Melodies held the power to shape fate, Ana Belén maintained. But, even for princesses, they could be misplayed.

The gentle knocking at the door woke Ana Belén from her slumber.

"Enter," she groggily answered.

Luisa's grinning face peeked through the door, "Our supper is here, your Highness."

"Call me Elara," Ana Belén commanded before she caught her tone and, with a kinder demeanor, continued, "You never know who is listening. Thank you, Luisa. I'll be right there."

It is difficult for both of us to shed our station, she reminded herself. However, it had to be done. A misstep meant a fate— she shook the thought out of her head. Thinking of that man would only bring nightmares later.

Moments later, Ana Belén, still stretching away her sleepiness, reached the small oak table where the bowls of stew waited. Luisa was already seated, cutting a piece of bread from the loaf that accompanied the meal.

Ana Belén sat on a wobbly wooden chair whose cushion did nothing to alleviate the hardness. The table rocked slightly on the uneven floor as she pulled herself forward.

"It smells delicious," Ana Belén commented as she sat. The scent of the hearty stew tugged at her stomach. She cocked her head slightly and smiled.

The crickets outside served as replacements for what would typically be a four-string quartet.

"Yes, Mistress. A young man delivered it. He also wanted to buy a lute for fifteen escudos—he said it was yours. I sold it to him for eighteen escudos," she couldn't contain the broad grin.

"Luisa! We don't own a lute!" Ana Belén exclaimed.

¨He was most adamant, and since I don't like taking the first price, I told him eighteen, and he agreed. What was I to do?" Luisa explained, a sly smile on her face.

Ana Belén shook her head in exasperation and rolled her eyes at Luisa. We'll have to give that money back. How could we steal money from a commoner? She took a deep breath.

The stern look in Ana Belén's eyes shifted to a wry grin and an imperceptible shaking of her head.

"Any sign of Conde Torreblanca?" she asked.

"Nothing, Mistress." Luisa's eyes were expectant, and she passed a bowl of the thick stew—carrots and potatoes bobbing on the surface—and the now-buttered bread to Ana Belén.

They would have scoffed a week ago at such fare, but now it was as delicious as anything served at the palace.

"Very well. Tell me what happened. It's obvious you're dying to tell the story."

"I do believe that he thought I was you and was trying to seduce me!" She laughed, "He was most adamant about returning and playing during my supper."

"A lovely flower, like yourself, should not dine alone in silence," she said in a lower, seductive tone, mimicking the young man.

"And were you inclined to accept?" Ana Belén inquired teasingly.

"I almost took the sword to him, the scoundrel!" she answered in obvious feigned displeasure.

"Of course, I turned him down," Luisa said, "then he left with the most curious phrase."

Ana Belén raised her eyebrows, waiting for the phrase.

"Fair Mistress Elara, the memory of our meeting will be the sweetest melody in the silence of my night. May good fortune unfold for you under the lute's tune."

Ana Belén sat up, "what was the last thing he said? Exactly!"

"May good fortune unfold for you under the lute's tune."

Her breath quickened, and her eyes were reflective. He must have used the first part, expecting Luisa to finish the phrase.

"What did he look like? How old was he?" she asked, the excitement in her voice growing.

"Not bad looking, tall, dark hair, light beard, about 30, perhaps a little older," Luisa answered. Ana Belén smiled, happiness lighting her face.

It fit the curt description her aunt had given her.

At long last, my way to the safety of Alcántara was here. She was sure.

"That's the phrase Luisa! Well, at least the first part. He must be Conde Diego!" Ana Belén ran to the door, "Come, we must find him!"

"Mistress, that's not the phrase," her eyes widened.

"It's, 'Under the lute's tune, destiny quietly unfolds.' Oh!" her hand shot up to cover her mouth as the realization settled.

She shot up from the chair, knocking it over, and ran after Ana Belén.

"Your coat, Mistress!" she yelled as she took the garment from the hanger by the door.

Ana Belén kept running. The melody of fate is finally playing, she thought.

The table rocked. The bowl of stew wobbled on the table, spilling its contents. 

Ana Belén had been taught that a Royal's sacrifice would be repaid with leisure. Yet, for her, it was less about palace treasures and more about the open road's pleasures.

She imperceptibly hummed a tune as she nudged her horse forward. The day had faded into night, a tapestry of stars beginning to cloak the sky. Conde Diego's whereabouts remained a mystery, fueling her determination as much as it tested her patience. How far could that Conde have gone?

She mused about other adventures on roads. Since she was young, she had traveled with her father's army, the road to the crown taking up most of her childhood and mother.

They had left the inn early that morning, sure that they would catch up to Conde Diego Torreblanca quickly on horseback. Yet, the day had proved them wrong.

The crickets started their song as the riders passed while looking for a good place to rest. The night began to chill, bringing respite to the blistering heat.

Her leather britches stuck to her skin and uncharacteristically made her yearn for an airy dress.

Suddenly, Ana Belén stopped her horse. The unmistakable glow of a campfire was ahead.

She signaled Luisa for silence and dismounted.

"You can never be too careful on the road," she remembered Captain Ferrera's warning.

They secured the horses and crept to investigate.

Ana Belén held a flintlock in each hand—presents from her favorite uncle for her sixteenth birthday. She prepared the weathered weapons for immediate lethal action, a routine that had saved her from many predicaments in the last decade.

