"What’s this whispering about?" Matilde demanded, her voice sharp as her gaze swept over the gathered maids.
The kitchen fell silent. Martha stepped forward hesitantly. "Ma’am, we’ve noticed so supplies are missing—fruits, cheeses—important items for the king’s banquet. We thought it best to—"
"Enough!" Matilde barked, cutting Martha off. She took a step closer, her hands on her wide hips.
"This is the royal castle, not so petty inn! Food doesn’t just go missing here. Do you understand? You must have miscounted or misplaced sothing."
Clara opened her mouth to protest, but Matilde’s icy glare stopped her short.
"You’re wasting precious ti with this nonsense," Matilde continued, turning to address them all. "The banquet preparations are behind schedule as it is. I don’t want to hear another word about missing food. Get to work!"
With that, she spun on her heel and stord out, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.
The maids lingered for a mont, their frustration palpable.
"That’s it?" Clara whispered. "She won’t even look into it?"
"Typical," Martha muttered under her breath.
As they dispersed to continue their tasks, Mire, a maid with bright blonde hair, sidled up to another. Lowering her voice, she whispered, "Do you know where Lisa is?"
The other maid paused, frowning. "Lisa? Isn’t she your roommate?"
"She is," Mire replied, wringing her hands. "But she didn’t sleep in the castle last night, and I haven’t seen her all morning."
"Maybe she’s on her break," the maid suggested with a shrug.
"She’s not," Mire insisted, her voice tinged with worry. "Even if she were, she never goes anywhere. Lisa doesn’t have anyone outside the castle. No family, no friends..."
"Oh, please, Mire," the maid interrupted, rolling her eyes. "She’s probably with a man. You don’t know everything about her life."
Mire frowned, but she said nothing more.
Unbeknownst to them, Emma, the chambermaid to Lady Salviana, stood in the corner of the kitchen.
She had been there to collect breakfast for the princess and her husband but had paused when she overheard the conversation.
Her face hardened as she listened, piecing together bits of information.
Lisa was missing. The knight. Last night.
Emma’s grip on the tray she held tightened. She had seen a knight sneaking soone into his carriage late last night.
She hadn’t thought much of it then, but now... now she was starting to connect the dots.
Her resolve fird. She wouldn’t speak of her suspicions here—too many ears.
But once breakfast was delivered to the princess’s chambers, she would find out exactly which knight it was and what he had done.
As she stood silently in the corner, watching the other maids move about, she made a vow to herself. She would uncover the truth, no matter the cost.
~~~{───────
~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
The morning air was crisp, still carrying a hint of dampness from last night’s rain.
The training grounds buzzed with life as knights and warriors ward up, their boots crunching against the wet gravel.
Breath puffed visibly in the cold, mingling with the occasional bursts of laughter and the rhythmic sounds of jogging feet.
Richard, Alaric’s personal knight and confidant, sat on a low wooden bench near the edge of the training field, his elbows propped on his knees.
The tension in his shoulders was hard to miss, the rigid set of his back suggesting he was brooding over sothing.
His dark hair clung to his forehead, damp from both the drizzle and his sweat, though he hadn’t yet joined the others.
"Oi, Richard!" one of the knights called out, breaking into his thoughts.
Richard glanced up briefly, revealing the faint bruise darkening his left eye.
The knight who called him out, a broad-shouldered man nad Samion, grinned as he jogged closer. "What happened to your eye? Get into a brawl last night?"
Richard didn’t answer, his gaze shifting to the distant treeline.
Another knight, Jackson, joined in, his laughter echoing through the field. "Or maybe," he said, slapping Samion’s shoulder, "he visited one of those lovely little establishnts in town. You know, where the ladies are... spirited."
The n around them erupted into laughter, and a few stopped their jogs to join the growing circle of onlookers.
"She must’ve been trying to defend her honor," Samion teased, leaning closer to Richard. "Bruised your eye so you wouldn’t bruise her pride."
"Or maybe she bruised his eyes so she wouldn’t bruise his ego," another knight added, earning a new wave of guffaws.
Richard finally looked up, fixing them with a deadpan stare. "You lot are idiots."
But the teasing didn’t stop.
"Bet she threw you out when you couldn’t keep up!" Samion added, doubling over with laughter.
"You’re awfully bold for soone who couldn’t win a duel if his life depended on it," Richard said coolly, straightening up from the bench.
The group fell silent for a mont, the weight of Richard’s words sinking in. Samion coughed nervously but tried to keep the mood light. "No one here’s stupid enough to challenge you, Richard. We’d rather not have you take out last night’s frustrations on us."
The n chuckled again, but this ti it was more subdued.
Richard stood, his tall fra cutting an imposing figure against the gray morning light.
He rolled his shoulders as if to loosen them, then gestured to the field with a faint smirk. "Anyone feeling brave?" There was a darkness in his gaze that stayed.
A chorus of "No, thanks" erupted from the group, with a few knights backing away playfully.
"Thought so," Richard muttered, his tone tinged with dry amusent.
The training grounds returned to their usual noise and energy as the n moved back to their exercises.
The air was alive with talk—so about last night’s rainfall, others about food or how little sleep they’d gotten and how the won also kept them up.
In the middle of it all, Heappal, a young and strikingly handso knight with sandy hair and a boyish grin, sat cross-legged on the ground, cleaning his sword.
He glanced up at the others, his expression thoughtful.
"You lot ever think about settling down?" He asked, his tone casual but carrying a hint of longing.
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