The air thickened with Marcus's unspoken outrage. Rude, ungracious, improper—the words tumbled through his mind, each one a sharp stone grinding against his composure. He was no longer a naive youth, and yet he was utterly unprepared for the sheer vulgarity this man displayed. The joyous mood, carefully cultivated over the course of the evening, now lay shattered, leaving behind a bitter taste. Marcus winced, acutely aware of Jasper's discomfort. This was something unspoken in polite society, a truth simmering beneath the surface, and yet this man, with shocking boldness, dared to give it voice.

"I believe there's nothing more to be said. I'll take my leave. Please enjoy the evening," Marcus declared, turning to depart. But Jasper, the scoundrel, made a grab for Marcus's wrist. Thankfully, Marcus was quick enough to wrench himself free before the other man could lay hold.

"Ah, this takes me back to our school days," Jasper laughed, a disconcerting glint in his eye. "You always did play hard to get."

"There’s no game being played, Jasper," Marcus retorted, his brow furrowed. "You simply... Never mind."

"You will regret it one day, Marcus," Jasper said, a sly smile twisting his lips.

Marcus met his gaze, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. "I had hoped," he said, his voice tight with suppressed disgust, "that you might have matured since our youth." He clenched his fists, knuckles bone-white. "But it seems some things never change."

"Oh, that stings, Marcus," Jasper giggled, seemingly oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. "But I’m flattered you still think of me."

Marcus drew himself to his full height, a chill in his voice as he replied, "I’ll take my leave. And do not follow me if you don’t wish to lose another drop of blood."

With that, Marcus turned and strode away, his pace brisk as he distanced himself from the whispers and curious stares that burned into him like a physical touch. The adrenaline of the confrontation left him shaky, and as he slipped through the doors into the cool night, he felt the first real pangs of anger loosen into a deeper ache, a familiar knot of dread tightening in his gut.

Seeking refuge, he ventured into Marquess Sam's gardens. The air was still here, only the faintest rustle of leaves and the distant hum of conversation from the house breaking the silence. As he walked, the sights and sounds offered a small balm, but his mood remained tense, simmering with resentment. How could Jasper… he thought, but the question trailed off, replaced by a deeper, more persistent bitterness that had nothing to do with Jasper alone.

As he passed deeper into the garden, the quiet seemed to heighten his sense of isolation. A faint moan drifted from somewhere within the maze, pulling him back to the moment with a ripple of scandalized amusement. He veered away, uninterested in intruding on whatever clandestine activities were underway, and instead made his way to a wooden bench swing nestled beneath a willow tree near the pond.

Sinking onto the worn wooden seat, Marcus let out a long, weary sigh, feeling the weight of his fatigue settle over him. Here, away from the oppressive atmosphere of the house, he felt a familiar yearning for escape pull at his soul. Yet duty, that relentless anchor, bound him to this life—a duty so heavy it threatened to crush him beneath its weight.

He cast his mind back to the carefree days of his childhood, when life was simple, a time of endless play with Velor, when his heart overflowed with love for the world and everyone in it. Sword practice on weekends had been the most arduous task he faced; even the dreaded morning wake-ups held no real terror. A wry smile touched his lips. Now, the mornings were easy, but the world and its inhabitants had become a source of constant turmoil.

“How ironic.”

With a sigh of frustration, Marcus removed his wig, raking his fingers through his hair. He stared at the powdered confection in his hand—a symbol of all that he loathed. The relentless pressure to conform, to fit into society's rigid mold, was suffocating. Eat the same, wear the same, live the same—a tedious, monotonous existence. Even within the same town, people of different backgrounds and social classes led vastly different lives. So why this desperate need to erase individuality, to force everyone into the same stifling pattern? The very thought made him scowl.

Marcus set the swing in motion, the gentle rocking a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil in his mind. Here, in this quiet corner of the garden, he found a measure of solace. No prying eyes, no unwanted conversations, just the rustling leaves, the whispering breeze, and the earthy scent of the pond. It wasn't exactly a fragrant perfume, but it held a calming familiarity that soothed his troubled mind.

"Do you mind if I join you on the swing?" a smooth, melodious voice inquired from behind.

Marcus turned to find himself gazing upon a woman of striking beauty. Her silken blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face of startling pallor. Crimson lips curved into a captivating smile, and her eyes, bright and intelligent, held a hint of mystery.

He rose to his feet, casting a wary glance around the secluded clearing. Though this corner of the garden offered a degree of privacy, but privacy could be a blessing and a curse. it was still risky for them to be alone.

