The moment we're out in the corridor, Prince Quin drops my hand and strides ahead. His legs are much longer than mine so he’s already disappearing around a corner a minute later, even though I’m walking as fast as I can with my train awkwardly slung over my arm. Before I can ask him to slow down, though, someone else approaches me from the side. It's a girl, a slight little thing with ghostly pale hair the same shade as that servant boy's. I stop short when she addresses me.

"Milady," she bows, voice quivering, "Milady please forgive me, I did not attend the banquet…"

Her cool blue eyes stare at the ground as she stands half bowed. I shake my head, not quite sure why she’s telling me this. Surely she has someone else to answer to? "It's alright."

"Forgive me, Milady," she repeats, "I'm to be your attendant. My name is Nora. I hope that… I will be satisfactory…"

"Thank you, Nora. I'm sure you will be excellent." I'm honestly just relieved it's not the white haired boy. Though the longer I look at her, the more I question whether she's not just a female version of him. The thought barely crosses my mind when the boy himself appears.

"Nora, where have you b-" he stops the moment he notices me, his face immediately sinking back into a scowl.

Nora gives him a startled look. "Sorry, Shay, I just… there's so many people… and drink…"

Shay sighs, arms folding over his chest. "You don't have to do this." His voice is unexpectedly kind, though just as one would expect from a brother - there's no chance the two aren't related. In fact, I'm guessing they're twins. “She doesn’t need an attendant,” he continues, “She’s only here for him, anyway, so he can deal with her himself and leave us out of it.”

The way he says ‘him’ is with almost as much loathing as the way he looks at me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a servant speak like this, at least not so brazenly in front of a member of the master’s family, and frankly I can’t think of anything to say to him. I’m sure I’m more intimidated by him at this point than he is of me, which is absurd, so I pretend as if I haven’t heard. I won’t let a mere servant get a rise out of me, anyway.

Nora’s reaction isn’t too different. The girl straightens, head lifted proudly, and she turns away from him. "Milady, this way please. I've stalled you and now His Highness has gone ahead. Please allow me to make amends and lead you back to him."

Shay sighs again and hovers a few steps behind us as we proceed down the hall, up several flights of stairs, and through many other corridors, until I'm wondering whether we're going in circles or if I'm to be staying in the most remote room that exists within the castle. When we begin to ascend the narrow spiral stair of a tower, I'm convinced of the latter. It makes sense for someone so reclusive, I suppose, but now I haven't any idea how to get back to the main part of the castle from here. It all looks the same.

We've passed several landings with doors, and the whole stairwell is lit with inset candelabra at regular intervals. I climb stairs every day at home, but the sheer quantity right now is beginning to wind me, and I'm unable to hide my ragged breath from Nora, who both mysteriously shows no sign of fatigue whatsoever, despite how fail she looks, and keeps insisting we pause to rest. Shay has disappeared, to my relief, into one of the rooms we passed coming up, so at least I've escaped judgement from that quarter. Hopefully I'll get used to this climb quickly. No wonder the Prince never leaves his room.

Nora comes to a halt before a door at what I assume is near the very top. Her hand makes a gentle knock on the ancient looking wooden panels, and a moment later the door opens. Prince Quin looks at each of us, and then stands aside for us to enter.

"Milord, I'm very sorry I've kept her," Nora apologizes immediately, "I'm very sorry I did not attend the banquet… Please forg-"

"Nora," the Prince interrupts as he looks down at the handmaiden, who stands nearly two heads shorter. "Don't call me that here." The words are short, but as with Shay his tone has more warmth in it than I expected. He’s clearly fond of her.

Nora goes silent. She's not looking at either of us. "Sorry… Quin…"

"Stop apologizing."

Nora simply nods, her head slightly bowed, though she's smiling. I glance from one to the other.

"Thank you, Nora," I interject as silence ensues, "That will be all."

The prince gives me a look. I’m not entirely sure whether it’s reproachful or condescending, but as soon as the door closes behind the handmaiden, he turns and strides away.

I stand there a moment to take in the room. None of my things are here, which means one of the other doors we passed on our way up must be mine. The walls are mostly rounded and set with narrow windows, except the wall with the entrance, which is straight and only has another door at the other end. It's swung open halfway, showing a glimpse of a washroom within, and between the two doors stands a rather plain oaken wardrobe.

There's really nothing especially opulent about the chamber at all, aside from the size of the bed and the odd addition of random small extravagances, which look out of place against the outdated and worn furnishings and the general clutter of antique objects. Or rather, it seems like it might have been opulent in another era. It almost looks as though Prince Quin has simply moved into a room someone lived in two hundred years ago, and then brought a few things with him. Which in a castle this old, is entirely possible.

The thing that strikes me the most, however, is how many books there are lining the upper half of the room, which is like a second level with a rickety old rail around it. There are hundreds of them. And they're not covered in dust. He must enjoy reading. The room is the perfect sort of place for reading, with its old cushioned chairs, big hearth, and peaceful atmosphere. It's cozier than anywhere I've lived before.

The Prince glances up at me as he pours himself a glass of water at the sideboard. "You don't need to stand at the door," he says offhandedly. It's the first thing he's ever said to me, but he doesn't seem interested in saying any more as he picks up a book and turns away again. He looks more ill than ever.

I move towards the fireplace and take a seat in an ancient armchair. I feel as though I've come calling at a friend's home, and wound up waiting awkwardly in the parlor with their relative who doesn't approve of me. Except the relative is my husband, and there is no friend. I’m left mulling over my own thoughts, which continually drift back to the question I’ve been asking myself for years. Why in the world does he avoid everyone? He’d be quite popular at parties, if he could manage to show up to one. Or maybe that’s just it. He doesn’t like people. And all I’m doing is ruining his comfortable solitude.