MAARIT HAD NEVER been so at peace in her entire life. Her eyelids fluttered open delicately and were met with something she had not gotten a glimpse of in so long: sunlight. It was molten gold and felt so warm against her exposed skin. She longed for nothing more than to swim in it.

Her eyes opened fully and when she was finally able to think straight, she gasped subtly while her eyes swept hungrily over her surroundings.

She was lying in the most comfortable bed in the world with a mattress that seemed to allow her body to sink into it. The linens were made of a material that was smooth to the touch—definitely the most expensive silk there was—and the duvet was a deep shade of burgundy with ornate gold designs and spirals decorating it. The bed was very large and her head was rested upon at least five pillows.

The rest of the room was quite possibly the most wonderful thing Maarit had ever laid eyes on. It was high-ceilinged and the walls were covered with the same gold spirals as the duvet, but reminded her vaguely of the interior of a grand cathedral. The floors were made of a dark wood. At the far left corner was a huge wardrobe that appeared to be made out of the same wood as the floor, and on the right was a window three times taller and ten times wider than Maarit, with a balcony. The curtains were drawn halfway, just enough to allow sufficient sunlight to seep in and find its way to Maarit's eyes.

Of course, the curtains matched the duvet much too perfectly.

The young witch furrowed her dark eyebrows in confusion, attempting to remember where she was. A feral wave seemed to crash over her very suddenly with the answers.

Her wrist.

The bracelet.

A knife.

She shot upwards in the bed, gasping again—but more panicked this time. The serenity she had felt mere seconds ago now felt restrained, limited.

The duvet slipped off of her shoulders, revealing her bare chest. She looked down at herself, only to see that she was completely naked. Lifting her left hand, she inspected her wrist, but found absolutely no trace that she had stabbed herself—and the bracelet was still there. Her hand them reached into her hair and felt the soft texture. It fell over her shoulders like a waterfall and was as soft as the silk sheets she was sleeping in. Her hair was clean—in fact, every inch of her was clean. It was as though all of the grime had been scrubbed from her skin.

She gingerly touched her wrist again. There should have been a scab, a scar, or something to mark where the knife had plunged, but there was not. This was sorcery—once again, sorcery had been used on her.

Maarit wondered why she was naked. She questioned just who had seen her and who had touched her upon finding her in her dungeon cell after she had fallen unconscious. All she could do was pray that Picard had used his magic to carry her to the room she now resided in, as well as to undress and clean her. Goosebumps climbed their way up her arms, for she could not handle the mere thought of the horrible guardsmen catching a glimpse of her naked body.

Turning back to face the bed, she thought for a while about whether or not to crawl back in and sleep some more. It appeared so inviting, even with the rumpled sheets and the duvet, with half of it trailing on the floor.

After nearly climbing back in, she decided against it and vigorously shook her head, telling herself that it was a bad idea. She needed to come up with a plan—an actual plan, nothing like the ridiculous idea she had had in that dungeon cell about cutting her hand off with a dull steak knife.

She had reacted with a do-or-die resolution, but she nearly regretted just how desperate she had been to escape: it had nearly costed her her life. Still, she could not bring herself to regret it all that much, because one good thing had come of it.

She was no longer in the dungeon cell with a corpse that was partially decomposed. She no longer felt the cold air biting at her skin ferociously. She no longer rested against the hard stone floor. For the moment, she was halfway to freedom.

Tugging at the duvet, she pulled it right off the bed and wrapped it around her body in case anyone happened to walk in and see her naked. Then, she strutted over to the window and looked out longingly. She did not face the village; in fact, what she was seeing was the very back of the castle, which was not visible to anyone from Fribois. There was a very large courtyard and a stable not far off, where Maarit could see King Theodoracius's white horse being groomed.

She knew that it was useless—the king and the warlock had definitely made sure to take the necessary precautions so that she did not escape—but she attempted to open the window nonetheless. It was locked, probably by magic.

Sighing in disappointment, she made her way over to the wooden wardrobe and surveyed it suspiciously. Then, she opened it.

She was instantly blinded by iridescence. The sun was shining directly on the contents of the wardrobe, causing the multicoloured clothing to shimmer. There were sparkles and rhinestones everywhere, decorating the extravagant garments. She would not even have been surprised if there were actual diamonds on the dresses.

Maarit immediately squinted and her mouth twisted into an expression of disgust. She rummaged through it until she found some undergarments. Immediately, she put those on. She tried to find something casual and hopefully cheaper-looking, but she failed to do so.

"You've got to be kidding me," Maarit scoffed to herself as she picked up a corset. She released it like she had been burned and wrapped the duvet around herself like a cape once more.

She glanced towards the door and strode over to it, knowing exactly who she would find on the other side. She found it to be locked, so she rattled the doorknob until she heard the click of a lock. The door opened outwards; she stepped aside to allow Picard to walk in.

"Good morning," Picard greeted her apathetically, bowing deeply. "Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance... officially."

Watching him bow, Maarit realized that this was the first time she had ever actually heard him speak.

"Sure," she said, quirking an eyebrow upwards. "I suppose that's one way to greet someone you've been bringing food to in a dungeon cell for many days."

The warlock looked her up and down curiously, seeming confused as to why she was wearing a blanket rather than one of the beautiful dresses in the wardrobe.

"His Majesty was wondering when you would awaken," Picard continued. "He does not normally allow people to take up the rooms. However, he did make an exception, given the circumstances."

"Wait a moment... I didn't sleep in his bed, did I?" Maarit demanded, outraged at the thought.

The warlock looked uneasy, but shook his head. "Certainly not. This is only one of His Majesty's many guest rooms."

"If the guest room looks like this, then what the hell does his actual bedroom look like?" Maarit asked rhetorically, bewildered. She blinked and looked around once again. "It must be the size of a ballroom."

"Quite close to it, actually," Picard told her, but she could have sworn there was a hint of a joking tone in his voice. "You must change. It is nearly noon. He will be dining soon and he wishes for you to join him."

"No," Maarit said immediately. "No way. I will not eat with him. Why isn't he just throwing me back in the dungeons again?"

"It is not negotiable," said the pale warlock, clasping his hands together in front of him.

She did not respond for a while, but instead wrapped the duvet tighter around her body. "Fine," she conceded, pursing her lips. "That does not guarantee that I won't attempt to kill him again. Where is my dressing gown?"

Picard blinked at her, looking confused once again. He cleared his throat. "Your... your dressing gown?"

"Yes, the one I was wearing when I nearly died," she snapped at him bluntly. "Where is it?"

"There is plenty of clothing at your disposal in the wardrobe," he spluttered, his eyes darting around nervously. "You may choose one of the dresses—they are very expensive and—"

"I do not care about the cost of the costumes that your wretched king is trying to put me in," said Maarit. "If you have gotten rid of my dressing gown, conjure it up again. I will dine with him, but I will not put on any of those horrific dresses. You were the one who gave me this," she said viciously, holding up her left wrist to show him the bracelet, "so I cannot do it myself. Give me my dressing gown. You owe me that, at the very least."

He sighed, chewing on his bottom lip. She noted the last bit of resolve disappearing from his eyes. "Very well," he said. As he sighed, her dressing gown appeared in his hands, but it was clean and no longer had blood stains or holes.

"Lovely," Maarit said, taking it from him with feigned enthusiasm. "I don't think I've ever seen it so clean in my entire life. That seems to be a common theme around here."