Throughout the confrontation, the lady-in-waiting, who had accompanied the maids, stood awkwardly at the back, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.
She avoided all eye contact, her gaze fixed on the floor, her body rigid as she desperately hoped not to be drawn into the argument.
Alaric's eyes finally settled back on Mathilde, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. "My wife's well-being is my concern. If she requires anything, she will let you know. Until then, you will wait. And you will not harass her at the door again."
Mathilde's lips thinned, and though her pride demanded she push further, the weight of Alaric's presence was too much. She nodded curtly, her posture stiff with barely concealed frustration. "Yes, Your Grace," she muttered, her voice bitter as she bowed her head slightly.
