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Afternoon.
Garden, 3rd Prince Chambers.
Wyfkeep Castle, Wyfellon.
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"Oh no, darling, we're not finished yet! You haven't even mastered the royal wave!" Lady Margaretha's shrill voice echoed after Salviana as she turned toward the door, barely holding in a sigh.
It had been hours of endless, tiresome lessons, ones that seemed utterly useless to her new life as the wife of the third prince besides she knew better than those.
And now she wanted to teach her the royal wave, of all things? she resisted a scoff but her lips pressed together instead.
Who cared about the placement of fingers when her world was already upside down, and the teacher knew nothing? Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides before she forced a smile—tight and brittle.
"I'm sure we can continue… later," Salviana managed, her voice laced with forced politeness, hiding the exasperation threatening to spill over. Behind her, Emma and Sarah exchanged amused glances.
They found the whole ordeal as ridiculous as she did. Even Priscilla, who rarely indulged in anything but looking like she wished Salviana would convulse and die, had the slightest flicker of mockery in her eyes. It seemed Lady Margaretha's absurdity was entertaining everyone but the lady in question.
Salviana cast one last glance at the farce of a "lesson" she had just endured before following the rather fearful guard out of the garden. Every step she took toward the visitor felt like a small victory, though her body ached from the tension of maintaining composure.
'At least that part of today is over,' she thought, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. 'For now.' The sunlight barely reached her as they entered the dim halls of the castle, casting long shadows along the cold stone walls.
The idea of luncheon with a stranger sounded daunting, but after enduring Lady Margaretha's insufferable teachings, it couldn't possibly be worse. Her mind raced with thoughts as they walked deeper into the halls, the cool air of the castle wrapping around her like a cloak.
'A visitor?' she mused. Perhaps this luncheon wouldn't be so terrible after all. If the guest was another princess, at least she might have some grasp on etiquette. Or at the very least, some sense of decency that was lacking in her current situation.
Salviana sighed, letting the tension ebb away as her steps slowed. 'Could this visitor be a respite?' she wondered.
'And maybe… just maybe, she'd be helpful.' She smoothed her gown, brushing off invisible specks of dust, and turned to her maids with a faint smile, seeking reassurance more than vanity.
"Alright, how do I look?" Her question is met with Priscilla's usual icy indifference.
It was clear she didn't care whether her mistress looked pleasing or not. Sarah, ever the bright and eager one, stepped forward quickly with a glowing smile.
"My lady, you are absolut—" Before she could finish, a sickly sweet voice interrupted, slicing through the air like a blade.
"Princess 'Serviette'!"
Salviana blinked, momentarily thrown by the mispronunciation of her name. She turned to see Princess Lilian approaching, golden blonde hair shining under the light streaming through the windows, her posture as impeccable as her title.
'Serviette?' Salviana inwardly cringed. This wasn't a slip of the tongue. It was an attack, veiled in the sickeningly sweet tone of a princess who clearly wanted to make her life difficult.
Salviana sighed internally, her muscles tensing once more. 'Oh no, she's not here to have lunch. She's here to launch her offensive.' Steeling herself, she forced a welcoming smile. Maybe, after all, she wouldn't need lessons on how to fake pleasantness.
"Princess Lilian, welcome. How wonderful of you to join us for lunch."
"Yes, wonderful indeed. Who else would want to be here?" Lilian replied, her tone dripping with innocence, but there was a sharpness to her words that made Salviana pause.
One of Salviana's brows rose, but not in a way that suggested she was surprised—rather, it looked as if she was mocking her visitor. "Please, have a seat," she invited, motioning to the table.
Lilian gave a smile, but it was the kind of smile that made Salviana feel as if she were being judged. Disgusted but accepting, Lilian waved a hand, and her handmaiden rushed forward to dust off the seat. "Thank you, I know how empty these chairs must have been since they were created. How fortunate they are to meet a noble flesh today."
Salviana's lips twitched at the absurdity, but she kept her composure as Lilian gracefully took her seat.
They settled in, and before Salviana could even gather her thoughts to start a decent conversation, Lilian launched into a monologue.
"Do you know," Lilian began, her voice full of self-importance, "that the king himself insists that I lead the royal ceremonies? He always says, 'Lilian, no one does it quite like you.' Oh, and you should have seen the gowns I wore last season at court. They were, of course, all custom-made by the finest designers in the realm. Everyone was positively 'gushing' over how I looked, and why wouldn't they? I daresay no one can rival my taste."
Salviana bit her lip, inwardly wincing. This was going to be a long afternoon. She could already feel the exhaustion creeping back in, but she nodded politely, the way she had been instructed.
