Marguerite is sitting in front of the grinning Armel at the dining table slightly irritated. What is he smiling so much for? Just thinking how sad Jurian was last night, she feels the extreme urge of kicking him in the shin, but she restrains herself.
Armel heard it all from one of his spy that oversees the entire palace, it looks like he won the bet. He can only hope that Jurian upholds his promise of exiling himself forever. Marguerite only needs him to be happy, not a third-rate commoner bard with the confidence of a king.
Marguerite sighs. She doesn't know why she can't lift her mood up these days. Her chest has been feeling stuffy lately and she doesn't have much of an appetite. She really hopes it's nothing, she doesn't trust the medical abilities of the people here. They all seem to be living in the middle ages sometimes.
She puts down her cutlery and asks politely to go rest.