"Pardon me, Madam, but may I inquire as to what brings you here?" he asked, his gaze still darting about, assessing their surroundings.

"I merely seek refuge from the crowd," she replied with a gentle smile. "They suffocate me."

Her smile held a curious familiarity. Marcus found himself studying her features, a nagging sense of recognition tugging at his memory. Did he know this woman? Or was it simply a trick of the light?

"I can't?" she asked, a playful lilt in her voice.

"Oh, yes, please," Marcus stammered, flustered by her presence. He snatched up his discarded wig and clutched it awkwardly in his hand. Uncertainty gnawed at him. Declining her request would be a breach of etiquette, especially if she proved to be a person of consequence. But this unexpected encounter left him feeling decidedly off-balance.

"Sir Marcus, is it?" she inquired casually as she settled onto the swing.

Her familiarity with his name gave him pause. Was he truly that well-known amongst the guests? And why did she seem to know him?

"Indeed, Madam," he replied, striving for composure. "And might I inquire as to your name, so that I may address you properly?"

"Ah, there's no need for such formalities," she demurred, a warm smile gracing her lips. "Truly, you don't need to know my name."

Her smile, her face, her very presence... it all felt strangely familiar. He struggled to place her, like a puzzle piece he couldn't quite place. The resemblance to someone he knew – or perhaps should know – growing stronger with each passing moment.

"Have you taken any dances yet?" she asked, her gaze meeting his. "I haven't seen you on the dance floor."

"No," Marcus replied, his eyes darting around nervously. "I may have... escaped the hall somewhat prematurely."

"You seem rather cautious, Sir Marcus," she observed, lightly patting the seat beside her. "Please, take a seat."

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"Oh, no, don't mind me," Marcus said with a forced smile. "It's best if I remain standing."

"Very well, if you insist," she conceded, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Marcus hesitated, his curiosity battling with his ingrained sense of propriety. "Forgive my boldness," he began, "but... have we met before?" He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her.

The question hung in the air, a silent plea for answers.

"I don't know, have we?" she replied, her smile widening slightly.

Marcus met her gaze with uncertainty. "Ah, my apologies," he stammered. "I must seem terribly rude, asking such a question out of the blue." He offered her a shaky smile, attempting to maintain his composure. His hand instinctively drifted towards the hidden weapon beneath his coat, a habit born from years of caution. He meant no harm, but if something went awry, he wanted to be prepared.

"You are Velor's best friend, are you not?" she asked, her voice soft “How is he?”

Velor? Just Velor? Who was this woman, and how did she know his dearest friend?

"I am, indeed," Marcus confirmed, his brow furrowing "He's doing well," Marcus replied, opting for a vague answer. It wasn't a lie; Velor was indeed doing well.

"I'm glad to hear that," she said, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "Has he found a wife yet?"

"That, madam, is a question I cannot answer," Marcus replied, his confusion increasing.

"I see," she said, her smile returning like a fleeting sunbeam

Marcus allowed his gaze to sweep over her, taking in the details of her attire. It was undeniably the garb of a woman of high rank. The emerald green dress, richly embroidered with golden lace and accented with snowy white fabric, spoke of wealth and status. He judged her to be a countess, at the very least, perhaps even higher. What such a woman was doing alone in this secluded corner of the garden was a mystery

"May I ask you a favor?" she inquired abruptly, her expression turning serious.

Marcus frowned. Such a bold request from someone he'd only just met was unusual, to say the least.

"I shall hear it first, and then consider it," he replied cautiously.

"That's fair," she acknowledged, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You see," she began, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the trees, "Velor is someone very dear to me. He is someone I have always looked after, though I haven't had the chance to... to face him."

A palpable wave of sadness washed over her. Her features softened, and her eyes flickered with a deep, abiding sorrow.

"Velor is dear to you as well, I know," she continued, her voice regaining some of its strength. "I understand this must sound odd, such a request from a complete stranger."

"Indeed," Marcus confirmed with a slow nod.

She let out a shaky giggle. "But I must tell you, from the deepest depths of my heart, that I want you to... to keep him safe from harm. Not just that, but please... help him, no matter what he becomes."

Marcus frowned. This was truly bizarre. Of course, he would protect Velor. He would stay by his side, no matter the cost. It was his duty, his vow. But to have someone ask this of him, a complete stranger... it was unsettling.

"May I ask why?" Marcus pressed, needing to understand the motivation behind her strange request.

"Because he is so dear to me," she repeated, her smile unwavering.