Lilian didn't notice. In fact, she hardly noticed Salviana at all. The conversation—if it could be called that—was more of a one-sided narration, with Lilian bouncing from one self-indulgent topic to another.
"I simply cannot understand why some women dress so plainly," Lilian continued, as the maids discreetly served them food. "I told the queen herself that we must maintain standards, especially when one's position demands it. She agreed, naturally. After all, not everyone can wear these gowns with the same grace I do."
"Of course,"
Salviana's responses were timely and polite, though her face betrayed the exhaustion she felt. She smiled when necessary, nodded in all the right places, but inwardly, her thoughts were spiraling. 'Does she ever stop talking about herself?' 'Was her husband ok with this?' 'The Queen lets her take the lead definitely else she'll criticize the hell out of her' 'And her son, my word, no wonder he had a touch of his narcissism in his speech this morning,'
The maids—Emma, Sarah, and Priscilla—moved around the chamber, casting glances at Salviana when they thought she wasn't looking. Their frustrated expressions told her that they too were struggling to endure Princess Lilian's narcissism.
As the afternoon continued Salviana who sat across from Lilian watched as she launched into another one of her self-aggrandizing monologues. Lilian's voice was lilting, carrying on about her latest accomplishment, something about how many suitors she had rejected at court before her marriage and secretly after being married too. Salviana nodded politely, but her mind had long drifted away, her eyes glazing over as she stared at the garden behind Lilian's head.
Her thoughts wandered to Alaric, to the moment earlier when he had completely surprised her. She had been so in her head about the bridge incident that she couldn't even wipe her sweat and without a word, Alaric had approached, his gloved hand brushing her forehead gently. The coolness of his touch had felt foreign, yet oddly comforting as he wiped away the sweat that had formed. Then, with a tenderness she hadn't expected from him, he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.
It had been a simple gesture, but in that moment, something had shifted. The way he looked at her—it wasn't the cold, distant stare she had anticipated from a man of his kind. There was something else in his gaze. Warmth? Desire? Appreciation? She wasn't sure what to name it, but it left her wondering. How did he truly see her?
A sigh escaped her lips just as the approaching footsteps of the maids interrupted her thoughts. They were coming to set up the lunch table, their presence jarring her back into the present moment with Lilian.
The narcissist hadn't even noticed Salviana's mind wandering, still lost in her self-praise. But the interruption reminded Salviana of the complexity surrounding her, the mystery of the dark creature she was bound to and this Wyfn-Garde royals.
Lilian didn't even pause to taste the food as she continued. "Oh, and you must come see my estate one day, it's the grandest in the kingdom. My husband, Crown Prince Benjamin, says no one else could manage it as I do. He is terribly fond of the place, though of course, he has no idea how much work I put into it."
"I'm sure your husband would think the same," Lilian insisted.
'Alaric?' Salviana's heart skipped a beat at the thought of his name, but she quickly reminded herself that Lilian was married to the 'crown' prince, not the dark prince she now called her husband. The two princes shared little but blood. He would only like what she designs not a spoilt brat from another kingdoms.
Lilian went on, oblivious. "My son Simon, as well, is the most adored child at court. Everyone marvels at how well-behaved and charming he is. Naturally, he takes after me."
Salviana nodded again, her lips aching from the forced smile she had been holding for far too long. The food in front of her sat untouched as Lilian rambled on, her voice as endless as the self-praise she indulged in.
'Maybe Lady Margaretha wasn't the worst part of the day,' Salviana thought bitterly. 'At least she wasn't... this conceited.'
Still, Salviana continued to play the role of the polite princess. She listened—sort of—smiled, and responded appropriately, all the while imagining herself anywhere else but here.
As they approached a distant part of the garden, the path ahead grew darker, the sunlight fading behind a canopy of ancient trees.
They continued through the vibrant gardens, with sunlight streaming down and the world bustling around them, Salviana found herself torn between anxiety and something new—an appreciation for the man beside her. The tension between them was undeniable, an electric current that sparked with every glance, every word exchanged.
She didn't know where they were headed, or what awaited her at the end of this walk, but she knew one thing for certain—he was more than what he appeared to be, and this was only the beginning.
As they approached a distant part of the garden, the path ahead grew darker, the sunlight fading behind a canopy of ancient trees.
They continued through the vibrant gardens, with sunlight streaming down and the world bustling around them, Salviana found herself torn between anxiety and something new—an appreciation for the man beside her. The tension between them was undeniable, an electric current that sparked with every glance, every word exchanged.
She didn't know where they were headed, or what awaited her at the end of this walk, but she knew one thing for certain—he was more than what he appeared to be, and this was only the beginning.