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The dense forest stood like a somber cathedral, its towering trees creating an eerie silence that echoed through the shadowy aisles. Not even a whisper of the summer wind dared disturb the thick canopy above, leaving the grass and flowers untouched by its gentle breath. The sun, casting its bright rays over the town of Frankfort, failed to pierce through the green gloom of the forest’s depths.

Nathalie, the witch, sat low on the grass near a small shrine adorned with a figure of the Madonna. Clad in a brown cloak, she peered intently into the dark recesses between the ancient tree trunks, her eyes fixed on the approaching figure of a lady struggling through the undergrowth.

The lady emerged hesitantly, her long yellow dress torn and dirtied, her hair disheveled. As she drew closer to the shrine, her fatigue was evident, and her grey eyes widened with fear upon seeing the witch.

“What troubles Jacobea of Martzburg that she wanders disheveled and alone in these woods?” asked Nathalie, her voice devoid of emotion.

“I am lost,” Jacobea replied, her voice trembling. “How do you know me?”

“By your countenance,” Nathalie answered. “But why are you lost?”

“I seek the way to Frankfort,” Jacobea explained wearily. “I was with the Empress at the tournament when my horse bolted, throwing me off. Now I’ve lost my way.”

Nathalie’s faint smile hinted at hidden knowledge. “I know not the path,” she said. “But I can reveal your fortune without coin or silver.”

“No!” Jacobea exclaimed, her agitation growing. “I do not believe in such things. Just show me the way out of these woods, and I’ll pay you for it.”

Ignoring Jacobea’s offer, Nathalie approached and grasped her hand. “What secrets lie in your palm?” she mused.

Startled, Jacobea tried to pull away, her fear mounting in the witch’s presence. “There’s no magic in this,” she protested, her voice tinged with anger.

Releasing her grip, Nathalie spoke sharply. “I know more about you than you realize, Jacobea of Martzburg.”

With a sense of foreboding, Jacobea turned and hurried down the shaded path, but Nathalie followed silently, her cloak billowing behind her.

“You cannot escape,” the witch’s voice echoed through the trees. “You may wander endlessly, but Frankfort will remain beyond your reach.”

Jacobea felt a chill run down her spine as the witch’s slender fingers brushed against her yellow sleeve. “Who are you?” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with desperation. “And what do you want from me?”

The witch’s pale lips curled into a sly smile. “Come with me, and all will be revealed,” she whispered.

Fear gripped Jacobea’s heart. “No, I won’t,” she declared firmly.

“You’ll wander aimlessly without me,” the witch warned, nodding toward the dense forest.

Jacobea hesitated, her eyes scanning the eerie surroundings—the still trees, the silent glades, the looming branches that obscured the sky above. “I’ll pay you handsomely if you guide me out of here,” she pleaded.

“Follow me now,” Nathalie insisted, “and I’ll lead you to safety afterward.”

“Why should I trust you?” Jacobea’s voice trembled. “I don’t know you, and I fear you.”

The witch sneered, sizing up Jacobea’s youthful strength. “What harm could I possibly do?” she scoffed.

Despite her doubts, Jacobea couldn’t deny the logic in the witch’s words. She reluctantly followed as Nathalie ventured down a grassy path that wound through the shadowy trees.

As they traversed the forest, the oppressive silence and the monotonous greenery began to dull Jacobea’s senses, lulling her into a strange calmness. Eventually, they reached a secluded pool nestled in a hollow, surrounded by dark ferns and stagnant waters. Across the pool sat a young man in somber attire, engrossed in an ancient tome.

The sight sent a shiver through Jacobea’s veins. She longed to flee from those penetrating eyes fixed upon her. But the witch’s grip on her hand was surprisingly strong, pulling her closer to the edge of the eerie pool.

The young man closed the book, his gaze unwavering as he watched Jacobea approach. Against the backdrop of the gloomy forest, her figure clad in luminous yellow velvet, her golden hair blending with her gown, and her frightened yet graceful demeanor created a stark contrast.

Amidst the gloom of the forest, a stark picture unfolded—a beautiful lady, Jacobea, clad in radiant yellow, her features marred by fear and confusion, held captive by the small, drab figure of Nathalie, the witch.

