Forgotten Romance

Prologue

Author's Note:

This story is not going to be in the past the entire time, this is just the prologue. Any chapters from now on written in the past will be a memory. THIS STORY IS NOT ABOUT MEDIEVAL OR RENAISSANCE TIMES!!!!

Carry on with the story :) Hope you enjoy! <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stared at the portrait he had painted while she was asleep. It was incredibly... how could he describe it? Beautiful didn't seem strong enough. Breathtaking? Maybe. For now he'd have to live with indescribable. Only he seemed to think so; everyone else in the country frowned at her African heritage, but she was truly beautiful. Her skin glowed, albeit her dark complexion, and her hair was uncharacteristically long. Her black almond-shaped eyes and full pink lips, also uncharacteristic, were only accentuated by her soft nose and high cheek bones. As much as French wanted to deny it, she was beautiful.

A soft knock at his chamber door made him pull his eyes away from the painting of the slave girl. He walked to the door and opened it to reveal the object of his affection. The subject of his favorite portrait. The slave girl named Amaia. Her hair was unkempt and matted from blood where she had been hit and she wore a tattered under-dress that was very inappropriate to wear in public, but was all she was given. It was just way for her lords and masters to find entertainment; through gossip and mockery. She would be considered a fool, if the fool wasn't payed for his services.

"I am here to clean your room, master," she said softly, her voice still incredibly thick with the accent of her people. She had not yet stayed long enough to develop a new one, one that was normal to this region. "Master?"

His eyes focused, letting him know that they had glazed over and he asked her to repeat herself. "Do you want me to wait or clean now, sir?" she questioned in her thick accent. He much preferred this accent over the native one in this region. The french flowed off her tongue in a softer, smoother way, and that just made him want to treat her in the most indecent way there could be.

"You can clean it now, Amaia, and please, call me Raphael," he told her, gently, not the least bit surprise when she widened her eyes in surprise. In the castles, slaves were never to call those of nobility by their personal name. Only by "my lord" or "master", and this was usually no different. She had been designated to him when he arrived at the castle, for the castle lord had been expecting him for some time now (he was a nephew), but he felt some sort of affection for this girl and had been trying to buy her from his uncle for just as long.

"Sir Raphael," she responded, a light blush coloring her dark cheeks. He smiled in satisfaction, how he imagined his name would sound on her lips was nothing compared to reality. She began cleaning while he watched her, asking questions about her past and the usual questions: where are you from? How old are you? What's your family name? Was yours a conquered nation? Her answers astounded him, however dull they may be.

She was from a country in Northern Africa, but her mother would never let her go outside for too long, which was why she was so light compared to her people. She would turn sixteen in five months or so, giving the two of them a four year difference. Her full name was Amaia Abebe, her family name was her father's name. And she was indeed a conquered nation.

As they spent the morning together, Sir Raphael noticed that she never went through anything of his and she would not put his things away for that reason. He wondered aloud why that was and she looked at him confused, "Do you not wish for privacy? It is not in my right to open your things, mas- Sir Raphael."

He nodded thoughtfully as she carried on with her work and he couldn't help but fall in love with her as the hours flew by. Such a delightfully funny thought, the lord's nephew falling in love with the slave.