Estel’s heart leapt at the sudden sound of a knock on the door. Plopping down on a nearby armchair, she hastily smoothed out the skirt of her kirtle before calling out to the guest.

  “Come in.”

  The door swung open, revealing a tall, imposing figure cd in the royal guard’s regalia. He had thrown his busy work schedule aside to rush to the Duke’s manor after receiving her dy-in-waiting’s letter, so admittedly, she felt a little guilty seeing the tired smile on his face.

  “Pardon my intrusion, Lady Estel,” the Captain began, stepping into the drawing room and closing the door quietly behind him.

  “Captain Marcus.” She rose from her seat and gestured toward the chair opposite hers. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, have a seat.”

  “Arriving at your doorstep on short notice seems to be a trend these days,” he said in a deadpan tone that made her wonder if it was a joke or a compint. “I heard from Adrianne about what happened to Gerald, but still…”

  He trailed off for a moment before heaving a sigh. “Are you alright, Estel?”

  Settling back into her seat, she averted her gaze and nodded her head slightly.

  “I…” He hesitated, his serious demeanour giving way to a flicker of uncertainty.

  To her surprise, the Captain chose to set aside his usual formality and moved to the chair beside her. His scent drifted to her as he sat down—a mix of leather, morning dew and fresh earth, with a subtle hint of pine from the woods. He reached out and gently pced a hand over hers, intentionally avoiding eye contact as an indescribable look flitted across his face.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Gerald was an accomplished butler and a fine gentleman through and through. It’d be difficult to find a repcement with the same calibre of adroitness.”

  Estel managed a small, awkward smile as she looked down at their intertwined hands

  “…I have to say, your consotion skills could use some work.”

  He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound breaking the tension in the room.

  “I'm well aware, Lady Estel,” he admitted, his tone lighter. “Comforting people isn't exactly my strong suit. But though my hands are tied by the royal family, I will try by all means to give you my fullest support.”

  “Marcus…”

  Swallowing, Estel moved her hand away from his.

  “Please don’t say something like that to me,” she said, her voice trembling. “That sentiment…should be directed towards the Crown Prince and his new fiancée, Captain. It is your responsibility to protect them, not me.”

  His expression faltered for a moment before he visibly steeled himself and met her gaze.

  “Estel, I told you st time that I don’t intend on keeping you in the dark,” he said. “To tell you the truth, the only reason why the Crown Prince is able to keep the commoner girl by his side is because His Majesty has yet to speak about the matter in public. Perhaps you may remember the concern that the Margrave of Selvern raised during His Highness’ announcement; not many nobles are in favour of a morganatic marriage, especially when the Kingdom’s authority is being challenged by the Muscadists in the north. And of course, there are some who hold the opinion that His Highness is being overzealous about the annulment—”

  The rest of his comment was abruptly cut short by a loud bang on the door.

  “H-hey, watch where you are touching, bastard!”

  “What’s going on?” Captain Marcus snapped, shooting to his feet.

  Estel widened her eyes. “T-that voice…”

  Before either of them could react further, the door burst open, smming against the wall with a resounding crash. Two royal guards barged into the drawing room, each gripping the arm of a struggling Witch between them.

  “Captain!” one of the guards announced, tightening his hold on the Witch. “We caught this suspicious-looking individual snooping on the third floor!”

  “Excuse me, I am not—”

  “Silence!” the other guard barked. “You’ll speak only when spoken to.”

  “…”

  Estel could barely contain her sigh as she turned to face the bemused Captain.

  “It’s alright, this dy is a guest of mine,” she said, reciting her practised story. “I found her lost in the forest yesterday while on my evening walk, and offered her shelter for the night.”

  Marcus nodded his head, though his gaze never left the Witch’s face. “You heard Her Grace, Firmin, Cedric.”

  With her arms finally freed, the Witch quickly took a step back and sketched a hasty bow. “T-then, I shall be on my way—”

  “Hold it,” he suddenly said.

  “…eh?”

  “Pardon for the inconvenience, Miss. I hope that you can forgive my men’s discourtesy.” Marcus pced a hand on his chest and introduced himself. “Marcus Albrecht, Captain General of His Majesty’s Forces. May I have the honour of knowing your name, Miss?”

  She regarded him with an expression that was a strange mix of wariness and embarrassment. “You…you can call me Alice, Captain Marcus.”

  “And from whence do you hail, Miss Alice?” he asked.

  A slight frown creased her brow.

  “A humble hamlet east of the forest…” she mumbled. “I was picking mushrooms when I was suddenly chased by scary bloodthirsty beasts, and after managing to escape, I lost my way home. It is by fortune that I ran into Est—”

  Estel shot her a warning look, to which the Witch hurriedly added, “H-Her dyship, I mean.”

  “Incidentally, my company is heading eastwards back to the royal capital,” Marcus said, extending his hand towards her. “It would be my pleasure to escort Miss Alice to her hometown, if you please.”

  Her eyes flickered down to his extended hand. After a moment of hesitation, she slowly extended her right hand towards his.

  But just as their hands were about to meet, Marcus reached for her wrist without warning, yanking her closer while pulling up the sleeve of her tunic with his other hand.

  “M-Marcus!” Estel gasped in horror.

  “Had a brush with the Church’s Temprs, did we?” he said calmly, jerking her arm up to reveal the sickening brand burned into her forearm. “Witch?”

  The guards immediately tensed, their hands instinctively moving towards their sheathed swords. She tried to pull her arm back—but his grip was iron, his expression hardening as he searched her defiant eyes.

  “What is your purpose here?” he demanded in a low voice. “You should know that this is no pce for your kind. Leave now, and never step foot on these nds ever again.”

  To Estel’s surprise, the Witch only snorted in response to his threat.

  “And should I refuse? What are you going to do about it?”

  “You will die here, and your body shall be burned—”

  Estel interjected in a panic, “Marcus, wait—”

  “Oh please, being burned at the stake again?”

  Hearing that, the two turned to stare at the Witch at the same time.

  “Try to be more creative with how you’re going to kill me, I beg you.” She rolled her eyes at the dumbfounded Captain. “I’ve just about experienced every type of execution this medieval shithole can think of, and yet I still stand before you right now. Do you really think you can deliver me death by mere fire?”

  The Witch leaned into him with a teasing smile. “So, will you answer my question, Rosengrief?”

  Estel blinked. “Rosengrief?”

  “How…” Marcus froze, a stunned look taking over his face, before he forcefully pushed the Witch away from him. “H-how did you know that name?!”

  “You shouldn’t be that surprised, you know?” she said, dusting her arms off as if she had just come into contact with something dirty. “In the original game, your route was second in popurity to Adrien’s, and naturally the tragic backstory that was revealed in your ending became a hot topic among pyers. I copy-pasted your entire past into my novel, so if I’m not mistaken, your mother was—oh?”

  She paused to smile at the tip of the sword pointed directly at her mouth.

  “Say another word,” Marcus growled. “And I swear on Lumina, I will cut out your tongue.”

  Winking at Estel, the Witch raised her hands in a meek surrender. “Then, shall I assume that we have an accord?”