The storm had quieted down to a soft pattering of steady rainfall while Gwendolyn lay in her four poster bed staring up at the fresco on the ceiling, Saint Michael slaying the serpent. She wondered about the reason she had been locked in this room. Her uncle had made it sound like a punishment, but she was given regular meals, plenty of books to read, and peace and quiet of having all personal maids and staff dismissed. She quietly pondered if it was actually a polite consideration on her uncle’s behalf after hearing about the physician’s diagnosis of her melancholia. 

She sighed audibly and debated with herself the merit of leaving the bed. It was warm and comfortable, but if she wanted to continue reading her book she would need to move to her armchair to be next to the lamp light. In the end, the book called to Gwendolyn more than the bed and she curled up in the chair with her duvet cover wrapped around her like a caterpillar enveloped in a cocoon. 

The book was about the Centuries War and followed the detailed accounts of generals from multiple factions of the continent. Some kept dry factual records, while others embellished and wove a story that was mostly factual and littered with footnotes from the scribes who provided the true events. Gwendolyn enjoyed these historical tomes and had studied diligently since she was a young girl, finding great comfort in books since she lacked siblings to play with. 

A knock at the door disturbed her delight and she realized it was accompanied by a distressed voice calling her name. With a groan she extracted herself from the chair and the blanket, putting on her dressing robe so as to be presentable. “Yes, what is it?” 

The door was flung open wide and there stood an armored young man with a sword in hand and sweat trickling down from his brow. Gwendolyn watched with wide eyes as he strode into the center of the room and took a knee declaring loudly, “My lady, I am here to free you from the confines of your imprisonment and return you to your rightful place as heir to the kingdom.”

“Oh, no thank you,” she said and returned to the chair, picking up her book once again. She spread the blanket over her lap as the knight blinked, trying to comprehend what was happening. Gwendolyn waved a hand towards the door, “And you can let them know they can send breakfast whenever it is prepared.” 

There was a sputtering from the man as he stood again. “M-my lady.” 

“Was there more you needed?” Her look over the top of the book was on the verge of annoyance. “You may leave.” 

In a daze, the knight turned to leave, too stunned to inform Gwendolyn that breakfast wouldn’t be coming since the cooks had been taken prisoner in the siege, along with the rest of the castle staff and inhabitants.