A MYRIAD OF questions prickled the back of Maarit's throat, nearly forcing their way onto her tongue as she walked alongside the warlock. She waited, agitated and acutely aware of the fact that Theodoracius was watching her leave. Her thoughts were completely muddled and she swayed ever so slightly on her feet, as though the ground beneath them had just quaked.

Pondering after pondering filled her head to the brim. She felt the sensation of her brain pressing against her skull. As she turned a corner with Picard, she slowed her pace and placed her hand on the wall to steady herself. Her fingers brushed against the frame of a painting and she immediately retracted them. Her knees, meanwhile, wobbled with apprehension.

"Picard!" she whispered to the warlock, bringing him to an abrupt halt. He turned around, coming to the realization that she was no longer following closely behind him. Curiosity pulled his eyebrows together until Maarit spoke. "I won't follow you until you give me some answers. What is he talking about? What did he mean by everything that he just said?"

Picard ran an alabaster-skinned hand over his close-cropped dark hair. His chest visibly heaved, as though he was being constricted by his clothing. "His Majesty just enjoys being dramatic," he stated, interlocking his fingers in front of him. "I can confirm with absolute certainty that he meant absolutely nothing by what he said. Now come along, he wishes for you to see the rest of the castle. It is quite a sight worth seeing; notably, the ballroom and the view of the—"

"No, just—stop," Maarit said, shaking her head at him convulsively, dark tendrils of hair lapping at the sides of her face. "Why can't anyone around here give me a straight answer?" Her eyes bore into his and he squirmed uncomfortably under her scrutiny. "Picard, please don't do this to me. I should not be kept in the dark. I know that you know something."

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "I... am not entirely sure what it is that you want me to tell you..."

"Everything around here is just... strange," Maarit insisted. "Why are you even here? Why do you voluntarily serve him? How did you come to be a servant in the first place, especially when you're a warlock and can fend for yourself? Why do you not just walk through the castle doors, leave Bonvalet and never come back?"

He sighed, licking his lips. Maarit noticed sadness flicker in his eyes for a fraction of a second, but the spark never became a flame. When he spoke, his voice was so low and monotone that Maarit had to lean in to catch every word.

"Madam, I owe my life to this family," he murmured, his head bowed. "I am in eternal debt to them."

"Wait—wait, see? This is precisely what I meant. I cannot get a straight, direct answer from anyone. Are you indebted to King Theodoracius?" she scoffed disbelievingly, wondering what he could possibly have done to help the warlock he so often overworked and mistreated.

"No," Picard said without missing a beat, "not to him."

"To King Tevenot, then?"

He pursed his lips and said nothing, but his inky, enigmatic eyes gave it away.

"It seems I'm still failing to fully understand," Maarit said, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you truly were indebted to King Tevenot, what would that have to do with his son? Especially when said son murdered in cold blood the very man you were indebted to..."

"It is... I cannot..." he stuttered, visibly distressed. "I... Let me just show you the castle, Madam. These stories and explanations are for another time."

The young witch suddenly experienced a pang of sympathy for him due to how overwrought he seemed. Even without her powers, her intuition told her that the man in front of her had likely witnessed some unspeakable form of evil in his past. What else could have caused him to owe his life to the Rangelov family?

Reluctantly, and because her obstinacy did not cause her to entirely disregard the feelings of others, she decided to drop it for the time being. She forced a tight smile onto her lips, painting her face with exaggerated apathy.

"Alright," she told him, her stomach twisting as she saw the poor man exhale with unbridled reassurance. "Show me around this beautiful monstrosity. I want to see all of it. I fear I may get lost in it unless I am acquainted with all of the dark corridors and cryptic rooms. Except the dungeons... I will not go back there. Ever."

"Of course, Madam. Believe me: there is no way you will be able to find your way around after one tour," Picard noted, his mood seeming to have lifted significantly. He continued walking down the corridor and Maarit trotted at his heels. "I have been here for over a decade and I still lose my way occasionally."

"Is it because many of the corridors look the same?" she asked him, noticing that the colours of the walls, floor and carpets were ones that appeared throughout the few parts of the castle that she had seen.

"Precisely," he responded, nodding. "There are a few minor details that set the corridors apart from one another, such as the variety of paintings. There are some noticeable patterns that were definitely intentional when the castle was first decorated. For example, outside of the ballroom, the paintings depict scenes of dancing, whereas near the library, they depict splendid bookshelves and fairytale scenes."

"That sounds very... methodical. Interesting, though," Maarit hummed, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dressing gown. She suddenly beamed and raised her eyebrows at Picard. "Can I see this alleged library? I adore books."

"Of course," he told her. "You will not be disappointed by it. First, though, I will show you the throne room. You've been there once before."

Memories of her very first night there flooded her mind as she remembered noticing the king's throne. That sent a cascade of unwanted remembrances once more: the prophecy and the dungeons and Keion and blood, blood, blood. The next time she blinked, she kept her eyes closed for just a second too long.

"Out of curiosity, what's your name?" Maarit questioned, surprising herself. She did not even care all that much, but she needed something to distract her from her own mind, where abhorrent ruminations went to hide.

He looked taken aback at the inquisition and his shoulders tensed. "You know my name," he said, confounded. "Picard."

"Yes, I know that, obviously," she said, rolling her eyes at his obvious avoidance of the question, "but I meant your first name, not your surname. Deny it all you want, but I know you have one. Can you tell me what it is? I feel as though we should be on a first-name basis."

He hesitated for a very long moment such that Maarit surmised that he was not going to answer. The silence stretching out between them was disrupted only by one pair of steady footsteps. They belonged to him; her own footsteps did not make a single sound against the floor because she was wearing only socks.

Then he did answer, but seemed surprised at himself as he did so.

"Alexander," he stated, the name sounding almost awkward on his lips, probably due to lack of use.

"Alexander," said Maarit, allowing his name to roll off her tongue. She glanced up at him through her dark lashes, watching his jaw clench. "Can I call you 'Xander'?"

He raised his eyebrows and met her gaze. "No," he said calmly.

"Wonderful," she declared. "Xander it is."

And then something odd happened: for the very first time since she had first encountered him, every trace of apathy and indifference disappeared from his face and Alexander Picard smiled.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Yo I'm just here to officially confirm that Picard is asexual and aromantic af so don't even think about shipping him with anyone!!