“Remember me?” inquired the youth seated by the pool.

Jacobea averted her gaze, unnerved by his intense stare.

“Let her go, Nathalie,” the youth demanded impatiently, leaning on his closed book. His eyes lingered admiringly on Jacobea’s trembling form.

Nathalie relented, releasing Jacobea’s hand. The young man ran his fingers through his dark locks.

“You know who I am,” he stated confidently.

Reluctantly, Jacobea turned to face him, her pallor contrasting with her vibrant attire.

“Yes, you sought refuge at my castle once,” she admitted.

The youth, Edward, maintained his intense gaze. “And what did I tell you in return for your kindness?” he pressed.

Jacobea remained silent, unwilling to acknowledge the truth.

“I revealed something to you,” Edward persisted. “Something you haven’t forgotten.”

“Let me go,” Jacobea pleaded, attempting to retreat.

Instead, she sank onto a moss-covered boulder by the pond, her hands trembling as they grasped her locks.

“You’ve never been the same since then,” Edward observed.

Fear and defiance flashed in Jacobea’s eyes as she faced him. “You’re evil,” she accused, glancing at Nathalie.

“Why am I here?” she demanded.

“Because I willed it,” Edward stated gravely. “Your horse doesn’t often stray and leave you lost in the woods.”

Jacobea gasped at his knowledge. “You willed that too?” she exclaimed.

Edward smirked, revealing a hint of malice. “Perhaps your horse was bewitched—ever heard of such a thing?”

The mention of witchcraft sent a chill down Jacobea’s spine. She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting between Edward and the cursed landscape.

“You granted a position at Court to a young man I know,” Edward continued. “Why?”

Caught off guard, Jacobea struggled to find an answer. “I...I didn’t dislike him,” she stammered weakly.

“As you did me,” Edward interjected.

“Maybe I had no reason to favor you,” Jacobea retorted, her voice tinged with defiance. “Why did you ever come to my castle? Why did I ever meet you?”

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She covered her eyes, unable to bear Edward’s piercing gaze.

“No matter,” Edward taunted. “So, you were fond of my comrade Thomas?”

Jacobea hesitated, feeling compelled to respond. “I liked him enough. He seemed pleased to see me again, and since he was idle—I...”

“Why the questions?” Edward interrupted, a hint of jealousy in his tone. “Could it be that you’re jealous?”

The young man’s furrowed brow betrayed his inner turmoil. “Am I a fool to be jealous? Don’t meddle with forces beyond your ken. It would’ve been better if you never crossed paths with my comrade—or me,” he scowled.

Jacobea countered, “He’s free to make his own choices. If he chooses to come to Court...”

“If you lure him,” Edward retorted sharply. “But let’s leave that be.”

He stood and leaned against the tree, the jagged grey wood and colorful fungi creating an eerie backdrop. The forest around them exuded a deep, unsettling stillness.

Jacobea battled her rising dread, feeling as if a sinister mist emanated from the black pool, chilling her to the bone. She couldn’t evade Edward’s penetrating gaze, like bright stones in his smooth face.

“Come closer,” he commanded.

Reluctantly, Jacobea obeyed, feeling as if she were under a spell.

“I believe you’ve enchanted me,” she said wearily.

“Not me, another,” Edward replied cryptically. “You’re slow in realizing things, Jacobea of Martzburg.”

A tremor ran through her, and she glanced nervously around the forest before focusing on Edward.

“I know a bit of magic,” he continued. “Shall I reveal the man you want to make Lord of Martzburg?”

“No such man exists,” she murmured weakly.

“You lie,” Edward accused. “And I could prove it.”

“You cannot,” she insisted, clasping her hands tightly.

Edward smirked. “You’re fair and gentle, but you harbor rebellious thoughts, secrets you’d never confess even in church.”

She remained silent.

“Why did your steward accompany you to Frankfort while his wife stayed at Martzburg?” Edward pressed. “What reward will he receive for his loyalty?”

Jacobea pressed her handkerchief to her lips, struggling to respond.

“What reward should I offer?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Edward replied forcefully. “But I do know he awaits your word—”

“Stop!” Jacobea interrupted.

