Emma, the seventh princess's chambermaid, had finished her duties for the day. The sun had dipped below the castle walls, leaving a warm amber glow in the sky.
Most of the servants were retreating to their quarters, but Emma had other plans. She couldn't resist her favorite pastime: unraveling the castle's tangled web of secrets.
Tonight, her curiosity had led her to the knights' armory stall. Slipping behind the wall, she peeked through a narrow gap, her breath steady as she observed the men.
The knights were sparring, the clang of metal filling the air. She quickly spotted familiar faces: Jaefel, always cocky and boastful; Jackson, the quiet skeptic; Heappal, the hopeless romantic; and Richard, ever brooding and detached.
Jaefel leaned lazily against the rack of training swords, his shirt damp with sweat. "I'm telling you, lads," he began, a grin spreading across his face.
"There are only two things in life worth chasing—hot food and hotter women. Get both in abundance, and you've won life's grand prize."
Jackson, seated on an overturned barrel, rolled his eyes. "Hot food and hotter women? You're setting yourself up for a scalding, my friend. Women are like fire—get too close, and you'll burn. And food? Well, one bad meal and you're poisoned."
"Poison?" Jaefel scoffed. "You've clearly never had a proper meal or a proper woman. Me? I'll take a platter of spiced venison and a lass with legs that make me forget my own name. That's paradise, boys."
Richard, sitting silently on another barrel nearby, raised a brow at their banter but stayed silent.
"Women are complicated," Jackson countered. "Food, on the other hand, is simple. Fills your belly, keeps you alive, and doesn't argue back."
"A stew won't warm your bed, and a pie doesn't make your heart race," Jaefel fired back with a triumphant grin.
"Neither do they empty your coin purse or demand apologies," Jackson muttered, earning a round of chuckles.
Nearby, Heappal straightened from his stretch and joined the conversation. "You're both wrong," he said with a shake of his head. "What's the point of having either if you've got no one to share them with? A hot meal tastes better when someone you care about makes it, and a woman's smile only matters if it's meant for you."
The group groaned, but Heappal ignored them.
"Oh, here we go!" Jaefel threw up his hands in mock exasperation. "Heappal the Lover Boy strikes again! What's next? Poetry under the moonlight for your milkmaid?"
"Better that than dying alone with a cold plate of meat," Heappal retorted, grinning.
"Poet and philosopher," Jackson muttered dryly, shaking his head.
"You laugh now," Heappal said, unfazed, "but one day, when you're all stuffing your faces, I'll be sitting by a fire with a beautiful wife and happy children. Then we'll see who's the fool."
"Until then, Lover Boy," Jaefel teased, "you can enjoy your dreams while we enjoy the stew."
Laughter erupted once more, but Richard wasn't listening. His attention had shifted, his eyes narrowing at a faint movement just beyond the armory stall.
He turned his head sharply and locked eyes with Emma, whose wide gaze met his through the narrow gap.
"Gotcha," he muttered under his breath as he stood.
Emma's heart leapt into her throat. In her panic, she turned to run but tripped over a stray bucket, landing with an unceremonious thud.
Before Richard could close the distance, a shrill voice rang out.
"Emma! I've been looking all over for you!"
Emma groaned internally as Thalia, her fellow chambermaid, bustled over, her skirts rustling loudly.
"Here I am," Emma replied, scrambling to her feet and dusting herself off.
Thalia hooked an arm around hers. "Were you watching the knights train again?"
Emma forced a sheepish grin. "Couldn't help myself," she admitted, only half-lying.
As the two walked away, Emma cast one last glance over her shoulder. Richard stood at the edge of the armory, watching her with a sharp, unreadable expression.
She felt her cheeks heat under his gaze and quickly looked away.
"Honestly, Emma," Thalia continued, oblivious to her friend's unease, "you're always sneaking off to spy on them. What's so interesting about sweaty men with swords?"
"Everything," Emma said with a laugh, trying to mask her lingering nerves.
In truth, her visits to the armory were more than idle curiosity. She'd once called Jaefel her best friend.
But those days felt like a lifetime ago, replaced now by his thoughtless words and endless flirtations.
To Emma, he was a traitor—not in the traditional sense, but to the trust they once shared.
Still, some part of her couldn't let go, and so she came back, again and again, to watch and listen, hoping for a glimpse of the boy she once knew.
But tonight, her spying had been cut short. She would need to tread more carefully in the future, especially with Richard's sharp eyes on her now.
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The night had settled over the castle, a heavy blanket of stars scattered across the inky sky.
Salviana sat before her vanity, her fiery hair cascading down her back as the maids carefully braided it for the night.
The soft glow of the candles illuminated her fair skin, giving her an almost ethereal look. She caught her reflection in the mirror, her lips curving into a small smile as she thought about her husband.
In the adjacent room, Alaric stood shirtless, his pale chest glowing faintly in the candlelight. His raven-black hair was still slightly damp from the bath, and his sharp, aristocratic features carried their usual air of intensity.
Despite the coolness of his demeanor, there was a softness in his eyes tonight, a warmth reserved only for Salviana.
The maids finished their tasks and quietly left the room. Salviana rose, her thin silk nightgown flowing around her like water. She stepped into their shared chamber, her bare feet silent against the stone floor.
Alaric turned at the sound of the door opening, his dark eyes drinking her in as if he were seeing her for the first time. "You're radiant tonight," he murmured, his voice smooth and low.