~~~{────────────
Morning.
Dining Room, Salviana's Chambers.
Wyfkeep Castle., Wyfellon, Wyfn-Garde.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Abigail leaned in, her voice dropping as she whispered, "Perhaps we can use the time to become better acquainted. There's much I'd love to know about you." Her hand found Salviana's once more, her touch feather-light, her gaze lingering as if she were savoring the moment.
Salviana cleared her throat, pulling her hand back under the pretense of reaching for a nearby pastry. "Yes, of course," she replied, trying to sound casual as she looked down at her plate.
They continued eating, the conversation light, though Abigail's gaze remained intense. She frequently leaned in, her fingers grazing Salviana's hand, arm, or shoulder with seemingly innocent familiarity, though each touch left Salviana's skin tingling.
When breakfast finally ended, Salviana rose and offered a polite smile. "Thank you for joining me this morning, Princess…Abigail," she said, attempting a warmer tone, though she was still slightly unsettled.
"It was entirely my pleasure," Abigail purred, brushing a hand along Salviana's shoulder as they reached the door. Her fingers trailed down the fabric, lingering at Salviana's wrist before she finally let go. "I hope to see you again soon."
Salviana escorted her out, waving politely as Abigail turned with a slow, knowing smile. She felt a strange weight lift as the door closed, her mind still replaying the intensity of the princess's gaze, her confusing warmth lingering long after Abigail had gone.
As she returned to her chambers, her maids waited nearby, and Sarah quickly asked, "My lady, what are your plans for the day?"
Salviana took a moment to gather herself, forcing a light smile as she replied, "Oh, I think I'll just look around the castle today, and become better acquainted with the grounds."
Sarah and Emma exchanged a glance, both nodding politely. "Enjoy your day, my lady," Emma said with a warm smile as Salviana turned, her guards falling into step behind her as she left the chambers to explore the castle corridors, eager to shake off the lingering effects of Abigail's visit.
~~~{────────────
Bedroom, Salviana's Chambers.
Wyfkeep Castle, Wyfellon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Genevieve Velthorne moved down the castle hallways with the kind of poise and precision that commanded attention. Her golden-blonde hair was meticulously styled, cascading in soft, deliberate waves that glistened in the morning light, and her light blue eyes held an air of fierce determination.
She wore an exquisite gown, crafted in shimmering sapphire hues that matched her gaze and accentuated her slender, graceful form. Today, she looked impeccable, almost regal—dressed to turn heads, and perhaps more importantly, to capture his attention.
The maids bowed low as she passed, murmuring their "Good mornings," while the knights couldn't help but steal admiring glances at her, struck by the rare elegance she exuded. It wasn't every day that the First Princess dressed to such perfection. And today, her appearance had a purpose.
She swept through the halls with purposeful strides, the soft rustle of her gown trailing like a whisper behind her. She'd set her course for Alaric's castle office, assuming he'd be there this morning. She knew he'd have to notice her, even if just for a moment. After all, she was Genevieve Velthorne, and few could resist a glance her way.
But when she reached his office, her heart sank. It was empty.
Genevieve's light blue eyes scanned the room, frustration building as the realization set in—Alaric wasn't here. She clenched her jaw, suppressing the wave of irritation that threatened to undo the careful calm of her expression.
She would not be going to his chambers; his wife would be there, and Genevieve couldn't stand her. She despised even the thought of crossing paths with that smug divine lady who thought herself so important.
Letting out a restrained sigh, she grit her teeth and turned sharply on her heel, her gown flaring out slightly as she did so. Her mind roiled with disappointment, and her steps quickened, her heels striking the floor harder as she made her way back to her chambers.
As she stormed down the corridor, she heard a soft voice call out to her. "Genevieve."
It was Agatha Velthorne, the King's brother's wife, whose quiet, observant nature made her presence a subtle one. Agatha, too, had golden-blonde hair and delicate blue eyes, her slim, petite frame dwarfed slightly by Genevieve's graceful height.
"Where are you coming from in such a hurry, Genevieve?" Agatha asked, a polite, serene smile on her lips.
Genevieve didn't stop, didn't even turn her head as she brushed past her aunt. She kept her gaze fixed forward, her jaw clenched in annoyance. "Nowhere of importance," she muttered dismissively, striding past without so much as a backward glance.
Agatha's smile faltered slightly, and she watched Genevieve's retreating figure with a resigned sigh. Shaking her head, she continued on her own way, wondering silently at what—or whom—the First Princess had dressed so exquisitely for.
Princess Genevieve had long rejected the prospect of marriage. As the first princess of a powerful kingdom, her court was filled with noble suitors, each more illustrious than the last. But to her family's dismay, she found none worthy.
Her heart remained untouched, and whispers of her pride and impenetrability swept through the palace.
What no one realized, however, was that her reluctance was far from mere pride; Genevieve harbored a hidden affection for her cousin, Alaric.
In her younger days, Genevieve dismissed her feelings as fleeting infatuation. But as the years passed, the longing deepened, a silent yearning bound by tradition and the unspoken knowledge of their kinship.
Alaric was charming yet distant, strong yet elusive—qualities that only added to the mystery and magnetism he held over her.
She knew her love was impossible, yet the idea of binding herself to another felt like a betrayal of her deepest desires.
As her kingdom began to press her toward a union to secure alliances, Genevieve grew more defiant.
She dreaded her fate as a pawn in royal marriage games, forever longing for the one person she could never have. And so, she remained alone, both in protest and quiet devotion.
Little did the kingdom know that things were soon to change.