Her vague response frustrated Marcus. This woman, her very presence, was a mystery. While she seemed harmless enough, the enigma surrounding her made it difficult to feel comfortable.

"I understand, Madam," Marcus said, choosing his words carefully. "But I must confess, I find your request... unusual. I mean no disrespect, but—"

"I know," she interrupted, her voice gentle. "Elizabeth gave birth to a grateful and strong child. I know you are a good man at heart. And I know you find my request upsetting. I understand."

"Pardon?" Marcus exclaimed, his voice low with confusion. Elizabeth? How did she...?

"Ah, but I really should be going," she announced suddenly, rising to her feet. "I've left my... well, my companion alone in the hall." She flashed him another enigmatic smile. "She must be worried sick."

With that, she turned and began to walk away. Marcus tried to stop her, to demand an explanation, but she deftly evaded his attempts to detain her.

"Wait..." he pleaded, but she simply smiled and continued on her way, leaving him alone with his swirling thoughts

Who was that woman?

The question clawed at Marcus's mind, leaving him in a state of disarray. She knew Velor, knew his mother... what else did she know? And what did she mean by "keep him safe from harm"? What harm? What did she know about Velor's future, about what he might become?

The encounter had left him with more questions than answers, a knot of confusion tightening in his chest. He needed to seek answers, to unravel the mystery surrounding this enigmatic woman. Who was she to Velor? To him? To his mother?

He strode back towards the hall, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, searching for the enigmatic woman who had so thoroughly unsettled him. He checked the gardens, the private lounges upstairs – everywhere he could think of, save for the secluded corners where amorous couples engaged in their scandalous trysts.

"Are you looking for someone?" a voice he desperately wished to avoid called out from behind

Marcus whirled around, his frown deepening as he spotted Jasper. "I told you not to follow me," he growled.

"But I didn't follow you," Jasper replied smoothly, stepping closer. "I simply happen to be here."

"Take one more step and you're a dead man," Marcus warned, his voice low and menacing. He tightened his grip "Do you understand?"

"Very well, I know you've always had the upper hand," Jasper conceded, his tone laced with a hint of resentment. "But if you're truly looking for someone, I can help."

"Right," Marcus scoffed, "for some ridiculous price, no doubt." He let out a weary sigh. "Just leave me alone, Jasper. Please." He turned to leave once more

"I wouldn't charge that much," Jasper called after him, his voice dripping with insinuation. Even without seeing his face, Marcus could picture the smug smirk he knew so well.

"Not interested," he retorted, quickening his pace.

"Not even if it concerns the woman who has so clearly piqued your curiosity?" Jasper's words stopped Marcus in his tracks.

How did he know? Had he been watching? A wave of apprehension washed over Marcus. Jasper's uncanny awareness of his search was both unsettling and intriguing.

Marcus sighed and walked away, his frustration mounting. He knew that engaging with Jasper would lead to nothing but a headache and further exasperation. He wouldn't give the man another opportunity to manipulate or exploit him, no matter the temptation.

Defeated, Marcus slumped onto a chaise lounge in one of the quieter drawing-rooms. He had exhausted every possible avenue of inquiry. The hall, the gardens, the lounges – he had combed them all repeatedly, yet the woman in green remained as elusive as a phantom. Even Marquess Sam, the host of the gathering, had offered no clues, his bland denial ringing hollow in Marcus's ears.

Where could she have disappeared to? Was it possible she had never truly been there at all? The thought was unsettling, to say the least. He rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the beginnings of a headache. This whole affair was becoming more and more perplexing. He needed to find a new approach, a fresh perspective, or he feared he would be forever trapped in this maddening spiral of unanswered questions.

"You know I'm always here to help," Jasper purred, slithering into the room like a persistent shadow. No matter where Marcus went, this man seemed to materialize, an unwelcome presence dogging his every step.

"Why is it always you?" Marcus groaned, shaking his head in exasperation as Jasper settled onto the chaise lounge beside him. He instinctively shifted away, putting some distance between them.

"Even when you're desperate, you're still utterly adorable," Jasper chuckled. "But on the other hand," his voice took on a sharper edge, "seeing you tirelessly pursue another woman is... irritating."

"What are you trying to say?" Marcus asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

"Let me help you," Jasper offered, leaning closer. With a swift motion, he plucked the wig from Marcus's head and tossed it carelessly onto the floor.

"And about the price..." he murmured, a sly smile playing on his lips as he gently stroked Marcus's hair.

"It's free this time."