Anne did not hesitate, like many heroines from a novel written in the Middle Ages who shied at the first sign of danger. She was the eldest daughter of the Duke of Franconia! What did she have to fear from a darkly clad figure? Besides, she was under her father’s roof in case if any harm happened to fall upon her.
Excusing herself from the Great Table, she descended from the dais. It was difficult to pass through the merry crowd of lords, ladies, children, servants, and entertainers. In her haste, Anne nearly walked into a servant carrying a plate loaded with the next coarse, a lady ogling a minor lord, and a juggler intent on juggling ten balls.
The hush of the dimly lit passage was a huge contrast to the uproar in the banquet hall. Anne leaned against a nearby wall and exhaled sharply, relieved to be away from the bawdiness.
Her respite did not last long. The feeling of distant eyes boring into her made her stiffen like a corpse. Scanning the shadows, she found the outline of a phantom-like form at the end of the hall. It was the hooded figure. The figure motioned for her to follow. Before she could call out, the figure disappeared down yet another hall.
Anne furrowed her brow. Where was this thing taking her? What sort of game was this? And who was her siren?