The courtyard fell into dead silence.
Lucien stood at the entrance, his posture straight and commanding. His presence alone was oppressive. Conversations stopped instantly. Servants trembled, struggling to lift their heads.
His sharp gaze swept across the scene.
"What is going on here?" he demanded.
Chloe froze. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Water dripped from her hair onto the stone floor, forming small puddles beneath her feet.
The servant immediately dropped to her knees.
"My prince, she attacked me without reason!"
Chloe clenched her fists. "She humiliated me," she said tightly. "She poured water on me and mocked me."
Lucien's cold, unreadable gaze shifted to Chloe, then back to the servant.
"Is that true?" he asked calmly.
The servant hesitated, "Both of you," he said sharply, "ten lashes each." The servant gasped. "My prince..."
"Another word," Lucien cut in, "and it becomes twenty."
The guards stepped forward.
A strange calm washed over Chloe. Pain meant nothing to her. What hurt was the humiliation being dragged like this in front of everyone.
Lucien looked at her with a faint, amused smile. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen." Chloe scoffed. "Save it."
Lucien bent slightly and helped her to her feet.
"I thought you wouldn't get up," he said lightly. "You look… beautiful, even covered in dirt." Chloe pulled her arm away, a sarcastic smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes lifted, and met another gaze above.
A man sat quietly in a wheelchair at the corridor's edge. His posture was composed, his expression unreadable, as if the scene below meant nothing to him, "Anthony," she muttered.
Lucien followed her gaze and looked up, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
"My brother still got you hooked," he said. "Even when he cannot stand."
Chloe turned away immediately. She knew too well the truth behind Anthony's injury.
She left without looking back.
Meanwhile, in the Garden
Eveline slowed her steps. "Did you hear that?" she asked Lily.
Lily frowned. "Probably another servants' quarrel."
Eveline's gaze drifted toward the servants' quarters. A strange feeling settled in her chest.
"No…" she murmured. "Someone is watching."
"Come," she said quietly. "Let's go back."
As they turned, a group approached from the opposite path. The Queen.
She walked with long, confident strides, followed by her ladies-in-waiting. Their expressions were stiff, uneasy.
Queen Daphne stopped in front of Eveline, her lips curving into a warm smile.
"Eveline," she said gently. "It's good to see you. I'm glad I found you here."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Eveline replied calmly.
"I see you enjoy the garden," Daphne continued. "The air is fresh. The scenery is beautiful."
"It is," Eveline agreed. "Almost too beautiful."
Merlia, one of the ladies-in-waiting, scoffed.
"I doubt you've seen gardens like this before."
Daphne sighed, clearly displeased. "You're really stupid." Merlia shut her mouth, clearly embarrassed after the queen's comment.
Eveline chuckled softly.
"The Crimson Lantern," she said, "was known as the House of Gardens. Lavender filled the air. Madame Rubin believed scent leaves a memory."
Merlia fell silent.
Daphne studied Eveline closely, her gaze sharp now.
"Be careful, child," she said quietly. "This is not a brothel."
Eveline met her eyes without fear. "I know."
Daphne turned away. "Amber," she called. "Show Eveline her duties."
As she walked off, her voice softened, barely audible.
"I'm sorry, Nia."
In another chamber, raised voices echoed against the stone walls.
Members of the council argued fiercely, each man insisting on his vision for the next king. Accusations flew freely, pride clashing with fear. Only Alaric remained silent.
He leaned back in his chair, watching the aged men tear at one another as if the fate of the kingdom truly mattered to them. Beside him stood the king's right-hand man, rubbing his temples, desperately trying to calm the room.
"Gentlemen," the man urged, "please, let us speak one at a time."
The shouting slowly died down. Alaric chose that moment to move.
He straightened, raised an eyebrow, and spoke lazily, "I thought you were about to kill each other. I was nearly kind enough to offer my dagger." A faint smile touched his lips. "Just be sure to clean it afterward. I dislike blood on my belongings."
The room stiffened.
Master Brigham slammed his cane against the floor. "Do you take us for fools?" he snapped. "We may not share the king's blood directly, but we are still of royal standing. And yet your brothers show us no respect."
Alaric tilted his head, studying him.
"So," he said calmly, "your solution was to scream like wounded animals?" Gasps filled the room.
"You howl like mad dogs," Alaric continued, unfazed. "Throwing fits, insulting one another, achieving nothing. Frankly, you look ridiculous."
His gaze swept across the council.
"All of you are exhausting," he finished coolly. "So I don't blame my brothers for refusing to waste their time here."