Lord Christopher Mortimer Edwards Voltaire had since returned to his castle. He remained there since his little talk with the maiden in question. He sighed as he sat there on his throne, a glass of wine in his one hand. He frowned.

"Hopefully, the girl will make the correct decision," he said with his eyes narrowed for a moment, looking at the glass of wine that he held. He was not known to be a patient man and he wanted her to make a decision quickly. The wind blew by his throne room window. The room was rather dark when the sun began to set. However, he did not care about that and merely waved a hand to light some candles.

At the moment, he had a wedding to anticipate and plan for.