Storm Reawakened

A Knight In Shining Armour

My eyes and lips bulge like a dying fish as the man with silver hair named Winston, soaks up my reaction.

"So, you truly did lose your memories?" Even though it's posed as a question, he mutters it like a statement.

I'm still lost for words even as Hawthorne yanks my chair closer to his as silver hair takes a seat. The closeness to the Duke brings me back to the present and I finally open my mouth. "Who are you? Really?"

Winston sighs softly, swivelling around and moves to where I'm seated. Ignoring the scowl Hawthorne gives him, he bends down onto one knee, taking my hand into his and kisses it. "I'm a part of your personal guard, my lady."

Shut the hell up! No freaking way. I'm speechless, so the dying fish expression remains on my face, my jaw dropping as sincerity swims in orange.

"I'm your personal knight returning from suspension. The incident that occurred on the Duke's hunting grounds did not bode well with the captain of the guard."

"Eeerr—is that so?" I said, fumbling with how to respond.

I finally take in the sword strapped to his side and the ruggedness of his skin. Where Hawthorne is a work of art, this man is a work of nature—and I'm starting to think that everyone in this world is abnormally gorgeous. It's severely unfair. But an anomaly in the real world is clearly the standard here.

"I wish to serve my lady once more, if you'll have me." He gives me an intense look that borderlines on flirting and I sense Hawthorne tense next to me.

Okay. Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

Having a personal knight seems like an elite flex.

Except, I'm an event planner who doesn't know what it's like to have a knight? I don't even know what it's like to have a personal bodyguard, and that's the nearest thing to one from my world!

And the closest thing to righteous protection from another human being that I've had, is a twelve-year-old coming to my rescue, letting me know I dropped my transit pass.

"You have no right nor the authority to test her like that, Winston," Hawthorne said severely, removing my hand that's still in Winston's grip.

Orange eyes shrugs, his silver hair swaying along with the gesture. "I had to be sure. It's my sworn duty to protect lady Storm. Should she be under a certain pretence to deceive particular individuals, then I must know—in order to fulfill any of the objectives she seeks."

Seriously, what is it with men and duty in this world?

Shivering now, it's obvious that he lied with trained ease. He knew I had forgotten my memories. He just wanted to make sure he wasn't under the guise of Evara's scheming should the convenient state of amnesia be fake.

"I'm not sure I need you, Winston," I mumbled, pursing my lips in thought because if anyone is going to discover I'm a fake, it could very well be him but glancing at him now, a question forms. "Wait. You do have a suit of armour, right?"

"Yes. Of course I do, but I wear it strictly for battle. Most times, I'm in civilian clothing following you, my lady."

So, he blends into the surroundings naturally? Even if his appearance is anything but natural. The rules however have changed, and with a quick glance around the room, I take note of how 'ordinary' the three of us look amongst mercenaries, wizards, and talking beasts.

"And you didn't see anyone the day of the hunting competition?" The inkling of suspicion in my voice rouses the sullen Duke next to me. He's interested to hear Winston's reply as well...but does he need to hold my hand to hear it?

What's with the sudden physical touch?

"No, I—I left my post briefly," Winston answered.

"What for?" I questioned with renewed interest, trying my best to ignore how the Duke's thumb rubs against my outer hand. Sparks go wayward, electricity igniting in my veins.

I'm not the only one made self-aware by the Duke since Winston nearly snarls at the intimacy. "There was a matter of a delicate nature to handle."

"Like?"

Winston coughs, shifting under my gaze. "I'm not at liberty to say."

Maybe he's protecting someone other than Evara? Possibly the killer? Or could the threat to Evara be so personal that he doesn't want to hurt my feelings?

He suddenly seems volatile, as if hanging by every word and from the flirtatious hints and suggestions of being enamoured, sworn by 'duty,' I think he might have had a thing for Evara. "But lady Storm, I—"

"That's lady Hawthorne to you, now," Hawthorne declared, a glorified smirk on his face.

Winston raises a brow and crosses his muscular arms. "Oh? Is it?"

"Umm..." I trailed meekly, not sure whether to wedge myself between them or grab popcorn and watch this phallic debacle unfold.

Hawthorne keeps his smirk intact, but the vein against his forehead that pulses indicates his irritation. "None of your concern, to be sure."

"I make it my business to know the lady's business. And that includes her title changing through..."

"Marriage?" Hawthorne offered coldly.

Winston laughs heartily, shaking his head. "That's unlikely."

"And why is that?"

Yeah, why's that? I asked silently, leaning into Hawthorne's touch as I'm somehow wondering the same thing. At this point, I've turned my hand over letting him trace the plains of my palm.

Winston's eyes waver momentarily, going from me to the Duke pondering for a second before landing on our entwined hands. "Because Evara didn't love you. She hated you."

Shit. That's a plot twist I didn't see coming.