"My prince, I only... I was only trying to... to assist your wife," she stamred, trying to muster so semblance of confidence.
Alaric’s expression didn’t soften in the slightest. "Assist her?" he repeated, his tone laced with barely restrained disgust. "By humiliating her? By assaulting her in my absence?"
He drew in closer, and she could see every harsh line of his face, could feel the cold fury radiating off him.
She felt small, insignificant, like the re maid she was, and yet she couldn’t resist a final, desperate attempt.
"Forgive , my prince," she whispered, lowering her gaze to appear demure. "I didn’t an to upset you. I only thought... perhaps you deserved soone who could... understand you."
He tilted his head, a humorless smile ghosting his lips as he observed her, and Priscilla’s pulse quickened. She’d seen that look before, the detached amusent he wore when entertaining fools at court.
"And you believe you could be that soone?" he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost gentle, though his eyes glead with a dangerous edge.
"Yes, your grace," she whispered, leaning in ever so slightly, hoping against hope that he would see her differently if she showed her devotion.
He lifted a brow, his gaze piercing straight through her. "Understand ? You presu to know ?" His voice dropped to a nacing murmur. "You are nothing but a disloyal maid who dared to strike the woman I cherish."
At that, Priscilla’s heart dropped. ’Cherish?’ The word echoed in her mind, shattering the fantasy she had built. She had hoped that he might view Salviana as nothing more than a political pawn, a re alliance. But the way he spoke of her...
"Seize her," Alaric commanded, his voice cold and resolute as the guards moved to arrest Priscilla. He didn’t spare the fearful maid a single look, his focus shifting instead to Salviana, who had hurried over, breathless and distressed.
Priscilla opened her mouth to protest further, but one look into his unrelenting gaze silenced her. She watched as he turned and left, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall.
The very man she had hoped to captivate had walked away, leaving her in the silence of her own shattered ambitions, knowing he would never look her way again.
"Alaric," she gasped, her eyes pleading. She had run all the way here to try and stop him from hurting Priscilla.
Alaric’s brow furrowed as he took her hand, his gaze searching her face with a trace of irritation. "Why do you run?" he asked quietly. "I’d rather you care for yourself first." His fingers brushed over hers in a comforting gesture, though his expression remained stern.
"What are you planning to do?" she whispered, her heart pounding.
"Co along," he replied, and though the invitation should have been warm, there was no softness in his voice or his deanor.
He turned, leading her through the winding corridors and across the courtyard, his hand clasped tightly around hers. As they approached the execution grounds, Salviana’s heart raced with dread. ’Would he really go that far?’
When they reached the grounds, a sizable crowd had already gathered—royalty, guards, maids, council mbers, knights, all whispering among themselves and casting curious glances at the unfolding scene.
Alaric mounted the stone podium and looked out over the gathering, his expression as unyielding as stone. He gestured to Priscilla, who was now kneeling, hands bound, at the edge of the platform where executions were carried out.
"This is Priscilla, one of the Seventh Princess’s chambermaids," he began, his voice carrying through the grounds with an authority that silenced the murmurs. "Today, her life is spared—but only by the rcy of my wife."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Salviana felt her heart lurch, knowing that he had said this in her na. His hand tightened slightly on hers as if anchoring her to his side.
"From this day forward," Alaric continued, his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd, "I have stripped Priscilla of any right to work within this kingdom." He raised his voice further, ensuring his next words were heard by all. "She is never to be offered a position again, and whoever dares employ her will et an even harsher punishnt."
Priscilla’s wails pierced the tense silence, her voice breaking as she cried out, "Your grace! rcy!"
But Alaric’s face was impassive, his anger cold and unrelenting. Gasps and murmurs echoed through the crowd as they took in the full extent of his decree. Even Salviana felt a shiver run through her at the severity of his tone.
"Priscilla has proven herself a disgraceful, insubordinate servant," Alaric continued, his gaze cutting back to the maid kneeling in disgrace. "To raise a hand against my wife is a bold insult to the throne, an act that warrants punishnt far more severe. The rcy shown today is granted only in respect to the wishes of my beloved wife."
He glanced briefly at Salviana, his expression softening just slightly before his eyes turned steely once more. "Let this be a warning to all—anyone who dares to harm, disrespect, or undermine my wife, whether intentionally or otherwise, will face a fate beyond their darkest imaginations."
A tense silence settled over the gathering. Alaric’s words had struck deep, and everyone in attendance seed to shudder as they absorbed the threat. No one doubted his sincerity.
"Take her away," Alaric ordered, his voice devoid of sympathy. "She is never to set foot in this castle again, or in any noble house within this kingdom." He turned his gaze to the king, who sat among the crowd with a displeased frown, though he was careful not to challenge Alaric directly.
The king held Alaric’s stare for a long, tense mont before giving a curt nod. "Very well."
He could hardly deny Alaric, especially knowing the power he wielded.
Alaric was not just the third prince—he was a force to be reckoned with, a man with a reputation dark enough to strike fear into anyone who dared oppose him.
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