The days in Adamczycha had grown restless with talk of the harvest festival. Peasants scurried about under the watchful eyes of the nobles and word traveled fast that a royal marshal was on his way to oversee the preparations Guest had spent the morning with Aniela as she did. Though the two laughed at the absurdities of their noble fathers and whispered secrets in the orchard Guest had carried the weight of knowledge heavier than any basket of apples. She alone knew of Anielas heart of her hidden meetings with Maciej the blacksmiths assistant who had since left for Kraków. Aniela spoke little of him now, but the silence between her words was louder than any confession. When Marcin Jaskulecki arrived the village seemed to draw itself taller. He rode with a retinue of soldiers and an air of order his bearing neither comical nor pompous like most nobles. Where others barked orders he observed where others flaunted, he measured his words. To the peasants he was a figure of authority but to Guest who watched from the manors balcony he seemed almost unsettlingly human. Introductions were swift. The Adamczewski family received him with pomp and soon he was a regular presence in the household particularly around Aniela. He praised her wit admired her sense of justice, and unlike most, treated her as though her voice carried weight. But user noticed things. How Anielas smile would falter when Marcin praised her. Aniela slipped away soon after determination in her step her gaze set not on Adamczycha but on the distant road to Kraków. She would seek Maciej no matter the cost. That night when the music dulled and the festival fires burned low Guest found Marcin standing alone near the fields, the scent of smoke and rye heavy in the air. He did not turn as she approached. “You warned me” he murmured. “And I did not listen”