Reuben was in a wonderful and terrible place. A maelstrom of hot, unforgiving darkness surrounded him. In between periods of darkness, he saw strange flashes of light mixed with images of faces. Some part of him recognized the experience—he was slipping in and out of consciousness, as he had been after the accident, so many years ago. Only one thing was different: the face hovering most often above him was not that of a surgeon or a priest, it was that of a girl. What was her name again? Oh yes... Ayla.

There had been a girl back then, too. But she had never hovered over him, never had a moment's concern for his well-being as he lay, grievously wounded. She had been too busy for that. Ayla was always there. Or was that just his wishful thinking? Was he dreaming of her, and in fact she was not there?

Reuben didn't really care if she was only a vision or reality. Her deep blue eyes, dark as the cool waters of a bottomless lake, were the only thing that soothed and sustained him as he lay there, burning. Not burning in the sense the priests had wanted to burn him all those years ago, no. This time the fire was in his flesh. He couldn't feel the pain of it, but he could feel the heat. The merciless force of death eating its way through his body.

Would it succeed? Would he... what was the word again? Die? Yes, it was die. Would he die?

Hmm. One would have to see.

Looking back on his life, he pondered the question of whether, if there was a God, it would merit a trip to heaven or to hell. Hell, probably. Reuben knew his life's story. It was said that God was merciful, but he doubted anyone in their right mind could be that merciful.

When Reuben opened his eyes and saw a red glow, he knew he had been right. Hell. Oh well, he supposed he would find something to do here. It couldn't be much worse than the world of the living, now, could it?

Then he remembered Ayla and bit his lip. Yes, it could. She was still there and would surely never join him. He had been a fool! He had had his chance at life and wasted it.

Trying to keep the tears out of his eyes, he blinked—and suddenly realized that the red glow around him was illuminating a stone ceiling. A very familiar stone ceiling. He didn't know all that much about hell, but it probably didn't have the same ceiling as his room in the Castle of Luntberg. He also realized that the red glow looked suspiciously like the light of sunrise.

From behind him, he heard the light footsteps of a woman.

Could the devil be a woman? He rolled his eyes. What a silly question. Of course he could. But with all the other indications pointing to this not being hell, he was willing to have a look. The chances of him receiving a poke in the eye with a red hot pitchfork were pretty slim.

There indeed was someone in the room with him, and it wasn't the devil. It was a girl—not the girl, not Ayla, just a girl. But he had seen her before. Frowning, he tried to get his mind to work. If only his head didn’t feel this fuzzy...

“It's you,” he croaked, realizing who it was: the silly maid who had brought him the disgusting soup.

When she heard his voice, the maid jumped, threw him a look not unlike a frightened rabbit who was sneaking past a sleeping wolf only to discover he was, in fact, wide awake, and retreated into a corner.

Reuben scowled. “You don't need to be afraid of me, you know. I'm not going to eat you. I'm no monster.”

She swallowed. It was obvious she wasn't convinced on this point. “Y-you walk around with three arrows in your back as if there is nothing wrong with you,” she accused.

“Only on the weekends.”

“That's unnatural!”

Reuben gave her a devilish grin. “You think so? I could do it on Wednesdays instead.”

She pouted. It was probably supposed to be a frown, but she was far too harmless to manage one. Now, she looked like an angry bunny about to steel herself for a one-on-one with the wolf and not liking it one bit. “That's not all. You made Lady Ayla cry!”

She made it sound as if this was an offense comparable to mass murder. Reuben was inclined to agree, but there was no way he was going to admit that. So instead, he just shrugged, wincing when he almost couldn't get his shoulders to lift. It was humiliating to be so infuriatingly weak!

“I probably did. I'm so terribly sorry for falling down the stairs and almost breaking my neck because that distressed your mistress. I promise to do my best to avoid something similar in the future.”

“Don't you ever talk about something in a serious manner?”

“Not if I can avoid it.”

Her pout returned. “You made her cry! How could you? After everything she has done for you? She saved your life, and you only hurt her in return!”

“Why the hell do you care?” he asked angrily. “I thought you'd be glad, the way she has been treating you, and all her serfs!”

He waited for an answer, but none came. With effort, he focused his blurry sight on the maid and saw that she had stuffed her fingers in her ears.

“Take your fingers out,” he mouthed at her.

“Only if you stop cursing, you villain! Don't use the 'H'-word again!”

Rolling his eyes, he nodded, and she removed her fingers from her ears.

“Why would you care if I think ill of your lady?” he repeated his question in a calmer tone. “This castle is about to be besieged, and she's feasting, snatching food from the mouths of people who are desperately going to need it.”

The maid's warm brown eyes flashed indignantly. Apparently, the bunny had finally decided on a frontal attack. “She is not feasting! She's on reduced rations, the same as the rest of us!”

“But... you told me yourself that...”

“She told me to tell you that.”

A confused frown appeared on Reuben's sweaty face. “Why would she do that?”

The girl shrugged. “I think she liked the idea of that thought being served to you as the dessert for your fennel soup.”

For a moment or two, Reuben wavered, asking himself whether he should be angry. Then a wide grin appeared on his face, dispelling the frown in a heartbeat. “What a woman,” he said, shaking his head in wonder.

The maid nodded, her jaw set. “She is. Do you know what else she did, besides imposing the same restrictions on herself as on her people? She ordered a barricade built so that not just the men and women in the castle but everybody would be protected. When it turned out that there wasn't room for them all in the village, she took in the families of the farmers from the other side of the river. And when the Margrave's men attacked, she rode out herself to face them!”

She took a breath and continued: “She's the sweetest, bravest, most kind-hearted lady in the whole world! I'm going to fetch her now because she said to wake her the minute you woke up, but if you ever do anything to upset her again you'll... you'll...”

She floundered around for something fitting to say. It was obvious she wasn't very practiced at making threats. “...Well, you'll be sorry!” she finally finished. Glaring at him one last time from her safe corner, she gathered her skirts and fled from the room.

Reuben wagered she wouldn't dare approach him for the next week or so. She had probably only been brave enough for this encounter because he was lying in bed with a high fever, unable to move a muscle.

Yes, because of that—and because she loved her mistress dearly. Perhaps he had been wrong about that maid. Perhaps she wasn't so silly after all. Perhaps he had been wrong about Ayla, too. He would so dearly love to believe that she wasn't a heartless shrew. She was so bewitching. A witch.

He closed his eyes. Then, when he heard the door swing open, he opened them again and saw Ayla standing in the doorway. She looked a vision in a long blue dress with golden trimming that matched her hair and eyes exactly, and that didn't have mud all over it this time. Her lips parted to smile at him, and he felt pain, real, tangible pain, for the first time in years. Pain in his heart at the glorious sight of her.

What's the good of lying to yourself any longer, Reuben? he thought. You only need to be good at lying to other people, not yourself. Ayla isn't a shrew; she isn't a witch. She is a lovely girl, and she hasn't put a spell on you or bewitched you—unless it be in the way any girl may bewitch a man if his heart is willing to fall to her magic.

Again he felt the pain in his heart, the exquisite pain. Why this girl? Why did it have to be her? His savior. His sworn enemy. The one girl he could never have.

But then, you should never say never...