Edward pressed on mercilessly. “He waits for you to say, ‘Sebastian, you find me fair and wealthy, and my love is yours. Cast aside the woman in Martzburg, and come to me.’ Say that, and he’ll ride to Martzburg tomorrow, free.”

Jacobea’s handkerchief fell, her eyes wide with shock. “You’re a demon,” she whispered. “You can’t be human to manipulate my heart like this. And you’re wrong—I’ve never had such thoughts.”

“In the Devil’s name, I’m right,” Edward smirked.

“The Devil! You’re his pawn!” Jacobea retorted defiantly. “Or how else would you know what I barely realized until you came that cursed night? What he never knew until then—ah, I swear it, he never imagined...but now, his eyes—I can’t mistake them.”

Edward’s words dripped with menace. “He’s a loyal servant, waiting for his mistress’s command.”

Jacobea collapsed to the grass, her voice barely audible. “Please, stop. Whoever you are, whatever your intentions, I beg for mercy. I am deeply unhappy—don’t provoke me further.”

Edward advanced and gripped her shoulders firmly. “Naive fool!” he exclaimed. “How long do you think you can endure this? How long before he realizes he could be the master, not the servant?”

She turned away in agony. “Then it was you who filled his head with these thoughts, you—”

Edward cut her off heatedly. “He knows, remember that! He knows and waits. He already resents the woman who keeps him silent. It would be so easy—one glance, a few words—he’s not slow to understand.” He released her, and Jacobea collapsed, clasping his feet.

“I beg you, retract this wickedness. I am weak. Since I first saw you, I’ve fought against your influence that’s killing me. Man or demon, I plead with you, let me be!”

She lifted her tear-stained face, hair cascading like golden threads over her gown. Edward regarded her coldly. “I am neither man nor demon,” he declared. “But mark my words: as important as he is to you, so is your doom sealed.”

“Doomed!” she echoed, half rising.

“Yes, so collect the price of your soul,” he taunted. “What does that woman mean to you? A heartless woman, as good as dead now or in fifty years—what’s one more sin? While you hold that man’s image above God’s, you’re already lost.”

“I am so alone,” she whimpered. “If only I had a friend...” Her voice trailed off, as if someone came to her mind. Edward, observing closely, flushed with anger.

He stepped back and clapped his hands. “I promised to show you your lover. Now let him speak for himself.”

Jacobea turned to see Sebastian standing a few feet away, holding back branches and gazing at her. She screamed and rose, but Edward and the witch were gone. Even if they were nearby, they didn’t respond to her calls. The forest seemed eerily empty except for Sebastian’s silent figure.

Convinced that Edward was an evil entity summoned by her own dark thoughts, believing Sebastian’s appearance was a phantom sent to torment her, she, overwhelmed with misery and terror, sought refuge in the still pool.

But as she prepared to plunge into the water, she heard Sebastian’s voice—a human voice. She paused, listening fearfully as he called out to her.

“It’s me,” he called. “My lady, it’s me.”

Realizing Sebastian was no ghost but her living steward, she gathered her wits and replied, “You startled me. I thought you were a robber. I didn’t recognize you.”

Relieved by his presence, she moved away from the water, grateful for his reassurance amidst the eerie forest.

As she clutched the crucifix to her lips, Jacobea found a moment of solace. Sebastian’s calm demeanor, despite her disheveled appearance and evident distress, was disconcerting.

“It’s fortunate I stumbled upon you,” Sebastian remarked gravely. “The woods are vast.”

“Yes, vast indeed,” she replied. “Do you know the way out, Sebastian?”

Struggling to meet his gaze, she faltered, “Forgive me, I’ve walked far and I’m weary—I need to rest.”

Sebastian didn’t press the issue. “Have you encountered anyone else?” he inquired.

She hesitated, unwilling to speak of the strange figures she had encountered.

“No,” she finally replied.

“We have a long journey ahead,” he stated.

Feeling his eyes on her, Jacobea gripped the crucifix tighter, drawing blood. “Do you know the way?” she asked, her voice dull.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “But it’s a considerable distance.”

Gathering her skirts, she gestured for him to lead. They proceeded down a narrow path, the only sounds being his soft footsteps and the rustle of branches he moved aside for her.

