"You're going back home to your mother."
The maid's head snapped up, her wide eyes reflecting disbelief. "Your Grace?"
"You've been pardoned," Salviana interjected softly, though her voice carried an edge. "You risked your job—and your soul—to please petty, malicious princesses."
The maid collapsed into a bow, her gratitude pouring out. "Thank you, Your Grace! Thank you for sparing me!"
But Alaric wasn't finished. His words sliced through her relief like a dagger. "You will tell your mother what you did. You will face her shame. A guard will escort you home, and your village will know the truth."
Her face drained of color, and her shoulders sagged under the weight of her new punishment. She nodded weakly. "Thank you, Your Grace," she whispered, though her voice was tinged with despair. She knew what awaited her—a life of scorn and distrust from her own people.
