The children's squabbling continued, seemingly unaffected by the heavy silence that had descended over the adults at the table. Their conversation cast a pall over the room.
"If Uncle Demon Prince isn't to be called Uncle Third Prince, then what should he be called?" Simon pressed, his tone dripping with frustration and tamed anger.
Benedict, usually the quiet one, sat up straighter. After a long pause, he answered with a strange certainty, "He is to be referred to as Uncle A."
The room fell utterly silent. The adults exchanged uneasy glances, their faces stiff with unease, while the children remained oblivious to the growing tension.
"What the actual freak is 'A'?" Simon asked, scowling in disbelief.
"Nobody knows," Benedict declared, his wide eyes filled with earnestness. He pushed a stray curl of red hair from his face. "But Uncle himself told me, and I believe him."
The dark prince was indeed a bit closer to Benedict than he was with the other royals and he had whispered that into the boys ears once.
Salviana frowned, confusion tightening her brow. 'What does he mean, nobody knows?'
Simon muttered something under his breath, clearly fed up with the conversation. He picked up his fork, jabbing at the food on his plate with visible irritation.
Curiosity gnawed at Salviana. She leaned closer to her husband and whispered, "The royal family… they don't know your name?"
He met her gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, in a low, measured tone, he responded, "It has been forbidden for anyone to say."
Her brow furrowed further. "Forbidden? Why?" she asked in a whisper that looked like they were having intimate conversations.
"It is considered treason… not respecting the current rule," he said quietly, his words heavy with unspoken history.
'His very name is a crime?' The idea seemed absurd to Salviana, yet the tension in the room told her otherwise. The adults' discomfort, the children's obliviousness—it all began to make sense.
Before she could press further, movement caught her attention as a line of maids entered the hall, carrying trays laden with sumptuous dishes. The room came alive with the soft clinks of silver trays and the quiet shuffle of feet. The maids, perfectly synchronized, moved with a grace that Salviana found both impressive and unnerving.
There were at least twenty of them, each impeccably dressed in starched uniforms, their expressions blank. They set the platters down with practiced precision, the cutlery gleaming under the dim candlelight. The aroma of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, and freshly baked bread filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of incense that lingered throughout the hall. Every dish was a testament to the wealth and power of the royal family.
Salviana glanced at her husband, who appeared completely indifferent to the lavish display. His focus was elsewhere, distant and uninterested.
'She could know them one by one now' she mused.
As the table filled with royals, their conversations low and simmering with tension, Salviana tried to settle her nerves amidst the grandeur. But her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sharp voice.
"This is my seat. Get up."
Salviana blinked, startled by the cold demand. She turned to see Genevieve, her husband's cousin, standing beside her with a thin, forced smile that barely masked the hostility in her eyes. Genevieve was striking, her golden-blonde hair cascading down her back in perfect waves, her gown clinging to her as if designed to draw every eye in the room. But her beauty was marred by the contempt in her gaze.
Salviana hesitated, unsure whether to stand her ground or give in but what ground was that?
She glanced around, noticing the other royals watching intently, their eyes flicking between the two women. 'Is this a test?' She didn't mind leaving where she sat, but her husband had asked her to sit here. Why would he do that if it wasn't her seat?
Genevieve's smile tightened when Salviana didn't respond. Her voice dropped, laced with barely restrained anger. "I said, get up."
Salviana's hands clenched under the table. She could feel her husband's gaze on her, yet he said nothing. The room was watching. Was this her battle? One that would determine her place within this strange, hostile family? She didn't want it, she didn't want to fight!
Before she could decide, her husband's voice cut through the tension. "My wife will sit next to me."
Genevieve scoffed. "No, she won't. She is not important enough," she sneered, but the dark look her cousin gave her made her falter. "You only met her yesterday! How can she take my place?" she wailed, her voice pitching into a petulant whine.
At the dark prince's silence as a reply, Genevieve took a deliberate step forward, closer to Salviana, her presence commanding, her lips curling into a tight smile. "You're sitting in my seat."
It wasn't a question; it was a fact presented as if Salviana had made an egregious mistake. The words hung in the air like a slap, stinging more with each second of silence.
Salviana's heart skipped a beat, but she refused to lower her gaze. Instead, she straightened slightly in her chair. She wasn't accustomed to the politics of this court, but she knew weakness would only invite more hostility.
Genevieve tilted her head, her tone shifting to something more dangerous, almost playful. "If this were truly your place, I would have no reason to stand. But you, Lady Seventh Princess, seem confused about your position."
The other nobles pretended not to notice the exchange, but Salviana could feel their attention prickling her skin. The coldness of their indifference was worse than the direct confrontation. Salviana's palms felt clammy, but she forced herself to remain steady. Her breath was shallow, her fingers itching to reach out to the prince seated beside her, but the gulf between them felt vast and impossible to cross.
The prince hadn't said another word, his jaw kept clenching like he was threading on thin ice and she didn't like that she was the one causing a commotion in the dining hall already.
Would he let her fight this battle alone?
"Take any other seat, Genevieve," her husband said calmly, his voice firm but not aggressive.
He would fight for her, but she didn't know if she wanted that, they looked like the villians now─ they were the villians.
Genevieve's lips thinned, her eyes flashing with hatred. For a moment, it looked as if she might continue her tirade, but before she would say or anything Salviana reacted.
She was feeling guilty and she wanted to do right. The venom in Genevieve's gaze was been unmistakable. She looked around the table, the eyes of the royal family still watching her every move.
"I… I'll sit wherever I'm supposed to," she said softly, her voice breaking the uneasy quiet as she stood.
'Sit back down' her husband could say but he doesn't.
All eyes turned toward her. The fabric of her dress rustled as she moved, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. "Excuse me," she added, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her husband's gaze followed her, cold and assessing, as she made her way to a seat next to Beatrice, the sixth princess. He didn't say anything, nor did he try to stop her, but the silence between them spoke volumes. As Salviana looked down at her plate, a sinking feeling settled in her chest.
'This is only the beginning,' she thought, her hands trembling in her lap. 'And he probably already wants to teach me a lesson.'