Her trusty falchion on her hip was inherited from her grandfather, and she treasured it like the most valuable jewel she could have ever received.

Together, they advanced, moving from shadow to shadow with practiced stealth, two women tempered by the rigors of war.

The scent of cooking meat and the murmur of voices reached them.

Luisa, weapons drawn, guarded the rear, vigilant for any sign of danger.

They reached a tree a dozen feet from the fire, where three men, gathered in the flickering shadows, sat drinking and engrossed in the tale spun by a figure hanging naked from its branches.

Ana Belen's cheeks turned red as she listened. Her grip tightened on the flintlocks, and she scowled.

"Maybe I should have accepted," Luisa whispered.

"Diego?" Ana Belén asked. Luisa confirmed with a nod.

Ana Belén signaled silence, stern resolve on her face. I need him to get to my aunt.

Then, she instructed Luisa to circle the camp using gestures ingrained by years of practice. Luisa acknowledged.

Then, with a flicker of sorrow, Ana Belén held up three fingers and slowly brought two of them down, leaving only her index finger. Luisa nodded and left. I only need one for questioning.

As she waited, she steadied her breathing, as Captain Ferrera had taught her. His scowling, weathered old face flashed in her mind.

The laughter of the men could be heard as they encouraged more details from the hanging figure.

The hoot of an owl signaled Luisa was in place. She sighed, counted, and stepped out of the shadow as Luisa did the same. Inevitable. Another day with a broken promise.

Without a word, Ana Belén pointed and fired. The metal ball lodged in the chest of the nearest bandit.

Luisa did the same to the man near her.

The crickets went silent as two screams broke the peaceful scene. Ana Belén gripped the remaining pistol tighter and steeled her will.

In practiced menacing unison, they both moved toward the third man, their remaining useable weapons pointed at his head—startled, he froze in fear.

Adrián was certain that the open road would lead him to his destiny, though thus far, it had only taken him to a town named Calamity.

The ropes that bound his wrists had started to chafe about an hour ago. Of course, that was nothing compared to the pain he felt from the ones that suspended him to the tree branch. Fortunately, the sun was setting, and it offered a brief respite from the heat.

Brief, because the night was sure to turn cold and, in his current state of nakedness, sure to be a problem.

A stray thought, and he chuckled. It was a testament to his life choices that this didn't qualify in the top ten of his worst predicaments. Still, it was uncomfortable.

He protested, "I'm telling you, I'm not a bard. I just purchased this lute at an inn down the road." It was important to keep them talking.

A guard had once told him, "A prisoner who doesn't complain is one who is planning to escape," so he learned to talk and plan.

"And the Aetherlyre, Bard?" the leader asked.

"It came with the lute. If you let me down, I'll tell you the harrowing tale that bartender recounted. I'll even tell you about the curvaceous Mistress Elera. I saw her charms with my own two eyes!" He said suggestively.

He paused for effect, but when the leader didn't bite, he continued, "Oh, Master Alejandro, you're such a rouge," he said, imitating a female voice.

"All the while, I was tasting two very ripe melons. Oh, the soft, creamy, buttery melons—" he ended suddenly as if lost in thought.

The two henchmen neared, "Go on, Bard, tell us more," they urged, eagerness in their eyes.

"Gentlemen, again, I'm not a Bard. Just a simple merchant who was rewarded with a lute for his services."

"Marco, let's cut him down so he'll tell us the rest," the henchmen chorused.

"Let him tell the tale. If it's good, we'll let him down while the Captain arrives. Go on, Bard!" Marco barked.

"Again, gentlemen, just an honest merchant here, but let me tell you about Mistress Elara's charms," his suggestive voice piqued their interest.

"As I was saying, two ripe, perky melons greeted me," he paused, gathering his thoughts.

"Delicious, beyond anything I've had before. And gentlemen, you understand that a traveling merchant samples many melons, right?"

"Yeah, Bard. We're sure you have one at every inn!" They mocked.

He inhaled deeply, the ropes cutting into his ankles, and continued, "As I licked their center, a low moan left her lips, and the scent of ripened cherry engulfed me."

He moaned suggestively. The bandits shifted hungrily.

"Then, gentlemen, her original shyness now dispelled, she firmly took my hand and guided it downwards," he took a deep breath for effect.

"Go on, Bard. What happened next?"

"My fingers explored soft, creamy thighs. Ever moving upwards. Oh! Gentlemen, I quiver at the softness."

He paused, "Ah! Gentlemen, then she set my blood afire when she whispered, 'Master Alejandro, do what you will,' in my ear." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move at the edge of the treeline, and he tensed.

"What did you do, Bard?" one of the bandits asked excitedly. Adrián's eyes darted, his senses alert.

"My hand moved slowly, caressing gently until they reached a pair of moist lips desperate for attention."

Adrián stopped. The hoot of an owl that seemed out of place interrupted his narrative. Bedlam erupted.

Two hooded figures stepped out of the tree line, followed by tandem explosions and curdling screams.

Underneath one of the hoods, Adrián saw the unmistakable black locks of a woman. Whether that meant destiny or calamity, he didn't know.

It looks like Adrián and Ana Belén are finally going to meet!

How will Adrian's tale color their first meeting?

Will Ana Belén maim another bard?

Le me know your thought sin the comments!