My hand slowly touched the soft surface, moving ever so cautiously, as if my life depended on it, over it to find the trap. After knocking it hard a few times, a wooden-cased blade thudded onto the floor, making me swear for a second.
'Is that mine?' I questioned in my head, picking it up and turning it in my hand to see the initials 'D' engraved on it. 'Why did he keep it here instead of his bedroom, which would be a safe haven for such things? To investigate its origin?'
The approaching footsteps behind me reminded me to quickly hide the old-fashioned pocketknife, the one that had been passed down in my family for nearly five generations, in my skirt's pocket.
"What fell, milady?" she asked with anxiousness evident in her eyes. She appeared to be afraid to report any broken item to the king, who could slay her for such a petty thing, though I knew not what his decision would be.
