"Is that… Lady Salviana?" one whispered to another.
"The seventh princess,"
"She's running to the gates," another replied, his tone a mix of astonishment and respect.
"She must be going to meet him," murmured a maid, pausing in her work to watch Salviana's determined figure.
"The demon prince?" One scoffed.
Salviana paid no attention to the whispers, her mind consumed by one thought: Alaric. I need to see him.
Her feet barely touched the ground as she sped through the corridors, her personal guards struggling to keep pace.
"Lady Salviana!" one of them called, his voice tinged with alarm. "Please, slow down!"
But she didn't stop. The emotions in her chest burned too brightly—joy, relief, anticipation, and an aching longing she couldn't contain.
Her heart raced as she neared the grand gates. The closer she got, the louder the sounds of celebration grew—the cheers of villagers, the clatter of hooves, the distant echo of victorious horns.
Finally, she reached the gates. The heavy iron stood open, framing the road where the warriors were returning. She skidded to a stop, her chest heaving as her eyes scanned the procession.
The sight of the warriors, weary but victorious, brought tears to her eyes.
The grand gates of Wyfn-Garde stood open, their iron frames etched against the fading light of day.
Salviana arrived breathless, her emerald gown clinging to her damp form as she joined the throng gathered to greet the returning warriors.
The air was electric, a mixture of relief and celebration. Villagers embraced their husbands, brothers, and sons, tears of joy and laughter blending with the rhythmic clatter of hooves as knights dismounted.
Horses were led to the stables, and the scent of wet earth mingled with the metallic tang of blood and sweat.
Salviana's gaze darted through the crowd, her heart pounding with a mix of hope and anxiety. Her hands clutched the folds of her skirt as she stepped forward, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of him.
Where is he?
She scanned the faces, searching desperately for the one she had missed more than she could say. A knot tightened in her chest when she didn't see him among the warriors.
He wasn't with the knights handing over their horses, nor was he among the men being embraced by their families. Her heart sank.
Alaric is an important figure, she reminded herself, her fingers trembling slightly. He's probably coming in last, making sure everything is in order.
The thought gave her momentary comfort, but as the crowd began to thin and the warriors dispersed, her unease grew.
People slowly trickled back toward the castle, their laughter and cheers echoing down the stone corridors as they moved to celebrate with food and drink.
Yet Alaric still hadn't appeared.
The courtyard was nearly empty now. The horses had been stabled, the knights had disappeared, and the festive atmosphere was fading into the dim quiet of evening.
Darkness crept over the castle grounds, the first stars blinking faintly in the sky.
Salviana stood frozen, her chest tightening with dread.
Dinner was being served in the great hall, and the castle was alive with the sounds of celebration, but she remained rooted at the gates, unwilling to leave without him.
Her heart raced as a new thought struck her, chilling and unwelcome:
What if something happened?
What if…
"No," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. She refused to finish the thought.
A chill ran down her spine, and she glanced around, her unease growing. Her feet carried her forward as if by instinct, her eyes scanning the courtyard again.
Everyone was gone now, the gates looming empty and silent.
Her breathing quickened, panic clawing at her chest. She spotted the second prince, Spencer, standing by the stables, speaking with a knight.
Relief flooded her, and she hurried toward him, her skirts brushing the ground as she moved.
"Your Highness!" she called, her voice trembling with urgency.
Spencer turned to her, his partial blindness lending his gaze a sharp intensity. His expression softened slightly when he recognized her, and he nodded. "Lady Salviana."
She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to steady. "My husband—have you seen him? Alaric hasn't returned yet."
Spencer's brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a sharp voice called out. "Spencer!"
His wife, Beatrice, appeared, her expression tight with irritation. "Come. Dinner is waiting," she said curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Spencer hesitated, glancing back at Salviana with an apologetic look, but Beatrice's sharp tone cut through any possibility of further conversation. "Now, Spencer."
Without a word, he turned and followed his wife, leaving Salviana standing there, her heart sinking further.
She turned toward a knight nearby, her last shred of hope clinging to the possibility of an answer. "Please," she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know where the third prince is?"
The knight shifted uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the ground. He hesitated, his silence more telling than any words. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
"I'm sorry, my lady," he said, his voice heavy with regret.
The world seemed to tilt, the weight of his unspoken words crashing down on her. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she steadied herself, clutching at her skirts.
Why won't anyone tell me anything? Where is he?
The whispers around her only deepened her dread. Maids hurried past, their eyes darting to her before looking away. Guards exchanged quiet glances but said nothing.
It felt as though the world was conspiring to keep her in the dark, to keep her hope alive while her heart began to splinter.
Salviana stood there, the empty courtyard around her growing darker with each passing moment. The rain began to fall softly, as if the heavens themselves wept for her.
Her fingers curled into fists, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as a storm of emotions swirled within her.
And yet, she refused to move. Refused to leave the gates.
He will come back. He has to.