"L-Lucius… Drake?" Jean stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
A soft, dark chuckle drifted through her mind, like the rustling of shadows. "Yes," he replied, his tone rich with ancient amusement. "The one and only."
But Jean's face went pale, and before he could finish the thought, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed in a heap on the floor, unconscious.
Again.
Lucius sighed, cursing softly under his breath. How were they ever going to have this conversation if she kept fainting every time he revealed himself? He'd already sacrificed enough energy just to make his voice audible to her—and now he was met with silence once more.
He crossed his arms, watching her with a mix of irritation and reluctant fondness. It was the second time she'd fainted in his presence, the first being when Alaric had first introduced her to his mysterious world. Jean was supposed to be braver than this, he thought, tapping a finger against his chin.
Perhaps he would need to try a gentler approach, something she could manage without being overwhelmed.
Writing, perhaps. Yes, he could leave her a letter. That might work better than these spectral whispers that seemed to startle her senseless.
With a resigned sigh, Lucius faded from the room, leaving only the slightest wisp of cold air in his wake. As he disappeared, he couldn't help but think, One day, Jean. One day, we'll have this conversation.
~~~{─────────────
Noon,
Laundry room, Wydkeep Castle.
Wyfellon, Wyfn-Garde.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Meanwhile,
In the castle's laundry room, where stone walls held echoes of running water and gentle splashes, a group of maids scrubbed and rinsed linen by hand, chattering in hushed voices.
The room was warm from the steaming water, and a faint scent of lavender clung to the air, blending with the faint metallic tang of soap and worn stone.
Their blue-and-white uniforms, though neat, were slightly damp from the labor, clinging to their arms as they wrung out sheets and hung them to dry.
"I heard the third prince ordered Priscilla to cut her own hair," whispered Mila, her hands deep in soapy water as she leaned closer to the others. "And in front of everyone, no less!"
"Serves her right if you ask me," huffed Greta, who was vigorously scrubbing a stubborn stain from a tablecloth. "That girl thought she could get close to the prince, and she didn't care whose toes she stepped on—least of all Lady Salviana's!"
Another maid, a younger girl named Lila with wide, nervous eyes, looked around before whispering, "But isn't that cruel? I mean…she just wanted to work in the prince's chamber. Maybe she thought… you know… she could win his favor?"
"Win his favor?" scoffed Dorothea, the eldest maid, who had worked in the castle for nearly a decade. "The only favor you win with behavior like hers is a quick trip out of here. She was lucky he didn't do worse. You know what they say about Prince Alaric. He's not one to forgive slights easily."
Mila smirked. "Or forgive anyone who crosses his wife, apparently." She looked around at the others, lowering her voice to a near whisper. "I heard he didn't even hesitate. Ordered her punishment right there. It's almost… romantic."
"Romantic?" scoffed Greta, rolling her eyes. "More like ridiculous. Priscilla was foolish, yes, but all this fuss over one slap to Lady Salviana?" She shook her head. "I think the lady's a bit… well, she could have let it go, couldn't she?"
A few of the other maids nodded reluctantly, though there were some murmurs of disagreement.
"I wouldn't have let it go," Mila argued, crossing her arms with a scowl. "After everything Priscilla said and did behind her back? She had it coming. I'm happy Lady Salviana stood her ground, even if it was Prince Alaric who took action."
"Stood her ground?" Lila squeaked. "I think I'd rather avoid going anywhere near her or that chamber now. Who knows what happens to people who cross that prince? He's terrifying!"
Dorothea gave a knowing nod. "Oh, believe me, there's a reason no one volunteers to work in his wing. Even the king seems wary of him. And did you see his face when he walked Priscilla out? Cold as death, that one."
Mila smiled slyly. "Death or not, it's about time someone put Priscilla in her place. She always acted like she was better than us just because she wormed her way into Lady Salviana's quarters."
"But I can't help feeling a bit sorry for her," Lila murmured. "She must have been humiliated in front of the entire castle."
Greta sighed, shaking her head. "Humiliated? More like she learned a lesson. You don't try to cross a royal and especially not the third prince. Besides, Salviana didn't even ask for the punishment—Alaric did. He's like a wolf guarding his den."
Some of the maids chuckled, though Lila still looked uncertain.
"Still, it all seems so… harsh," she said, wringing her hands. "Doesn't Lady Salviana care what people think of her now? The maids are all saying she's petty, that she could have prevented the whole scene if she'd wanted."
Dorothea frowned, pausing her work to look at Lila. "Listen, girl, you haven't been here long. This castle is full of snakes, and Lady Salviana has more than enough enemies. If Alaric's going to protect her, then good for her. I'd rather be feared than taken advantage of like Priscilla."
"Exactly," Mila agreed, a fierce light in her eyes. "I'd be proud if a man defended me like that. Most royals don't even look at their wives half the time. And there's something respectable about a prince who'll put his own maids in their place for his lady's honor."
At that, the maids fell silent, each lost in thought, weighing Alaric's actions against the harshness of castle life. In this world, loyalty often outweighed kindness, and power played the role of protector more fiercely than compassion.
"True," Greta murmured thoughtfully, "but if I were Priscilla, I'd be far away from here by now. I don't think I could ever face the lady again, knowing she has the prince's favor like that. It'd be too hard."
Mila raised an eyebrow. "Then you'd better be sure to stay on her good side, hmm?"
Lila's eyes widened, and she gave a nervous laugh, but it didn't entirely mask the flicker of fear in her gaze. The group fell into quiet work, each maid's mind racing with what they had just discussed, acutely aware of the palace's shifting dynamics—and of their own delicate positions within it.