"You're going back home to your mother."
The maid's head snapped up, her wide eyes reflecting disbelief. "Your Grace?"
"You've been pardoned," Salviana interjected softly, though her voice carried an edge. "You risked your job—and your soul—to please petty, malicious princesses."
The maid collapsed into a bow, her gratitude pouring out. "Thank you, Your Grace! Thank you for sparing me!"
But Alaric wasn't finished. His words sliced through her relief like a dagger. "You will tell your mother what you did. You will face her shame. A guard will escort you home, and your village will know the truth."
Her face drained of color, and her shoulders sagged under the weight of her new punishment. She nodded weakly. "Thank you, Your Grace," she whispered, though her voice was tinged with despair. She knew what awaited her—a life of scorn and distrust from her own people.
Alaric's voice was steel as he added, "But that will be after you testify against the princesses in court."
The maid's head snapped up, her tears fresh. "Of course, Your Grace," she said, though her voice wavered.
"The court convenes tomorrow," Alaric declared, signaling to the guards. "Take her to the dungeons for now."
"Yes, Your Grace," the guards responded, lifting the weak and trembling maid to her feet. Her cries echoed faintly as they carried her away.
Salviana sighed deeply, leaning her head against Alaric's shoulder. Her fingers laced with his, seeking comfort. "What now?" she whispered, her voice heavy with exhaustion.
Alaric's jaw tightened as his thoughts churned. His fury burned bright, his mind consumed by the betrayal of his cousins.
The audacity of their actions rattled him—poisoning his wife, his Salviana. If not for her divine healing abilities, he could have lost her.
Lost her.
The thought tore at him like a blade, and he turned to Salviana, his dark eyes softening.
Without a word, he cupped her face and kissed her deeply, as if to reassure himself that she was still there, alive and breathing.
"I won't let this go unanswered," he murmured against her lips, his voice low but resolute. "They dared to harm you, my love. They dared to cross me."
Salviana placed a hand over his heart, feeling its steady, thunderous beat. "We'll deal with them together," she said firmly, though her own heart trembled at the thought of the confrontation ahead.
He nodded, his resolve hardening. "They will pay for this," he promised, his voice laced with both anger and love. "No one harms what is mine."
Together, they sat in silence for a moment, drawing strength from each other as they prepared to face the storm ahead.
The betrayal ran deep, but Alaric was determined to make it right—for his wife, for their future, and for the justice they both deserved.
~~{────────────
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
However, when Jean returned to the quarters, she felt an odd unease settle over her. Lucius wasn't in the house—she realized Alaric must have taken him to the ruins.
Her brow furrowed as she imagined Lucius in that desolate place.
Would he feel comfortable there? she wondered.
Was he lonely?
A pang of guilt crept into her chest. Maybe I should be there with him. He probably hates being alone in that building.
She sighed, feeling torn. Lucius wasn't the type to ask for company, but that didn't mean he didn't need it.
Did he miss her? The thought lingered for a moment, soft and bittersweet.
Shaking it off, Jean wandered into the kitchen. The faint aroma of something Lucius had prepared lingered in the air.
She wasn't hungry—she'd already had breakfast with Princess Salviana—but she found herself eating what he'd made anyway.
Lucius was a decent cook, far better than she was, and she hated to waste his effort. Each bite felt strangely comforting.
He can cook, and I can't, she mused with a faint smile.
He cares for me. The thought warmed her, though she quickly pushed it aside, brushing it off as a passing sentiment.
Her mind shifted abruptly to darker thoughts, her smile fading.
She'd almost died recently—an event she hadn't fully processed. Success, she realized, often attracted envy and enemies.
Margaretha's betrayal loomed large in her mind.
How could she have done that? And worse, what if someone had influenced her? Jean's stomach churned at the thought.
For a fleeting moment, she felt guilt nibbling at the edges of her resolve.
Was it wrong that I was chosen, brought to the castle? she wondered.
But no, she reminded herself, Margaretha wasn't qualified either. That jealousy wasn't justified.
She touched up her makeup in the mirror, steeling herself as she prepared to step out again.
The poisoning of Princess Salviana was still unsolved, and Jean's instincts told her there was more to uncover.
The case gnawed at her thoughts, her determination reigniting.
Her recent sickness had set her back in her work, but now she was ready to throw herself into it once more.
There was too much at stake to sit idle, and too many questions left unanswered.
Jean pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders as she left the quarters, a new sense of purpose driving her steps. This isn't over yet.
~~{───────
~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Salviana laid down to rest, hoping for a reprieve from the chaos and tension of the day. Yet sleep brought no comfort.
In her dream, she was back in the garden, only this time, everything felt cold and wrong.
The flowers wilted around her, and the once serene atmosphere turned sinister.
She saw them—Princesses Jolene and Christiana—standing at a distance, their expressions smug and cruel as they watched her writhe in agony.
"Did she think she could take our place?" Jolene sneered, her voice dripping with venom.
Christiana laughed, her tone mocking. "Let her choke on her ambition."
Salviana gasped, clutching her chest in her dream, the pain unbearable. She was dying, and they were enjoying every second of it.
Her eyes snapped open, her heart racing. Tears streamed down her face as she bolted upright, gasping for air.
"Salviana?"