Randolf and Catalina

"Brant told me to wait in the wagon while he went into the guild," Helen tells a story to Catalina, sitting across the dinner table.

Osric nosily tries to listen in, but Randolf's droning stew-slurping makes it difficult.

"He came back with a—"

Elayne slams her cup onto the table, coughing and spraying cider from her mouth, interrupting Helen.

"Are you all right, sweetie?" Helen says, patting her back.

Catalina springs up, jolting around the table with her napkin. She dabs at Elayne's shirt before wiping the table.

Elayne's coughing dies down.

"You're all right, dear. You've got to drink slower," Catalina says, rubbing her head.

Elayne's ears fold back as she nuzzles her head into Catalina’s hand. Catalina trials her finger across the table, inspecting it, before returning to her seat. Meanwhile, Helen hand returns to her lap as she continues her story.

"He came back out carrying a scroll. He didn't sit back down on the wagon — instead, he got down on one knee in front of me. He told me the scroll was a deed was for a building just down the road. And then he asked me, 'Would you spend the rest of your life with me in that store?'"

Catalina squeals, clutching Helen's hands.

"I know. My heart could barely take it!" Helen exclaims.

The two jump up and down, holding hands.

"That reminds me of how Randolf and I first met," Catalina says, settling back into her seat. "The story is as fresh in my mind as ever."

~~~

A younger Catalina chases after her parents, running down the spacious hallway of the royal castle. Her face is thinner, and her dirty blonde hair, falls past her hips — not her shoulders.

Her red heels clopping against the red rug that runs down the center of the polished floor. Moonlight streams through the windows high up on the tall stone walls. The windows themselves are too high to see, only the blue light streaming through them is visible.

The blue light gleams off her red silk sleeves. She lifts the voluptuous skirt of her red ball gown, grabbing the red frill, revealing the black petticoat beneath.

With her shoulders exposed and no supporting straps, the dress bounces along with her large bosom. The small thread cinching the dress tight under her shoulders starts to come undone. She digs her heels into the rug, skidding to a stop, pulling the dress up before it completely slips off. She reaches back to retie it. Then sets off again, catching up to her parents.

Her mother's shoulder-length gray hair flows behind her. She wears a dark green sleeveless dress — less voluminous than her daughter’s gown — which sways as it brushes against her matching green heels. Angus jogs alongside her, his burgundy shoes slapping against the carpet. He wears a lavender vest over a white shirt, and the long coat-tails of his jacket flap against his purple pants.

"Why are we running, Father?" she asks between heavy breaths.

"The king could have us hung if we’re late to the ball," he yells back.

"Why do we have to come to this ball anyway?"

"The king likes to have all the landowners gather once a year to discuss logistics and such." 

"But does it have to be a ball?"

Angus stops in front of the tall wooden double doors, where two guards stand at either side.

As he speaks to the nearer guard, Catalina glances at the other, his helmet tucked under his arm, catching her attention. She tries not to, but she can't help but stare.

Her eyes scan his broad armored frame, glinting in the moonlight, imagining the muscular figure underneath. Then they land on his face — a youthful face that doesn't seem much older than her own, with short brown hair, pushed up and to the right. Yet his cold brown eyes, stoically staring across the hallway say otherwise.

"Are you coming, dear?" Angus asks.

The double doors are open. He's already inside.

"Oh, yes." She hurries in.

>>>

Catalina stands beside her parents at a circular table draped in a red tablecloth. Sitting in the middle, a three-tiered glass shelf. Stacked with an array of cakes and sweetbreads.

Uninterested in the conversation her father is having with the man across the table, she grabs a small slice of cake before turning her eyes to the ballroom.

Her eyes wandered across the vast room, taking in the black-and-white checkered floor and the red velvet carpet stretching down the center, leading to the stairs of an off-white stone stage, complete with curtains in the back. She catches movement on the stone walkway above, supported by chiseled pillars. More people mingle above her.