Struggling with the oppressive silence, Jacobea tried to speak several times but was stopped by Sebastian’s interruption.

“It’s odd that your horse behaved so strangely,” he remarked.

“But you found him?” she asked, hope flickering.

“Yes, a man discovered him, agitated as if under a spell.”

Her heart raced at his choice of words. Was it intentional?

Unable to respond, she was grateful when he changed the subject. “Were you injured when thrown from the horse?” he inquired.

“No,” she replied quickly.

The forest remained eerily quiet as they walked until reaching a clearing. Sebastian halted.

“We still have a ways to go. Would you like to rest?” he offered.

“No,” she insisted. “Let’s continue—where are the others? We should encounter someone soon!”

“I’m not aware of anyone passing through here,” he admitted, eyeing her fatigued form. “You must rest, it’s unwise to push on.”

Reluctantly, she sat down, her crucifix pressed against her chest.

“It’s so shadowy here,” she remarked. “It’s hard to imagine sunlight filtering through these dark trees.”

Sebastian stood before her, his silhouette outlined against the darkening woods. Jacobea couldn’t help but notice his thin, dark cheek and heavy-lidded eyes as he spoke.

“I reckon I ought to head back to Martzburg,” he stated, his words hanging heavy in the air.

Jacobea, struggling to maintain composure, waved her hand dismissively. “You know you’re free to do as you please, Sebastian.”

He removed his glove slowly, examining his hand. “Wouldn’t it be best for me to leave?”

His gaze met hers squarely, challenging her. “I’m not sure,” she replied desperately, “why you’re asking me this now.”

“I rarely find you alone,” he remarked, his words rigid yet purposeful.

She looked down at the crucifix in her hand, trying to steady herself. “You can leave Frankfort whenever you want—why not?”

Sebastian turned to face her fully. “But I can come back?”

His question echoed in Jacobea’s mind, reminiscent of Edward’s words. The crucifix slipped from her grasp.

“What are you saying? Oh, Sebastian, what are you saying?” Her words were forced, whispered in disbelief. “Go and come as you wish, are you not free?”

Picking up the crucifix, he frowned, eyes dark and filled with excitement. “Do you remember the students from that night at Martzburg?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Isn’t one of them at Court now?”

“I mean the other—the boy,” clarified Sebastian.

Avoiding his gaze, Jacobea lowered her head, sensing the trap closing around her.

“I met him again today,” Sebastian continued, his tone tinged with intrigue. “Here, in this forest, while searching for you. He spoke to me.”

Surely, the Devil was at play, orchestrating this encounter. Sebastian’s knowing look confirmed her worst fears.

“He’s cunning,” remarked the steward.

Jacobea lifted her head. “He’s an enchanter—a wizard. Do not listen to him, do not speak to him. As you value your soul, Sebastian, do not entertain him.”

Sebastian stood firm. “Let me return to Martzburg. One word—I’ll understand.”

Her resolve strengthened. “We must continue. I can’t speak with you now, Sebastian.”

But he blocked her path. “Let me go to Martzburg,” he insisted. “One word—I’ll understand.”

Feeling trapped, Jacobea struggled to find her voice. “You’ll stay in Frankfort,” she asserted, finding newfound strength.

“Sybilla asks for my return,” he pleaded, gazing at her intensely. “Don’t we understand each other without words?”

“The fiend has ensnared you,” she replied fearfully. “You know too much—guess too much, and yet I tell you nothing. I’m bewitched, unable to answer as I should.”

“I’ve kept silent for too long,” he confessed. “But I’ve dared to imagine—had I been free—”

The crucifix, forgotten until now, was held tightly in her hand. “We shouldn’t speak like this,” she protested, feeling overwhelmed.

“You’ll bid me go to Martzburg,” he persisted, grasping her cold fingers.

She looked up at the canopy above. “No, no! God have mercy on me!”

As if in response to her plea, the thick foliage rustled, and Jacobea sensed a release from the suffocating tension. She turned to see knights and a page boy approaching, part of the search party sent for her.

She moved towards them, relieved. Only Sebastian saw her raise the crucifix to her lips before they turned back towards Frankfort, leaving the dark forest and its haunting secrets behind.