As I reach the dried-looking, vined pathway that leads directly to Marina’s door, I feel a sudden wave of nervousness wash over me.

My palms grow slightly damp. My heart beats a little faster than it should. My feet slow down almost of their own accord, as if they are trying to delay the inevitable confrontation that awaits me on the other side of that door.

I take a deep breath and force myself to keep moving.

By the way, basically every Amazon has no doors or windows on their houses.

Their homes are open to the elements, exposed to the wind and the rain and the creatures of the forest.

Also, they use magic to block out what they do not want coming in — whether that is an unwanted visitor, a curious animal, or simply the cold night air.

It is a practical solution for a society that values openness and freedom above all else.

The exceptions are the royal palace, which has doors, walls and all the trappings of a proper building for ceremonial and practical reasons; Sara—who is just a bit eccentric and set up wooden windows for the sheer aesthetic feel of it; and Marina.

If anything, Marina’s house does not look like the tribal-style Amazon house with its hut-like exterior, its open walls and its woven thatch roof.

It looks like something entirely different: a European kind of house, a cottage of sorts, something you might more easily find in places like Fairylynch, or the human kingdom of Gihon, with its stone walls, timber frames, and smoke curling from chimneys.

Her house has walls made of smooth, aged wood that has been carefully planed and fitted together. It has windows with actual glass panes that catch the light and reflect the forest around them.

It has a proper door; a heavy, solid door with a brass handle and a lock that seems to work.

And it has a small garden in front, filled with flowers and herbs that she tends to with obvious care and dedication.

Not to mention, Marina does not dress like an Amazon at all.

A typical Amazon has a... violent demeanor, and all of them look like they should not be put in a boxing ring as to avoid bloodshed.

They are mostly tall and muscular: not muscle-bound, but with broad shoulders and arms and legs that could crush a man’s skull between them.

They carry themselves with the confidence of warriors who have fought and won countless battles, and their eyes are always scanning for threats, assessing, and always ready to strike.

But Marina looks like a disciplinary political official; someone who belongs in a council chamber or a courtroom rather than a battlefield.

She wears these diplomatic medieval-style dresses that flow around her body with elegant grace, and sometimes she wears pants and boots with stylized jackets that give her a tomboy feel, a sense of practicality that contrasts with the more flowery attire of the other women.

She carries herself with authority, yes, but it is the authority of a ruler or a judge, not really a soldier.

Yet she sends chills down my spine even more than the muscular and tall Amazons in Verdant Spire.

Her beauty is the sharp and dominating type — the kind that cuts you just by looking at you, that makes you feel small and insignificant, or unworthy of her attention.

Her dark hazel eyes are cold and unblinking, her expressions are carefully controlled, and her voice is always calm and measured, even when she is delivering a scathing critique or a crushing dismissal.

Wait, not really relevant to this matter, but... maybe I am not short after all!

Maybe the women in Verdant Spire are just that much taller!

My height is perfectly normal and I have simply been surrounded by giants this entire time!

I swear I am not just desperate for an excuse!

Well, I am just dilly-dallying now, making excuses and distracting myself from the real purpose of this visit.

I need to stop stalling and just go inside and find out what she meant by what she said that day.

I need to confront her directly, ask her the question that has been burning in my mind, and accept whatever answer she gives me, no matter how painful or humiliating it might be.

I can feel her presence inside the house, so I know she is home just as Deva told me.

That warm, steady, unshakeable presence that marks her as one of the most powerful and enigmatic women in this entire village... perhaps the continent too.

Among all the women in this great village, only Deva and Marina seriously do not want to engage in sexual activities with me.

I mean, they seem wholly uninterested, even.

They do not look at me the way the others do. They do not make suggestive comments or find excuses to touch me or invite me to their beds.

They keep their distance, maintain their composure, and treat me with a politeness that feels more like a bubble.

It’s not like I’m complaining; I’m not actually some kind of sex-crazed maniac who demands that every woman desire him...

But there needs to be some reason they are averse, right?

Some explanation for why they are the only exceptions to the otherwise universal pattern of attraction that I have encountered in Verdant Spire?

As for Deva, I think she is a severe late bloomer, so much so that she turns into a kid whenever she sees me, then claims she is underage.

It is a convenient excuse for her, and a way to avoid the awkwardness of explaining why she is not interested without actually having to explain anything at all.

She just shrinks away, makes herself small, and insists that she is too young for any kind of romantic or physical involvement... Mostly when I didn’t even ask at all.

While Marina just... does not do anything.

I can remember it clearly:

Around Chapter 13 or so, if I’m reading it right, back when things were more chaotic but less complicated, I asked her to join a particularly slippery orgy that was being done in the palace.

I extended the invitation to her without thinking, without considering that she might not be interested in that kind of thing.

And she politely just said she was not going to.

Calmly, without any judgment or anger, or even disgust in her voice. She simply declined and wished me well, as if the invitation had never been extended.

That memory has been replaying in my head as I stand outside her door, and I cannot help but wonder if that was the moment she decided I was disgusting.

Was that the moment she looked at me and saw something she did not like?

Only one way to find out...