Salviana spun around at the sound of a voice behind her, startled to find Priscilla—the maid who had passed by earlier—standing there with a slight, knowing smile. Priscilla looked eager but cautious, her eyes darting briefly around, as though ensuring their privacy.
"You?" Salviana asked, surprise coloring her tone.
"Yes, my lady," Priscilla replied with ease, her formality laced with a hint of mischief.
Salviana blinked, pressing a hand to her chest in mild shock at the unexpected offer. "Help... with what, exactly?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Information, of course—about your husband." Priscilla's voice dropped a notch as she added, "I'm not going to the market with the others. I thought, perhaps, I could offer you a little insight."
Salviana hesitated, her thoughts swirling with both intrigue and uncertainty. After a brief pause, she nodded. "Very well. Come along."
She led Priscilla down a quiet path toward the garden, where they found a secluded spot nestled beneath the shade of flowering trees. Salviana settled onto a stone bench, and Priscilla sat beside her without asking permission, her casualness both surprising and oddly refreshing.
Clearing her throat, Priscilla leaned in, as though preparing to reveal a secret. "I used to work at Maison de Plaisir," she began, her accent curling around the words with a hint of pride.
Salviana frowned, the unfamiliar name drawing a blank. "Maison de… what?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
Priscilla gave an amused sigh. "It's a… girls' house," she clarified, glancing sideways to gauge Salviana's reaction.
"A girls' house?" Salviana repeated, still puzzled.
Priscilla's eyes sparkled with mischief. Leaning back, she smirked and murmured, "My word, you are so innocent," her tone both nasal and condescending, followed by a small giggle.
The implication dawned slowly on Salviana, a warm flush spreading across her cheeks as she realized what Priscilla meant. Fighting to mask her embarrassment, she chose instead to meet Priscilla's gaze with a steady, calm curiosity. "And how does your past… experience… relate to what you know about Alaric?"
"Oh, quite a bit," Priscilla replied, crossing her legs and settling in with an air of satisfaction. "I'm French, you see," she added, almost offhandedly, though Salviana sensed she'd intended it to impress.
Oh, Salviana thought, that explains the accent... but so?
"Prince Alaric—he's a lady's man," Priscilla said with a mischievous gleam.
Salviana's brow creased. "What do you mean?"
From all she'd heard and seen, Alaric was a man people avoided, even feared. She found herself doubtful. A lady's man? It seemed entirely out of character, and yet…
Salviana hesitated, watching Priscilla carefully as she weighed whether to even continue this conversation. But Priscilla's tone was persuasive, her voice dropping lower, almost conspiratorial.
"Are you sure you want to know, Princess?" Priscilla's lips curved into a smirk, eyes narrowing. "Because once I tell you, it might be difficult to look at him the same way."
Salviana fought to keep her voice steady. "Go on," she managed, intrigued despite herself.
Priscilla leaned in, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Well, they say he has a certain… taste for the unexpected. He was known to disappear from the palace with a lady or two, and when he reappeared—" She tilted her head, letting out a soft laugh. "Let's just say those girls had a certain glow."
Salviana's cheeks reddened, though she kept her expression as neutral as she could. "And?"
Priscilla seemed to revel in Salviana's reaction. "Let's say the prince prefers the chase—loves when they play hard to get. You wouldn't think it, with that brooding stare, but he has a bit of a wild side," Priscilla said, leaning back with satisfaction. "Rumor has it he once went missing for nearly a week with a woman, only to reappear as if nothing had happened."
"That… that sounds like a bit of a stretch," Salviana said, voice wavering slightly, though she could feel her pulse quicken.
Priscilla leaned forward, her tone dipping lower, sultry and soft. "Forgive me if I'm presumptuous, but the third prince has always been quite famous with the girls," she added, as if this were something all should know. "At least two would cling to his arms whenever he visited," Priscilla said, and though Salviana was nodding, she felt herself growing inwardly uneasy. She even thought she detected a hint of bitterness in Priscilla's voice—though she couldn't be certain.
The question clawed at her insides, demanding to be voiced: Were you ever in his arms? But Salviana clenched her teeth, pushing the thought down. It didn't matter, she told herself; he hadn't been married to her then. She was his wife now, and the past—well, it was just that.
Priscilla's voice pulled her back. "Not many people know this, of course. People barely even suspect. But he's quite… adventurous, spontaneous, one might say. He could probably bring girls home if he wanted. But image is everything to a royal, and—"
"Enough," Salviana interrupted, her voice sharper than intended. "Thank you, Priscilla. I think I understand well enough."
But Priscilla leaned forward insistently. "Oh, my lady, there's so much more. The maids, the guards he calls to secluded places—and they never come back." Her eyes glinted as if relishing the thrill of sharing secrets.
"Guards?" Salviana almost paled, her voice barely a whisper.
"Oh, my lady, you'd be surprised. And there are the guards he summons, too—usually late at night, out of sight of prying eyes. Once they're called, they rarely come back… at least not the same."
Salviana's stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"
Priscilla's gaze held hers, sharp and unsettling. "Let's say he has… appetites, ones that only a select few get to know about. And those that do, well," she let out a soft chuckle, "they rarely complain."
Salviana paled.
Priscilla held her gaze, her expression turning pointedly suggestive. "Oh no, no, not what you're thinking… though they never come back."
The words echoed in her mind, twisting into something dark and sinister. They never come back? she thought, stomach knotting. Her heart sank as memories from her first night here surfaced. Hadn't one guard winked at her in passing? Was that the last time he was seen?