Her eyes are drawn back down. The king walks down the carpet, a red cape laced with white tuft, flapping behind him. His gold-laced crown sparkling in the light of the giant glass chandelier. A long gray beard running down his purple velvet overcoat and matching puffy trunk hose pants. His attire complimenting deep purple eyes that survey the crowd. He stops at a table, conversing with attendees.

"Catalina? Are you listening?" Angus asks.

"What? Oh, yes," she lies.

"You'd dance with my son?" the man across the table asks.

The man, with a powdered wig atop his bald head in a red overcoat, points at the next table over.

A young boy with blond hair and a similar red overcoat shoves a small slice of cake into his mouth — no silverware. He looks over. Smiling and waving, he reveals his crooked teeth smeared with cream from the cake.

"Hold on," Catalina grabs her mother’s arm, pulling her away.

"Mother, you didn't say anything dancing! I only agreed to come because you said I could just stand here and eat sweets." Catalina hisses at her mother, viciously staring into her cloud-gray eyes.

"I wouldn't dance with him either. That boy looks like he's never held a sword in his life, nor does he look like he could cast a spell," her mother replies, popping a small biscuit in her mouth.

"Matilda, dear, I told you to keep the adventurer talk at home when we're at events like this." Angus cuts in between them.

"Catalina, it's a ball. You're supposed to dance. And... you're fifteen now. It's about time you start looking for a potential fiancé. That boy over there is the son of the Lord Valen, he has a much bigger territory than I do. It could be a good opportunity for our family." Angus explains, patting her on the shoulder.

"I don't want him as my fiancé!" She snaps at her father.

"Well, when the music starts, you're going to have to dance with somebody."

"I can dance with anyone?" She asks.

"I suppose." Angus shrugs.

Catalina takes off, trotting past tables with many well-dressed aristocrats around. She heads towards the double doors.

Pulling open the door as she pops her head out. She's relieved to see the guard still standing there, his helmet still tucked under his arm.

"Um, excuse me," she says.

He doesn't respond, unfazed, he gazes at the wall.

"Hey, you!" she yells.

He finally turns his head.

"Uh, would you like to dance?" she asks.

"Me?" The guard asks, pointing at himself.

"Yes!" Catalina nods.

The guard flicks his head away.

"I am but a guard in training. I cannot dance with a noblewoman."

Caterina examines the side of his face, noticing the tip of his ear is turning red.

"I say it's fine. So, come dance with me."

"Sorry, madam, I can't."

Pouting, Catalina heads back into the ballroom.

"What did he say?" Matilda asks Catalina, trudging back to the table.

"Mother!" she shouts, her cheeks turning red.

"Hmm, so he turned you down. I figured as much. You can see it in his eyes, he feels out of place here."

Several old men in black coats push open the curtains, carrying instruments — violins and cellos. Two men roll a piano onto the stage, another man carrying a harp.

"The music's about to start. Would you like to dance, m'lady?"

Catalina turns around. Lord Valen's son holds out his hand.

She turns to her father, giving him a mean glare. Angus gestures, twirling his hand, ushering her to hurry up and accept.

She forces a smile, placing her hand in the boy's.

>>>

Angus, Matilda, and Catalina sprint down the hall of the royal castle.

"Catalina, you need to be able to put on this dress faster," her mother yells, tying the back of her dress as they rush down the corridor.

They make it to the ballroom doors.

Catalina’s heart, already overworked, beats out of her chest upon seeing the same guard at the door, his helmet in his arm again.

Her parents walk through the doors, but she stops in the doorway.

As she stares at him, his gaze doesn't leave the far wall, but his cheeks slowly turn red.

"Would you be willing to dance with me this year?" She finally asks.

The guard shakes his head. "I am just a foot soldier of the Holy Knights, not someone who can dance with a lord's daughter."

"Oh, so you're not a knight in training anymore… And how did you know I was a lord's daughter?"

He spins to her, eyes wide in surprise.

"Ooh, are you curious about me?" she says, teasing him.

"Please, I cannot madam," he insists.

"Tell me your name at least," she asks, stepping through the doorway.

"Randolf."

>>>

Angus, Matilda, and Catalina walk down the hall of the royal castle, surrounded by well-dressed attendees — on time this year.

Catalina wears a different dress this time: green.

