A loud, unforgiving clang echoed through the small room as her foot t unyielding tal.
"Ah—!" Salviana gasped as she lost her balance, stumbling backward and landing hard on the floor. The jolt sent a fresh wave of pain through her already aching head.
She winced, biting back a curse.
For a mont, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of her own breathing — until she noticed sothing.
The bird.
It had paused, head cocked, as though it too had heard the noise.
No — not just the bird.
Beyond the door, she heard it — the faint scrape of movent. The slight catch of breath.
Her captor.
He had heard her.
Panic flashed through her, but before it could root itself in her chest, she did sothing unexpected. She chuckled.
A dry, breathless sound — half from pain, half from the absurdity of it all.
Here she was, a princess with magic in her veins, a wife to the fiercest prince in the realm, reduced to kicking a window like a madwoman.
All while a ghostly bird stared at her like it was judging her poor life choices.
She dragged herself to her feet, brushing the dust from her gown with a bitter smile.
"Well, that went well," she muttered, casting a side glance at the bird.
It blinked.
Salviana huffed, tying her red hair back into a bun once more. The fight wasn’t over yet. If the barrier wouldn’t break, she’d find another way.
Let her captor co. Let the bird watch.
She wasn’t done fighting.
Salviana stepped closer to the window, her golden eyes narrowing at the iron bars. Her mind whirled with a single, ridiculous thought—
Was the burglary supposed to fall inward?
It made no sense, but desperation twisted logic into strange shapes.
She grabbed the cold bars, her fingers curling tightly around the tal, and began to pull—hard.
A strained groan escaped her lips as she yanked with all her might, her arms burning with the effort. The bars didn’t so much as creak. Not even the slightest shift.
They were rooted deep into the stone, unyielding as the magic barrier itself.
Her breath ca in short, ragged bursts, her forehead damp with sweat. The more she tugged, the more futile it felt—but she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
"Move... damn you..." she hissed through gritted teeth.
The glass-like bird fluttered its wings and tilted its head again, watching her struggle with silent judgnt.
Salviana finally released the bars with a frustrated sigh, stepping back and glaring at them as though sheer willpower might make them crumble.
If Alaric saw her now—his proud, divine lady—reduced to fighting with a window...
She wiped her hands on her gown, the distant ache in her head a cruel reminder that ti was slipping away.
She wasn’t strong enough to break the bars with her bare hands.
But magic ran through her veins.
If she couldn’t break the bars... maybe she could shatter the barrier instead.
Her eyes drifted to the bird again, still pecking at the invisible wall like a creature playing with fire.
The key wasn’t the bars.
It was the magic.
And she just needed to find a way to reach it.
~~{─────────
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
In the castle however,
Morning broke like a bitter blade across the sky, the soft glow of dawn doing nothing to lift the suffocating tension that had settled over the castle.
The air felt thick with worry, and the walls seed to whisper with the ghosts of last night’s search.
The guards stood at their posts, dark circles beneath their eyes, their uniforms slightly disheveled — a silent testant to the relentless hunt for the missing princess.
The maids, too, moved like wilted flowers, their once crisp aprons now wrinkled, their usual grace dimd by exhaustion.
Emma, Thalia, and Sarah exchanged tired glances as they hurried about their tasks, though their minds were elsewhere — on the seventh princess, still lost.
And then ca Jaefel, breathless as he stumbled into the corridor where Alaric stood, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides.
"Your Highness," Jaefel gasped, a sheen of sweat across his brow. "The King has summoned a eting in the dining hall. He’s requested your presence."
Silence hung for a beat too long.
Alaric’s lips curled into a bitter, humorless scoff. "The audacity," he muttered, his voice a low snarl. "A eting—while my wife is missing?"
Jaefel visibly flinched but said nothing, his gaze fixed on the marble floor.
Lucius, ever the picture of cool detachnt, stepped forward, his umbrella resting lightly against his shoulder.
His dark gaze flickered toward Alaric, though his expression betrayed nothing.
Samion, one of Salviana’s most trusted guards, stood nearby — a wall of muscle and alertness.
But his sharp eyes kept straying to Lucius, watching him with thinly veiled suspicion, like a hound keeping a wary eye on a rival predator.
Alaric gave a curt nod, his jaw still tight. Without another word, he turned on his heel, his steps swift and purposeful as he began his march toward the dining hall.
Lucius followed silently, his umbrella tapping softly against the floor with each step, a rhythm as steady as his unreadable gaze.
Samion trailed a pace behind, his shoulders squared, his stare never leaving Lucius for more than a second.
The tension between them was a silent storm — unspoken but undeniable.
The castle’s morning light did nothing to chase away the shadows of the night.
Samion’s mind churned as he followed Alaric and Lucius down the long, echoing corridor.
His hand hovered close to the hilt of his sword, not out of fear — but out of sheer wariness.
Who was Lucius?
The man had appeared like a shadow slipping through cracks, calm and composed, his umbrella an odd accessory within the castle walls.
He wasn’t dressed like a courtier or a royal attendant, nor did he carry the typical weapons of a knight.
There was an air about him — cold, indifferent, and sharp-edged, like a blade hidden beneath silk.
Samion didn’t trust him.
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