Moonlight danced through the open curtains, pooling in silver puddles on the library floor, illuminating the mosaics of old which stretched their colourful fingers around the base of the shelving.
Alanis slunk in the shadows. Her back pressed against the stone walls as the cold crept through her nightgown and sent shivers across her skin. Her feet quiet and careful, she inched closer to the balcony, where the curtains swayed in the night breeze; and where he stood.
He faced away from her as he gripped the balustrade. Blond curls cascaded down his back; white robes draped across his body. He seemed entranced by the waters glistening in the light of the moon, crashing beyond the horizon; so close, yet so far.
“Man of the sea.” Alanis spoke, drawing herself out of the shadows. “Why do you harm my servants? What have they done to you?”
He turned slowly, and her gaze was drawn to a blemish on his clothing. A spot of darkness; blood on his sleeve. Blood from the servants.
“Their morality is unlike yours.” He said in a calm voice, as if nothing had just transpired. “I could not allow their way; it would bring ruin to your name, as they are yours.”
“I will have them punished.”
“Punishment can not cure sickness of the soul.”
“But it can discipline, so it never recurs.”
The man of the sea laughed; a lighthearted sound, almost melodic, like a young child playing the piano. “That is a daydream. Morality is innate; it can not be fixed.”
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"It can." Alanis stepped forward to join him on the balcony. "I can fix them, and I will."
“And I want to believe you.” He smiled sadly, “but dreams are simply dreams.”
There grew a quietude between them. The crashing waves in the distance overtook the silence. Echoes of the court hurrying about the castles in search of them danced in the wind, their lanterns bobbing up and down in the darkness beyond the balcony.
“You can not return to your old room.” Alanis said presently, “you understand, don’t you?”
“Sadly.”
The moon shone across her face, glowed in her hair, as if a halo lingered around her head. Her complexion was a mix of sombreness, and something else, though he could not place it.
“I am not aware of the customs of your kingdom,” Alanis muttered, “but what I am about to propose certainly violates most customs I know.”
He remained quiet, waiting.
“Henceforth, I’m afraid we will be sharing a room, man from the sea.” She turned to meet his gaze, “I can rely on your morality, can I not?”
“Always.” He lowered his gaze; placed a hand over his heart. “I am yours.”
Alanis reached to take his hand and held it in her own, “I will accept the service of your morality, but nothing more. And tell me, man from the sea, you claim to give me your life, yet I do not even know your name.”
“My name?”
“Names reveal the spirit.” She ran her fingers up his arm, to the blood stain on his sleeve. “So, tell me, what is yours?”
Gently, he pulled away from her, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was christened Cassiel.”
“Cassiel.” She repeated in a whisper, “it reminds me of starlight.”
“It has another meaning where I am from.” He smiled, slightly. “But thank you.”
“I think it is time to return inside, the night is growing cold.”
So, she led him inside, through the towering shelves of the library, along the cold and forsaken corridors, to her own chambers where the maidens did not dare to wait.
And so, the rest of the evening was spent in peace; Cassiel resting on Alanis’ bed after her insistence proved to be unwavering, while the princess herself wiled the night away in the opposite room; composing poetry by candlelight and fantasizing about the wondrous things she would do as queen.