Marcus took the morning coat and shrugged it on, determined to maintain his façade of normalcy. "Very well," Marcus said, dismissing his butler's comments. With a deep breath to steady himself, he strode out of the study, descended the grand staircase at the end of the gallery, and turned into the corridor that led to the gardens.
However, the moment he stepped outside, his heart sank. Selina, accompanied by a maid, was already there, enjoying the afternoon sun as she strolled along a line of daffodil and bluebell flower beds. Her gaze rose to meet his, igniting in him a torrent of panic. Without pause, he retreated hastily, tearing off his morning coat as if it were on fire.
"Damnation," he muttered, his pulse quickening with unease. He needed to do something, anything, but it seemed she was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. All his usual rituals had been thrown off course by her own little habits, and now, even his most outlandish ideas were put on hold.
“Is this how married life will be from now on?” he muttered under his breath.
“Pardon, Your Grace?” A footman, who had been standing to the side and had escaped Marcus’ notice, spoke up.
Marcus shot the footman a stern look. “Nothing.”
Then it struck him. He hadn't eaten all day, and surely the dining room would be vacant.
But for how long?
With renewed purpose, Marcus made his way back down the corridor and slipped into the empty dining room. Satisfied with his timing, he ventured further, even going below stairs and entering the servant’s quarters with the intention of asking Cook to prepare a late repast for him.
"Your Grace!" a maid exclaimed, startled by Marcus' sudden appearance. The other servants paused in their tasks, their eyes wide with surprise.
"Ah, yes, I..." Marcus hesitated, suddenly aware of how unusual it was for him to personally request a meal from the staff. He had scarcely been down here, and the last time was to examine the damage of a small fire that had broken out one stormy night. But it was too late to turn back now. "I seem to have missed breakfast this morning. Would it be possible to have something quickly prepared?"
"Right away, Your Grace," Cook replied, recovering from her initial shock.
“Thank you," Marcus said.
A palpable tension hung in the servant’s quarters, the air charged like a spring coiled tight, on the verge of release. Marcus sensed the nervous energy radiating from the staff as they tried to come to terms with his sudden and unexplained presence among them. He shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of how oddly he was behaving.
Breaking the silence, a young maid hesitantly stammered, "Will there be anything else, Your Grace?"
"That will be all.” Marcus realized he was doing little good loitering about here. He turned on his heel and strode back toward the dining room, desperate to escape the oppressive atmosphere he was inadvertently creating wherever he went now. For the first time in many years, he did not feel like he belonged anywhere in his own castle.
As he rounded the corner, however, he caught sight of Selina's blonde curls bobbing through the open doors of the large dining room as she reentered the castle. She hadn’t seen him yet.
With little regard for decorum, Marcus spun around and hastened back into the servant's quarters, this time passing the kitchens. He navigated the labyrinthine passageways with growing desperation, his footsteps echoing off the worn stone walls.
The air grew colder and damper here as he descended further into the depths of the castle, the flickering light from the lanterns casting eerie shadows on the ancient stones. His limbs grew heavy and a familiar humid scent brought him back years ago to his dreaded childhood. He began to follow that scent.
I should turn back. Why am I doing this? I should not be here.
But he didn’t. As he ventured deeper, long-forgotten memories began to surface in his mind, reawakening the dark specters of his past. It took minutes before he found himself standing before a heavy wooden door, the iron hinges rusted with age. It was here, in this very spot, that he and Arthur would be confined if they refused to partake in the trials their father had set for them, especially during the early days. That was long ago, long before they even saw each other as rivals. But this place had stomped out any camaraderie they might have shared with one another once upon a time.
Marcus shuddered as the memories returned to him, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the damp air. He had never thought he would return to this place, to this hidden corner of Valebridge Castle where so much pain and fear had been etched into his soul. He had purposefully sealed its existence away from his mind, but now, it felt like the only place he could find release. He bit hard against his lip until he almost drew blood.
Torn between the desire to flee from the past and the need to confront it, he drew a deep breath, and then pushed open the door and stepped inside, steeling himself against the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
In the dimly lit basement, Marcus' eyes were immediately drawn to a small crevice between the far stone walls. He hesitated, feeling an inexplicable pull towards it. He took a firm step inside the chamber, examining it no longer through the eyes of a boy. The air was musty, and broken shards of glass littered the chamber, though he had no recollection of them being there when last he was here. Even though he had been absent from Valebridge, the room never ceased to tell its story.
Upon reaching the crevice and extending his hand, his fingers brushed against a familiar yet long-forgotten object: a small wooden toy soldier— a knight with chipped and faded paint, showing years of neglect.
The sight of the toy unlocked a floodgate of memories, transporting Marcus back to his youth when he would huddle in this very room, trembling with fear. The young boy had clutched the toy soldier tightly as the only source of comfort in this desolate place, hiding it away from his father and brother. For all those years, he had forgotten where he’d placed it, and searched for it everywhere, but never reentered the place he knew it to be deep down in his heart.
Thoughtfully, he tilted it in his hands now, examining it with something close to a smile shadowing his features. Until he caught sight of a speck of redness behind the helmet of the soldier. Blood. Marcus released the toy soldier as if it torched his fingers, watching as it landed with a dull thud on the damp floor.
Waves of memories crashed down upon him, and his chest heaved. He needed to leave this room.
It was a mistake coming here. I had sealed this place off for a reason. I need not revisit some memories.
He turned around, and stumbled through the dimly lit corridor, desperately seeking an escape from the suffocating memories that clawed at his mind. The cold stone walls seemed to close in on him, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering shadows. He had barely made it up the stairs when he found himself colliding with a familiar figure, her golden hair cascading against his chest.
