had both tried to ignore it, but soon, the shouts grew louder. 

Antoine groaned. “Stay. I will go see,” he offered as he pressed a final kiss on her lips, reluctantly rising and dressing quickly. 
“Okay,” she nodded. 
Minutes later, Antoine performed the same routine he had did when they arrived and crawled into bed once more. “There is a prisoner. I could not get much more information than that. Nathaniel said we will get instruction from the King tomorrow on how to handle him.” He ran a hand through her hair and kissed her forehead. “I know that look. Do not worry about it now, [i]fille belle[/i], okay?” 
Amelia nodded at him, curiosity still nipping at her. “We should probably go to bed soon if we are going to have such a busy day then, yes?” she suggested with a smirk.
“We can stay up for a little longer,” he whispered with a devilish grin.

[center]* * * * *[/center]

[b]Images vividly flashed in Amelia’s mind. One was of hands, although they did not look human, clawing at and striking her skin. Then, her forearm was being seared, and smoke rose from it quickly as she screamed in pain, crying for help. The final image she saw was one of her in a window, a dagger in her stomach that caused blood to start dripping from her bottom lip, and the same hand she felt earlier had come up behind her and around her neck, tightening its grip until the long claws the creature possessed began digging into it.[/b]

She shot up out of bed abruptly, panting and touching her neck and chest. After scanning the room, she realized it was only a nightmare, and she used the sheet to wipe the sweat that had formed in beads on her forehead. Antoine was still sleeping next to her, and she sighed in relief to see the well-built man who would always protect her from any harm.

[i]”Ce ne fut qu'un rêve , Clara,”[/i] she whispered to herself. [i]It was only a dream.[/i]

She smiled at calling herself Clara. She had abandoned the name so long it ago that it felt as if she mistakenly said the wrong one. 

After lying back down, thoughts of their new prisoner returned to her. It was a rare occurrence for them to take someone alive – especially since the Queen began to implement more laws for the knights to follow – so there must have been something special, for lack of a better word, about whoever they had taken in. 

Her eyes lingered on Antoine for a few moments before they fluttered shut, and a sigh escaped her lips as she fell back into a deep sleep. 

[center]* * * * *[/center]

A trumpet was sounded to awake the camp, and the pair both groaned in unison as they stretched and yawned. It had only been a few hours since they had fallen asleep - only one since her nightmare – and tiredness hung over her like a dark cloud. 

They made their way to the quarters where all captives were detained, laughing and picking fun at each other on the way, until they finally reached the long, narrow building made of brick. They greeted the knights guarding the doors and entered silently until they were approached by a knight with a squire trailing him. 

“He will not say a word. Bernie and Alex said that he was responsible for Roger’s death, along with his infant son. They had mentioned that he may possess some sort of magical ability.”
Amelia tried her hardest to keep her composure as she looked to Antoine, dying from laughter on the inside. There was no such thing as magic.

Antoine was the one who spoke for them. “We shall speak with him.”

She entered behind him into the room where the man was shackled: a small, gray room with nothing but a pile of hay in the corner and steel loops attaching the chains to the wall. Antoine touched the small of her back to signal her to begin, and she cleared her throat as she stepped forward two or three feet from the prisoner. 

“My name is Amelia,” she introduced herself as she crouched down to be eye level with the man. “I am going to cut to the chase. What is your name, and who sent you to kill Roger?” Her eyes scanned him up and down. She had definitely never seen him before, she was sure; his facial features were too strong to be forgotten. "I heard that you spooked some of my men. They say you possess some sort of magical ability." Her eyes narrowed onto his, the color of them intriguing her.