The guards stiffened. "Your Majesty?"
"Tell him I will allow his search," the king said slowly, "but the mont the girl is found, the castle reopens. And if he wishes to keep acting without permission..." He let his words hang ominously. "...then he should be prepared for the consequences."
The knights bowed deeply. "Yes, Your Majesty."
As they hurried out of the hall, the king picked up his goblet again, but the wine no longer tasted the sa.
His grip on the cup tightened.
Alaric was making a mistake.
A dangerous one.
And soon, he would learn just how much power a king truly held.
/
Prince Benjamin had been watching the hall with mild disinterest, his fingers lazily swirling the wine in his goblet, when he noticed the movent.
Guards kneeling before his father.
Hushed whispers.
A ripple of tension spreading through the air.
Sothing was wrong.
He leaned closer to his father, King Gideon, keeping his voice low. "What’s happening?"
Gideon didn’t answer imdiately. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the retreating guards, the candlelight casting shadows over his sharp features.
Then, with a quiet scoff, he turned to his son. "What else?" he said bitterly. "The witch is missing."
Benjamin’s grip tightened around his goblet.
Salviana.
He had never spoken to her much, nor did he care for her presence in their court. But he cared about what her presence ant.
And what it ant was trouble.
Gideon took another slow sip of his wine, watching the grand hall continue in ignorant bliss. He let the silence stretch, knowing it would feed his son’s curiosity.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was laced with irritation and sothing darker—resentnt.
"And now her demon husband is turning my castle upside down looking for her, acting like he holds the throne."
Benjamin’s gaze darkened.
Alaric.
His cousin.
The demon prince.
The one who shouldn’t even exist.
A thorn in their lineage.
A living threat to their power.
And now, the thorn was growing bolder.
Benjamin exhaled sharply, his jaw tight. "And you’re just allowing this?"
Gideon shot him a sharp look. "I’ve sent word. The castle will not remain locked once the girl is found. And Alaric—" his voice dipped into sothing colder, crueler "—will be reminded of his place."
Benjamin said nothing at first. He only looked toward the great doors of the hall, as if he could see past them, past the stone walls and corridors, to where Alaric was running through the castle like a desperate man.
And then he smirked.
"Perhaps," he murmured, lifting his goblet to his lips, "this is exactly what we needed."
Gideon raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Benjamin took a slow sip before setting the goblet down.
His fingers tapped lightly against the polished wood of the table, his mind already weaving possibilities.
"If sothing happens to her," he said, his voice just above a whisper, "Alaric will unravel. And an unraveled prince makes mistakes."
Gideon considered this.
Then, for the first ti that evening, he smiled.
A slow, knowing, dangerous smile.
All this ti they weren’t rational or carefree people, they all hate Alaric and his new found happiness.
~~{────────
~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
anwhile ,
he weight of her crown had never felt heavier.
Queen Sansa sat at the long banquet table, her hands carefully folded in her lap, her spine perfectly straight.
She was the image of poise, the perfect queen in her golden gown and intricate jewels.
And yet, she felt like a ghost in her own kingdom.
Her husband, King Gideon, barely spared her a glance anymore. Since the birth of their last child, his affections had turned elsewhere—to his two favored concubines, to his courtly gas, to anything but her.
She had once longed for his attention. Now, she barely cared.
But soone else was looking.
From across the hall, a young man had been watching her all evening.
He was handso—dangerously so.
Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, a mouth curved into the kind of smirk that made a woman feel noticed.
Sansa knew how to ignore such looks. She had spent years perfecting the art of indifference, of swallowing loneliness with silent dignity.
But tonight, after everything—the tension, the whispers, the way her husband didn’t even see her—she found herself faltering.
The man lifted his goblet, tipping it toward her in a silent toast. His eyes never left hers.
Sansa’s fingers trembled as she picked up her own glass.
She rarely drank. It was improper for a queen to indulge too much. But tonight, propriety felt suffocating.
She took a slow sip.
Across the room, the stranger smiled.
He dragged his tongue over the rim of his cup, a slow and deliberate motion that sent heat curling low in her stomach.
Then, he ran a hand through his dark hair, tilting his head slightly, an invitation.
Sansa swallowed.
He was younger than her—at least ten years younger. But there was nothing boyish about him.
He was confident. Bold. Unashad.
And for the first ti in years, she felt sothing stir inside her.
A quiet ache. A longing she thought had died long ago.
She shifted in her seat, pressing her thighs together, feeling the warmth of the wine move through her blood.
From across the hall, the young man smirked.
He had seen her reaction.
And he liked it.
Perhaps sothing sinister of a scandal is about to take place in the castle of Wyfn-Garde.
~~{────────
~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Jean’s heart pounded against her ribs as she hurried down the dimly lit corridor, her breathing uneven.
Panic clawed at her chest, twisting her gut into knots. How could she have let this happen?
Salviana was missing, and it was her fault.
She should have been there. She should have followed.
She should have done sothing instead of standing around, giggling like an idiot, distracted by a man who probably didn’t even care about her.
Lucius Drake.
A damn vampire.
A fine one.
One who never said how he felt—if he felt anything at all.
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