"And this is the main foyer," Vranphile explained, gesturing through one of the many hallways that opened up into a extravagant room, circular in shape. There was a lot of activity bustling just beyond its doorway - craftsman scurrying about, hefting heavy boards and cans of paint. "As you can see," Vranphile said, indicating the workers. "It's undergoing reconstruction."
          "You're redecorating?"
          "Not willingly," Vranphile said, his arms folded across the wine-colored lapels of his coat. He leaned in close, his voice hardly above a whisper. "You see, we recently suffered an attack on the castle."
          "Oh no!" Delilah said, rounding on him. He smiled and threw her a wink, and she squinted at him suspiciously. "Wait, really? Or are you just teasing me?"
          "I'm not teasing you," Vranphile said and grimaced, returning to the severity of the topic at hand. "We recently had a problem with a rebel uprising. When running a kingdom there's always going to be people who don't agree with what you're trying to do." Delilah nodded in understanding. "However, this was the first time it's drawn so close to the heart of our operations." He made a show of shrugging his broad shoulders. "It's nothing, really."
          Delilah was still frowning thoughtfully as he lead her past the room and through the coridors that branched out beyond it. Vranphile continued to familiarize her to various parts of his palace, listing off dozens of places Delilah was sure she wouldn't remember in ten minutes time. After a while he seemed to sense her disinterest, however, because he turned to her abruptly.
          "Delilah, are you alright?" he inquired, raising his eyebrows in concern. "You seem troubled."
          Delilah's frown deepened, her eyebrows knitted together in worry. "This is all very nice of you," she said slowly, as if trying to come up with something articulate. "But... why?"
          The question seemed to surprise Vranphile, who leaned back, surveying her more fully. "Why?" he echoed.
          "Why," she pressed, nodding. She waved her hand about the air, to the seemingly infinite space of the citadel. "Why all this? Why so hospitable?" she leaned up to try and match his superior height, peering into his face. "Why are you helping me?"
          "Why?" He seemed confused.
          "You told me my story, now I want to hear your's," at his protest, she cut him off. "Not about the history of your monarchy, I've heard all that. What I mean is," she swallowed painfully before regaining her confidence. "Why are you doing this? What's your motive here? What have you to gain?"
          Vranphile didn't immediately respond, and Delilah blinked several times, trying to fight back rising emotions. She half-expected him to fade away into nothing, another illusion conjured up from her poisoned mind. Instead he gave a great sigh, shifting the balance between his two feet restlessly before lifting his elegant head to meet her gaze.
          "Do you really want to know the truth?" He asked, defeated. Delilah nodded several times, ignoring the horrible sinking feeling in her stomach. "You want to know, honestly?"
          There was a pause, and Delilah watched the sheepish expression on his face with great uncertainty. "The truth of the matter is.." Vranphile began hesitantly, "...is that.."
          "..Delilah, I love you."