Théoden and I finished our training session in the arena, both of us quietly reflecting on the effort and progress we’d made. I could see he was proud of me, even if it was just a basic session. After a few more exchanges, he stood up, dusted his hands off, and headed toward the door.

“I’ve got to head to my office and start my rounds,” Théoden said, his tone returning to its usual matter-of-fact tone. “We’ll talk more later.”

I nodded as I grabbed a water skin from a nearby table. “Sure, take care.”

“Take it easy,” he added as he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

I took a few more moments to catch my breath before deciding to return to the castle. The arena was a good place for training, but the castle—despite its haunting memories—had become a more familiar space over time.

As I made my way back, I felt a strange mix of anticipation and unease. The air seemed different today, thicker somehow, as if the entire castle was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

When I entered the castle, I didn’t immediately hear anything out of the ordinary. The halls were empty, save for the occasional passing servant. But then, as I stepped into the main hall, a voice stopped me in my tracks.

“We will figure this out.”

The voice was familiar—Marcel’s. But what struck me was the way he spoke, his words hanging in the air with a desperation I hadn’t expected from him. He sounded frustrated, pacing back and forth as if he was alone.

“I promise.”

I blinked, glancing around, trying to make sense of what I was hearing. The hall was quiet, and there was no one in sight. He was speaking to someone—or something—that I couldn’t see. I walked closer, trying to make sense of it, though the conversation felt private, distant.

“I won’t let you rot…”

As I stepped further into the hall, I could hear his voice more clearly now, but his words made no sense. Was he talking to Crimson? The silence of the hall seemed to deepen as I got closer. The magical connection between them seemed almost tangible, and yet, it was as if I could only pick up one side of the conversation. He was speaking with someone, though they were clearly not present physically.

The moment I entered the room fully, Marcel’s pacing stopped. He looked up, his face still tense, and his eyes met mine. A flicker of surprise crossed his features as he finally acknowledged my presence.

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“Maria!” he said, his tone sharp, though there was something tired in his voice.

I stood still in the doorway, arms crossed over my chest. “Marcel…” I replied coldly, not quite sure how to feel about him anymore. A part of me wanted to believe he was innocent, but so much was left unsaid between us.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Marcel said, his voice laced with annoyance, though there was a hint of something else buried beneath his words. “I’m not the one who killed her.”

“How can I not?” I retorted, my voice wavering with the frustration I’d been holding back. “As far as I know, you had something to do with Sybil’s death.”

Marcel’s jaw clenched as he stepped toward me, but his voice remained steady. “I wasn’t even here during that time,” he said, the words coming out like a plea.

“Sure…” I grumbled, unconvinced. “You expect me to just take your word for it?”

“I swear, I wasn’t,” he insisted, his hands going up in exasperation. “Look, this whole mess… I need your help with it. If you’re willing.”

I raised an eyebrow, a mix of suspicion and wariness washing over me. I had a feeling I knew exactly where this was going—and I didn’t like it. “What?”

Marcel’s expression darkened, and he started pacing again, his steps slow and heavy, as though the weight of his thoughts was pulling him down. “Could you help me with the public?” he asked, his voice strained. “The people are starting to turn against me. They think I had something to do with it. I can’t keep this up much longer.”

Yeah, that was exactly what I had feared. He was asking for something more than I was willing to give. The last thing I wanted to do was help him save face, not when I couldn’t even fully trust him.

“I don’t know…” I hesitated, unsure of how to handle the situation. “I’ll have to check with the rest of the Council on it.”

Marcel stopped pacing, his body stiffening as his expression fell into something colder, more defeated. “Well, there goes any hope for me, then…” he muttered under his breath, his voice filled with self-loathing.

I could feel the air around him shift, his frustration bleeding into the room. He began pacing again, the rhythm of his steps quickening as he muttered to himself. “If I’m to be king, I can’t have a kingdom hating me. How am I supposed to rule like this?”

I watched him for a moment, realizing just how much the weight of the situation was pressing down on him. Despite everything that had happened, there was something… vulnerable about the way he moved, the way he spoke. It was a side of him I hadn’t seen before, and it was oddly human. Perhaps even more than I wanted to admit.

“Marcel…” I began carefully, my tone softer now, though still edged with caution. “If you truly wanted to be king, there are other, more friendly ways than the path you’ve chosen.”

He glanced up at me, his expression hardening again as he stopped his pacing. For a brief moment, our eyes locked, and I saw a flicker of something deeper, something almost like regret before he quickly looked away.

“Whatever…” he muttered, as if my words no longer mattered. He turned his back to me, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It doesn’t matter.”

I could feel the conversation slipping away from us, the distance growing between us like a chasm I couldn’t bridge. He was shutting down again, retreating into the layers of armor he had built around himself.

I took a deep breath, turning to leave the room, but then I heard him call out one more time.

“Maria, wait… please?”

I paused for just a moment, my hand on the railing as I began to ascend the stairs to my room. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken meaning. But I didn’t stop.

Without looking back, I kept walking, leaving him in the quiet of the hall.