The half-blind Hovalean was not gentle with the young Master as he carried out Mara’s order to deposit him in the barracks. Down one arm and drained of the spirit he could only muster in combat, Bram stared listlessly at the ground as he was dragged along like a sack of potatoes. Marianne was at least allowed to walk without harassment, but none who looked upon her held any kindness in their eyes.

“In ya get,” spoke the half-blind man before tossing Bram into the entry room with casual disdain. He stood aside and leveled a harsh stare at Marianne as he watched her join her betrothed. “Don’t reckon it needs sayin’,” he said, “but for my own pleasure, a promise: I catch either o’ you walkin’ about without Lady Mara’s say so, I’ll make you wish you was in the dirt with your victims.”

He spat on the floor, then shut the door and left the pair of them on their own. After waiting a moment to make sure they were truly alone, Marianne moved to kneel at Bram’s side. She ran a hand through his luscious blond locks. They felt so much rougher to the touch now.

“My poor darling,” she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. “What have they done to you? What will happen to us now?”

Bram offered no answer, nor did he so much as turn his darkened eyes to look at her. She whined and cried and cooed to him to no avail, her only recourse to sit and cradle him as he left her to worry alone. Only one thought came to his own addled mind: the memory of a pitiful orphan girl whose arm he’d intended to take.

They were not long left to wallow undisturbed in their despair. Fresh from her trying dialogue with her elder ally, Mara came to have words with the young Master. She flung the door wide to step into the barracks, not bothering to close it behind her. Her stern gaze weighed heavily upon the dainty lady as she moved to stand over the pair of them. Bram’s eyes rose lazily to meet it.

“What are you going to do?” asked Marianne. “Has he not suffered enough?”

“Not nearly,” Mara scoffed. “I have not come to indulge in torture, however. If the young Master is compliant, the worst of his pain may be behind him. You, on the other hand…”

She leaned down to invade the lady’s space. “Once again, I find you present when I needn’t hear you speak. So be polite and hold your tongue, or I will feel compelled to snatch it right from your mouth.”

Marianne had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the fearful phrase she nearly spoke. Satisfied with her silence, Mara retrieved the nearest seat she could find, set it down before the highborn pair, and settled in for the chat.

“Now, then,” she said. “Tell me, young Master. How did you and your father manage to secure an audience in Auberalea?”

It took Bram several moments to muster the will to answer. Adjusting his head on Marianne’s lap, he let out a heavy sigh. “We did not,” he answered.

Mara narrowed her eyes. “Are you lying?”

“I’ve no cause to deceive you anymore,” said Bram. “We never so much as saw the Kingdom. Everything was achieved through an intermediary.”

Though she held no inherent trust for the highborn lad, his dispassionate stare and candid manner helped Mara feel at ease about believing in his honesty. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.

“All right, then. Tell me everything.”

And tell her everything he did.

Without even a hint of spite, he spoke of the agony he’d suffered after she cursed his hands that fateful day: of restless nights spent tossing and turning in abject agony as black boils steadily snaked their way up his arms. The Lord LeBaron had called in every favor and pled with every contact he could, and healers had come from distant corners to examine Bram’s malady.

They’d applied all manner of ointments and salves concocted to heal the flesh. Alas, the best of them had done him no good. Some, he claimed, only served to intensify his suffering.

“Father was obsessed with legacy,” he explained. “With my mother’s passing, he had no chance at any legitimate heirs but me. He was prepared to use everything we had to preserve the line of LeBaron, but he resolved to squeeze Hovale of every coin he could before he’d allow our wealth to wane.”

Mara adopted a fierce glare. “Squeeze Hovale?” she repeated. “So he would see them starved to save your sorry hide?”

“What father would choose otherwise?” Bram responded. “There’s no use raging about it now. You’ve put a stop to all of that, haven’t you?”

She was proud to say that she had, but less proud to consider how her single desperate action had deepened desperation all around. She settled down after an exasperated sigh. “Just get to the point.”

“As the final light began to fade from my eyes,” Bram continued, “Salvation reached me at last. She came to us in the night claiming word of my ailment had reached her: a woman in silver and starlight. Pity moved her to act: she would save my life, but in exchange, my soul would belong to the stars.”

“Doesn’t sound like any deal a shrewd noble would accept.”

“Certainly not, but a desperate one might. I was too weak to speak by then, but my father accepted on my behalf. She opened my lips and poured a gleaming potion down my throat. Days later, your curse was contained in my right hand, and unimaginable power came to me through the Mark that appeared on my left.”

Finally, she was sure: an Auberalean Heir, or some emissary thereof, had come to his rescue, her attention piqued by Lord LeBaron’s desperate outreach. It remained unclear why so fortunate a soul would deign to consort with an outsider, but the reason mattered little. All that mattered was that she had.

“That will do, young Master,” said Mara as she rose from her seat. She turned up her right palm and used her left index finger to slice it open. “I’ll take it from here.”

“What-”

Mara cut her eyes fiercely at Marianne to silence the dainty lass. She reached down to firmly grip Bram’s jaw, parted his lips, and forced her bleeding hand over them.

The half-holy liquid seeped over his tongue and down his throat. His eyes filled and flickered with golden light as two heavenly wills waged war over his soul. The fallen noble screamed helplessly into Mara’s hand as the bright light then shone black.

Somewhere far across the world, a silver-haired maiden suddenly felt her heart skip a beat. Distracted from her training, she turned her gaze to the skies above. Her black-bearded opponent froze just in time to stop himself slashing her unguarded back.

“Arc above, Auriel!” he cried. “You must focus! What has you so distracted now?”

The Princess blinked hard and shook her head. “Nothing,” she uttered, though she still did not face him. “Nothing at all.”