Pinned in the middle of the hallway, stuck shoulder to shoulder with strangers, she strains her neck to get a good look at the door — Randolf is there, like he is every year. Yet she’s relieved he is. She pushes and jostles her way through the crowd, popping out in front of Randolf.

"Your shoe." He points down.

Catalina is only wearing one green heel.

She turns to look for it, not accounting for the height difference in her legs, and falls to the floor.

Lying on her stomach, Randolf offers her his gauntlet. Taking it, she stands.

"You're wearing green this year," Randolf says, pulling her to her feet.

"Yes, the red dress ripped. This is one of my mother's."

"It looks nice on you," Randolf says, then immediately looks away.

Catalina smiles, blushing.

The stream of people has disappeared. In its place lies her green heel.

"If I look so nice, how about you dance with me tonight?"

Randolf shakes his head. Catalina puts on her heel and heads back inside, pouting.

>>>

Catalina follows behind her parents, wearing her red dress this year. Clenching her fists, her face fills with determination. Eyebrows angled and a scowl across her mouth, she strides toward the ballroom doors, determined to get the shy knight who turns her down every year to dance with her.

She makes it to the doors — her heart sinks. He's not there. Only one knight stands at the doorway, helmet on.

The determination drains off her face, replaced by a quivering frown. Her mother drags her through the doorway.

Her mother finally yanks her to the table. Standing across from them... is Randolf.

His hair slicked back, the grease shining in the light of the chandelier. He wears a blue overcoat with golden buttons and gold-laced sleeves, a white ruffled shirt peeking out at the neck, and brown trousers with matching boots.

Catalina stands in awe, mouth ajar.

"Catalina, dear, this is Randolf," Angus says, holding an arm out to him. "But you already know that, don't you?"

"What is he doing here?" Catalina hisses at her father.

"What, you don't want him to be?"

"No—I… I…" she stammers.

"Randolf Han, a promising new Holy Knight recruit, has impressed the kingdom with the way he fought in the skirmish with the Trading Province of Aurelith. Therefore, I decided to gift him the small village outside of Lumora. As a landowner, he can now attend this ball."

Randolf stares off at a chiseled stone pillar, his cheeks red.

The two awkwardly catch glances at each other and then flick their eyes away.

Randolf eventually clears his throat and walks over, getting down on one knee in front of her.

"Catalina Lumin, I am but a commoner who enlisted in the Holy Knights solely to have a meal to eat every night. My motivations may be shallow, but I stand here tonight as a recognized attendee of the ball. If I may ask something presumptuous of a lord's daughter… could I have a dance tonight?" He reaches out for her hand.

"Yes!" she exclaims, placing her hand in his.

>>>

The orchestra takes their place on stage. The music starts, and Randolf leads her to the center.

Their hands interlocked, Randolf pulls her closer with an arm at her hips. The two spin around with the others on the ballroom floor, slowly swaying to the music. Catalina can feel her cheeks burning red, yet she can't look away from Randolf's eyes, normally stoic but softer tonight.

"Are your parents not here with you?" Catalina asks.

"I never knew my parents. I grew up an orphan, raised by the church."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. My love for the church is what pushed me to serve the Holy Knights, and ultimately what brought me here."

She turns away from him, hoping her fluttering heart will steady.

The music dies down, and their spinning slows.

"How old are you?" Catalina asks, changing the subject in hopes of calming her nerves.

"Eighteen."

"Oh, we're the same age." Catalina turns her head back, and her eyes lock with Randolf’s again.

Everyone begins to saunter off the dance floor, but the two remain still.

The movement of people in her peripheral vision blurs away, leaving only his face in focus.

~~~

"And honestly, I was fighting the urge to kiss him right then and there," Catalina blurts out.

Randolf’s slurping stops. His spoon splashes into his wooden bowl, sending stew across the table. He grabs at his throat, trying to clear it.

Osric starts patting him on the back. "You good?"

Randolf nods, shooing his hand away.

"So you two are the same age," Osric says, pulling his hand back.

"Yes, we're both about to turn thirty-five," Catalina replies.

"I could have sworn that Randolf was older."

Randolf looks at him, an offended grimace on his face, fighting a cough.