Chapter 7: Chapter 7

KAMORA

The dark halls echoed with the sounds of footsteps. The air hung heavy and still, almost as if it were holding its breath, afraid of eliciting a reaction from the person walking through it.

Lord Maroke’s face wore an indifferent mask, though a slight pinch creased his brow. Someone had caught his attention—a strange occurrence in itself.

He never noticed anyone, yet he couldn’t shake the image of the maid he had seen earlier, standing outside the hallway. Her face tugged at something deep inside him, something elusive and unsettling.

That in itself was odd—he ~never~ felt anything. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her.

Upon his recent return home, he had gone up to check on his son and had been surprised to find the boy cozying up with someone far beneath his usual standards. That same strange flutter had surfaced again then, a twitch he dismissed as nerves.

Maybe it was time to visit the doctor—perhaps something was wrong with him.

He pushed open the door to his study, its hinges groaning with a squeaky protest. The sound felt accusatory, as if the old door were judging its master’s long absence.

Lord Maroke stepped inside, taking in the shadowed grandeur of his office—the tall shelves lined with unread books, the cool air thick with the scent of old parchment and polish. This was his haven, the one place that felt stable when everything else refused to make sense.

He rarely came here, but when he did, it welcomed him like an old friend. He closed the door behind him with a soft thud, made a mental note to fix the hinge, then crossed to his desk.

As expected, stacks of files greeted him—days of unattended work piled high. He sighed and sank into the high-backed chair, immediately beginning to sort through the clutter.

About an hour later, the door creaked open and in walked his personal assistant.

“Greyson,” Lord Maroke said without looking up, “what took you so long?”

“My lord, apologies for my delay,” Greyson replied.

Lord Maroke looked up to see him bow slightly.

“There was a slight issue at the letter office. I had to stay back to assist.”

He stepped forward and placed a small pile of new letters on the desk. Lord Maroke reached out and dragged them closer.

“The princess has once again sent another letter,” Greyson added, his tone carefully neutral.

But Lord Maroke could read people like second nature, and Greyson, for all his professionalism, was clearly tired of the princess’s antics.

“Did you throw it away?” Lord Maroke asked flatly.

“I dare not, sir. Who knows what important message she might have for you,” Greyson replied, with just a trace of sarcasm curling the edge of his words.

Lord Maroke sighed and began opening the letters, sorting them without expression. Most were from business associates while the rest were invitations to parties.

He shook his head, holding one up to admire the overly decorated border. “Why do they keep sending me invites?” he muttered.

“Rumor has it, my lord, it’s become a sort of competition,” Greyson replied. “They want to be the first to host a party you actually attend.”

“But I do attend parties, don’t I?”

“Not the ones thrown by the elites, sir. You only ever attend the royal ones—and even then, it’s because you’re forced to.”

“Hmm,” Lord Maroke murmured, falling into silence.

After a long pause, Greyson spoke again, his voice gentle but deliberate. “My lord…perhaps you should attend one of them.”

“And why is that?”

“You need to get married, my lord.”

That made Lord Maroke pause. He glanced up slowly, one brow raised.

“Why should I?”

“You need more heirs.”

“I already have an heir,” he said simply.

“Exactly. One. And he’s growing up lonely in this massive house.”

“Claudia is there to take care of him.”

“It’s not the same, my lord.” Greyson’s tone softened with genuine concern. “He threw a fit the other day. Wanted to see you but couldn’t. It upset him.”

“He is a man. He must learn to be by himself.”

Lord Maroke’s mind flashed briefly to the maid standing outside his son’s room, her face lit with a soft smile.

“It would hurt him if he doesn’t.”

Greyson fell silent for a moment. Then he said quietly, “My lord…have you given up on breaking the curse?”

“I do not know, Greyson,” Lord Maroke said, his voice more tired than usual. He met his assistant’s eyes. “What’s the point? I tried—and ended up with a son whose mother I cannot even remember. Strange yet again, you’re the only one who recalls her.”

“I was away in another town when the incident happened,” Greyson said, his tone heavy with regret. “I still don’t know what occurred. I’ve searched, but there’s no trace of her. It’s like she never existed.”

“Perhaps she is dead,” Lord Maroke replied bluntly.

Greyson didn’t respond. The silence that followed was thick with reluctant agreement.

Lord Maroke released a slow breath and leaned back in his chair. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll think about your suggestion.”

Greyson’s eyes brightened, and he grinned. “I assure you, this is the right step to take.”

Lord Maroke gave a small nod. “I believe you have other errands. Go and attend to them. If I need your help, I’ll call. I need some quiet.”

“Of course, my lord.” Greyson bowed once more and slipped quietly out, closing the doors behind him with a soft click.

A few moments later, Lord Maroke rang the bell on his desk. As expected, Claudia was the one who responded. She stepped in, giving him a respectful bow.

“My lord,” she said. “What do you need?”

“My son. Where is he?”

Claudia’s brow creased faintly. “In the kitchen, my lord.”

Lord Maroke blinked. The kitchen?

“What is he doing there?”

“He is taken with a new maid. He’s asked everyone to leave them alone. Shall I send for them?”

He shook his head slowly, the image of the smiling maid resurfacing in his mind. “Do not bother,” he said.

Claudia bowed once more and exited.

That maid… There really is something strange about her. His son must have noticed too. Otherwise, why else would he be spending time with her?

His gaze drifted back to the cluttered desk, where the unopened letter from the princess lay. It stood out among the rest, still sealed. He let out a resigned sigh and broke it open, scanning the contents quickly.

But instead of another dinner invitation or romantic plea, the message took him by surprise. The letter wasn’t for him.

~I am organizing a play date for the young nobles, for the sake of my younger brother. Perhaps your son would love to attend. He might make new friends. I look forward to hearing back from you.~

~Yours with love,~

~Princess Amara~