Salviana had spent the past few days in quiet solace, staying within the comfort of her chambers and the garden, never venturing too far from her husband's reassuring presence.
The court dealing with the princesses had left her feeling drained and hesitant to face the watchful eyes of the castle.
But today, duty called. She had a meeting with the women of the castle—a gathering she could not avoid.
Her maids, Emma, Sarah, and Thalia, were bustling about her chambers as they prepared her for the day.
"Hold still, my lady," Thalia murmured as she secured the final bow in Salviana's red hair.
It was adorned with a small black ribbon, matching the intricate black dress she wore.
The gown was breathtaking—a flowing design with delicate lace, embroidered flowers, and tiny beads that shimmered faintly in the soft light.
The dress framed her figure modestly yet elegantly, and a hint of light makeup completed the look.
"You look perfect, my lady," Sarah whispered, stepping back to admire their handiwork.
Salviana glanced at her reflection, smoothing down the fabric of her dress.
She felt a mixture of pride and apprehension. "You've outdone yourselves again. Thank you."
A knock on the door drew their attention. Alaric stepped inside, his presence commanding yet effortlessly warm.
His dark attire mirrored hers, and his sharp gaze softened as it fell upon her.
"Salviana," he said, his voice low and admiring. "You look exquisite."
A faint blush crept up her cheeks, but she smiled at him. "And you, my lord, look as dashing as ever."
He chuckled, stepping closer to take her hand. "Flattery from my wife is the finest kind." His fingers brushed over hers before he leaned down and kissed her gently.
"The weather's cleared up nicely after yesterday's rain," he noted, his lips curving into a small smile. "A perfect day for a meeting, though I'd rather keep you to myself."
Salviana laughed softly. "Duty calls, my fire prince. I'll be fine."
He studied her for a moment, as if committing the sight of her to memory. "Have a lovely day," he said at last, pressing another kiss to her forehead.
Hand in hand, they descended the grand staircase and made their way to the waiting carriage.
Manni, the loyal coachman, stood at attention and tipped his hat with a warm smile.
"Good morning, my lady," he greeted.
"Good morning, Manni," Salviana replied, her tone kind and melodic.
As Alaric helped her into the carriage, the maids hovered nearby, watching the scene with barely contained excitement.
"Did you see how he looks at her?" Sarah whispered, her hands clasped in delight.
"Like she's the moon and stars," Thalia agreed, a dreamy expression on her face.
Emma smirked but said nothing, glancing at the couple as they settled into the carriage.
Once inside, Alaric took her hand again, holding it firmly as the carriage began its journey.
"I'll drop you off at the hall before heading to my office," he informed her.
She nodded. "Thank you, Alaric."
They rode in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves filling the air. Salviana gazed out at the castle grounds, her heart both anxious and excited for the meeting ahead.
When the carriage stopped, Alaric stepped out first, extending a hand to help her down. "Remember," he said softly, his tone gentle but firm, "you're more than capable of handling anything. They're lucky to have you."
Salviana smiled, squeezing his hand briefly. "I'll see you later."
He hesitated, as if reluctant to let her go, but then nodded. "Until then."
As she walked toward the hall, his gaze lingered on her retreating figure. The maids were right—Alaric looked at her as though she were his entire world.
Salviana stepped into the Wyfkeep Castle meeting hall, the heavy wooden doors creaking slightly as they closed behind her.
The large chamber was dimly lit, with sunlight filtering through stained glass windows, casting multicolored patterns across the polished stone floor.
Conversations faltered, whispers turned to silence, and every pair of eyes turned to her.
Her entrance commanded attention, and for a brief moment, she felt their scrutiny as tangible as a weight on her shoulders.
She held her head high, her black dress trailing behind her like shadows, its intricate lace, embroidered flowers, and shimmering beads making her seem almost otherworldly.
Her hair was styled with precision, the small bow tie adding an understated charm, while her light makeup accentuated the ethereal glow of her porcelain skin.
"Princess Salviana," someone muttered, and a ripple of murmurs followed.
A few voices rose above the quiet.
"We're so sorry for what happened," one said, though their tone felt insincere.
"I planned to visit you, truly," another chimed, their words a lie Salviana could see through instantly.
But then came the cutting words, the ones that pierced deeper than she anticipated.
"She's such a hypocrite," someone whispered, loud enough to be heard.
"A backbiter, no less. Maybe she deserved what happened."
Her composure faltered for just a moment. The accusations hung in the air, twisting like venomous snakes.
She could feel the stares burrowing into her, judgmental and cold.
"How am I a hypocrite?" she asked, her voice steady but edged with incredulity.
One of the princesses, Irene, leaned forward with an almost smug expression. "You've been going around saying Enid, the king's cousin, is obsessed with you. That you liked it, despite being married to Prince Alaric."
Another voice chimed in—this time Beatrice. "And you said Princess Abigail is… weird. That she makes you uncomfortable."
Genevieve added fuel to the fire. "Oh, and let's not forget the queen. According to you, she's desperate for love and affection, and only you can provide it."
The floodgates opened. Gossip after gossip poured out, the lies building upon one another until they became a cacophony of fabricated truths.
Salviana felt her chest tighten. The betrayal, the blatant cruelty, left her on the verge of tears.
"Did Rose say all these things?" she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the noise.