Moonlight bathed the balcony in a soft, ethereal glow, casting shimmering silver across the silken blue of Mariana's nightdress. The fabric clung to her curves with effortless grace, a testament to her striking beauty, though her thoughts were far removed from appearances. Her crimson hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the faint luminescence of the moon. She stood still, arms resting on the marble railing, her mind an unrelenting storm.
The spar with David replayed in her thoughts like a haunting melody. Every deflected strike, every step he didn't take to meet her flurry of blows—it was all too fresh, too sharp. She had devoted herself to the sword since realizing she lacked the magical talent that her sister, Elara, commanded so effortlessly. Yet here she was, defeated. Who was this David, and what family had produced such a man? A noble bloodline, surely, but one cloaked in mystery.