Strength in Unity: Jealousy

The northern landscape of snow and ice magnified the suffocating tension in the air as Micheal stared at Magda, his chest tightening with unbearable weight.

Would she truly trust the word of a mere healer's assistant? The thought gnawed at him, anger flickering in his heart as he recalled how hard he'd worked to mend their fragile bond.

His mind darkened, bitter thoughts swirling as he wondered how easily this problem could disappear—how few would notice if the girl vanished into the expanse of snow.

A sudden gust of wind scattered the stillness, and from the shadows, Barnaby stepped forward, his polished demeanor cutting through Micheal's simmering fury. Micheal blinked as Barnaby's appearance shocked him even in his dilemma, his voice tinged with confusion.

"Barnaby? How are you here?"

Barnaby inclined his head, his green eyes sharp and enigmatic. "Your distress called me, my lord. I'm always nearby when you need me."

Magda's crimson gaze shifted to Barnaby, her tone cold and cutting. "Distress, is that what you'd call it?" she asked, her voice quiet but pointed.

Though her exterior was calm, an undercurrent of fear churned within her. The implications of what could have transpired if someone else had found Micheal with the girl gnawed at her.

Would Micheal have been forced to marry the girl to preserve his reputation? With their marriage already under scrutiny and rumors of its unconsummated state and the upcoming Marriage bill, such a scandal could be the final blow.

Magda's trust in Micheal was steadfast, yet the fragility of their bond left her vulnerable.

She had realised that she loved him, but the weight of rumors, combined with the fear that he might not fully reciprocate her feelings, pressed heavily on her heart.

Barnaby's bow was deliberate, his movements deferential yet unsettling. "The young master's kindness has made him a target," he said, his voice calm but heavy with unspoken knowledge.

"In warzones, desperation often breeds folly. Women unaccustomed to proximity with nobles—especially one as young and generous as Master Micheal—may see him as their best chance at a better future. Such encounters demand caution."

Magda's unease deepened. Micheal, sensitive to her turmoil, reached for her hand instinctively, pulling her closer. Without realizing it, he pressed her head to his chest, his actions more about reassuring her than addressing his own predicament.

"Magda," he murmured softly, "I swear, I was only trying to retrieve your pendant. She tried to take it. I wouldn't have touched her otherwise."

The girl, still kneeling moments before, finally understood the significance of the pendant. It wasn't a trinket from a former lover, but a deeply personal token Micheal associated with Magda.

Her realization struck her like a blow. Horrified, she recognized her folly. The man she had hoped to manipulate was a devoted husband, desperate to gain his wife's forgiveness. Her plan had unraveled spectacularly.

Scrambling to her feet, the girl fled, her sobs fading into the distance. The surrounding air felt heavy as Magda turned her sharp gaze to Micheal.

In that moment, she bore a striking resemblance to her father, Raphael Valoria, her expression one of sovereign displeasure. Yet, after a pause, her demeanor softened slightly.

"If you're going to be kind, Micheal," she said with a faint smirk, "make sure it's worth it."

Micheal's heart raced as he watched her turn and walk away, her posture stiff and unyielding. Vivian followed, glancing back briefly, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Barnaby's sudden arrival had rattled everyone, but Micheal's focus was solely on Magda.

A storm of guilt and fear churned within him. Magda's calm anger contrasted sharply with her usual warmth.

Yet, amidst the turmoil, Micheal's keen sensitivity to her emotions caught onto something else: the faint flicker of jealousy in her demeanor. Could she truly be jealous? The thought sent a brief thrill through him, even as he berated himself for finding joy in her discomfort.

Barnaby, ever enigmatic, placed a steady hand on Micheal's shoulder. "Master, you must stop spreading your kindness in ways that hurt Lady Magda," he said, his voice firm yet oddly cryptic.

Micheal frowned, his curiosity piqued. "Barnaby, how did you know to come here? I didn't call for you."

Barnaby's response was a cryptic smile, his green eyes gleaming with unspoken intent.

He gestured subtly in the direction Magda had gone. "Lady Magda has already left, my lord. The optimal window for an apology is about an hour into the storm. She's likely still within range for you to catch her."

Micheal blinked in surprise and turned quickly to follow Barnaby's cue, scanning the path Magda had taken.

When he turned back to question Barnaby further, he found only empty air—his butler had vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared.

Barnaby had always been an enigma, a constant yet unknowable presence in Micheal's life. Micheal often wondered about the secrets Barnaby carried but knew better than to pry. The timing of his arrival and his cryptic advice always left more questions than answers.

Confused but resolute, Micheal refocused on Magda. He drew a deep breath and set off after her, his steps quickening as his heart pounded with urgency.

"Magda, wait!" he called, his voice steady but sincere, but she had already left.

He wasn't thinking about the girl or the scandal—he only wanted to apologize, to make sure Magda understood the truth before any more distance grew between them.

Location: Magda's Chambers, Valenhart Castle

Magda stormed into her room, her emotions a tempest of anger, confusion, and vulnerability. Her crimson eyes burned with frustration, and her footsteps echoed sharply against the cold stone floor.

She had left Micheal behind, unwilling to let him see the storm raging within her. Vivian had accompanied her part-way but excused herself to oversee the evening drill, leaving Magda alone with her unrelenting thoughts.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Magda leaned against it, exhaling shakily.

Her heart ached with a chaotic mix of emotions she struggled to untangle: anger at Micheal for being deceived by a common servant, shame at her own overreaction, and jealousy—raw, biting jealousy that gnawed at her composure.

She clenched her fists, her nails pressing into her palms. "What will he think of me if he sees me like this?" she whispered to the empty room.

Her thoughts drifted to the pendant Micheal always wore—the one she had given him. She remembered the desperation in his actions to protect it from the girl's grasp.

A flicker of warmth bloomed in her chest, but it was quickly overshadowed by the fear that Micheal might misunderstand her anger.

Moving to the window, she gazed out over the castle grounds, her mind replaying the moment she had seen Micheal following the girl along the hillslope road. She hadn't meant to spy but had been curious, dragging a far-too-eager Vivian along.

The scene that unfolded left her stunned: the audacity of the girl to try and steal her husband—her Micheal—had ignited a fury she hadn't known she possessed. Now, though, that fury turned inward.

"Am I truly this petty?" she asked herself, her voice trembling. "Will Micheal hate me for my jealousy?"