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Noon.
Tea Hall, Wyfkeep Castle.
Wyfellon, Wyfn-Garde.
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It was finally time to attend the much-anticipated castle ladies' tea meeting. Salviana woke early, jittery with a mixture of nerves and sleeplessness, a state exacerbated by the absence of her husband. Her bed felt far colder without him, and her thoughts wandered to the distant battlefields.
The maids attended to her meticulously, dressing her in the finest gown the castle wardrobe could offer. The elegant dress flattered her figure, though she wished Spur, the new dressmaker, had already delivered the attire she'd commissioned. She thought of the grander occasions ahead and resolved that when the time came, she would outshine them all.
Breakfast was a struggle. Salviana barely nibbled at her food, her stomach tied in anxious knots. She waited for Jean, who eventually arrived, and together, they made their way to the hall with guards trailing behind.
As the grand doors opened, Salviana straightened her posture, lifting her chin with regal confidence. Her steps were measured, her demeanor deliberate—a carefully practiced grace.
Inside, the chatter hushed. Eyes turned toward her, but instead of welcoming smiles, there were snickers, glares, and eye rolls. The air bristled with veiled hostility. Salviana felt the weight of their stares but moved forward, refusing to falter.
"Princess Salviana!" Lilian's voice rang out, sugary sweet. Her smile seemed genuine, but Salviana knew better than to trust it entirely.
Still, her heart lifted slightly. Lilian's narcissism was grating, but at least she wasn't openly hostile. Salviana offered her a polite smile in return.
"Look who decided to show up," Christina's tone dripped with mockery.
"You look lovely, Salviana," Abigail added, though the compliment seemed more a formality than sincere.
"Thank you. You look great as well," Salviana replied graciously.
"What brings you here?" Jollene asked, her tone sharp. Salviana's lips twitched in amusement as she recalled Jollene's recent stumble, caused by her over-elaborate gown.
"I have a right to be here. It's my responsibility," Salviana replied evenly.
"Why didn't you come earlier?" Lucile, the king's second concubine, interjected with a sneer. "Ignorance? Pride? Disrespect?"
Salviana smiled faintly at the bait. Did they expect her to cower or choose from that ridiculous list? She tilted her head slightly, exuding calm.
"I was enjoying the honeymoon phase of my marriage," she said, her voice light but pointed. "I assumed you'd understand, Lucile."
A ripple of laughter escaped Abigail, though she quickly masked it with a cough.
"It's been over ten days now. That's excessive," Beatrice muttered bitterly.
"Just the right amount of time, don't you think?" Jean interjected on Salviana's behalf.
"Silence!" Genevieve snapped, her voice cold. She clearly wanted Salviana to fend for herself.
Jean inclined her head and stepped back. "I'll be just over there, Your Grace," she said softly.
"Thank you, Jean," Salviana replied before Abigail leaned back and patted the seat beside her.
"Come, sit here," Abigail said, widening her legs in a relaxed manner.
Salviana settled into the seat, but the next question caught her off guard.
"I heard your husband is leading the troops to war. How do you feel?" Agatha asked gently, her voice laced with genuine concern. Agatha, the king's sister-in-law, was no stranger to the fears of war, having spent her youth dreading her own husband's campaigns.
Before Salviana could respond, Beatrice spoke, her tone cruel. "If anyone should be scared for their husband, it isn't the one married to a demon."
A burst of laughter followed, echoed by Jennifer, who added, "True! She only needs to wait for him to bring back the souls of the fallen as souvenirs!"
"Perhaps he should fight alone," Irene chimed in. "His demonic powers would surely guarantee victory for the kingdom."
Salviana let the ridicule wash over her, her expression composed. "Why don't you suggest that to him when he returns?" she said calmly, raising a brow at Irene.
"You're his wife, Princess Salviana," Irene whispered, her voice tinged with venom. "It'd be easier for you to convince him."
"Pillow talks," Jennifer added with a smirk.
Salviana's gaze turned cold as she set down her tea. "I'm afraid I don't take advice from women who use their daughters to fabricate scandals."
The table fell silent.
"What do you mean?" Audrey asked, her frown deepening.
"Madison Velthorne of Wyfkeep Castle," Salviana said, her voice steady. "She was perfectly unharmed, yet her mother claimed my innocent husband burned her. A bold lie."
Gasps and whispers rippled through the group. Salviana took a measured sip of her tea before continuing.
"I do wonder," she mused aloud, "why no one here went to check on the child. Unless, of course, everyone knew it was a farce."
Lilian's fork clattered against her plate as she sat up, her face flushed with indignation. "How dare you!" she wailed, her voice shaking with outrage.
Salviana simply leaned back, her gaze serene. "I dare because I speak the truth."
She smiled faintly, allowing the chaos to swirl around her as she sipped her tea. For the first time since arriving, she felt entirely in control.
"I would expect apologies from each of you for throwing stones without knowing the truth," Salviana began, her voice steady and regal. "But I am far too angelic for that."
The room bristled, but Salviana didn't allow the tension to linger. She straightened her posture, a triumphant smile gracing her lips. "Instead, I've brought gifts for you all."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall. The ladies exchanged glances, caught off guard by this unexpected gesture.
"Miss Goliath?" Salviana called. Her lady-in-waiting stepped forward with a large basket of exquisitely crafted hand fans.
"I was in town with my husband recently," Salviana explained sweetly, "and I couldn't resist picking out something beautiful for everyone here." She motioned for the hall maids to assist.
Jean handed the basket to one of the maids, who began distributing the fans. Each fan was ornate, painted with delicate florals, and embellished with intricate lace edges—truly a gift worthy of nobility.
"They say these fans can ward off evil thoughts and ugliness," Salviana added with mock sincerity, her tone just light enough to disguise the jab.