CHAPTER 475: WHERE IS JEANIE

Her lips curved, tender now. "Don’t be late for your council, my prince. The kingdom still needs you."

He gave a quiet groan, straightening and tugging on his coat. "Endless work, endless duties. Sometimes I think being a feared monster would be easier than being a dutiful third prince and being a sweet loving husband."

"You’re all great," Salviana teased, stepping back toward the door.

"Ah, but only one of those titles makes you mine," he murmured, watching her retreat with that hungry softness he reserved only for her.

She reached the doorway, glanced back once, her heart thrumming. "I’ll tell Jean."

"And I’ll suffer through politics," Alaric sighed dramatically. "Go. Before I decide to lock you here with me instead."

Her laughter lingered in the chamber long after she left, a sound he carried with him as he turned toward the heavy scrolls and stern voices awaiting him.

"Have a lovely day, My lady" Thalia wished her lady with a bow as she left.

Salviana only smiled, she was happy.

As she stepped, the guards, Simon followed closely after.

The corridors of the castle hummed faintly with the rustle of maids carrying linens and the clatter of distant armor, but Salviana felt strangely detached from it all. Her steps quickened as she reached Jean’s quarters.

She pushed the door open without knocking—only to find the chamber empty. The bed was neatly made, the curtains drawn back, and the faint scent of lavender Jean always favored hung in the air, but there was no trace of her.

"Jean?" Salviana called softly. The silence pressed back at her.

Her chest tightened. She stepped further in, scanning the room as though her friend might simply appear from a hidden corner. But everything was still. Too still.

Confusion prickled her first, then unease. She turned quickly, catching sight of a passing maid. "You—have you seen Lady Jean today?"

The maid startled, then shook her head quickly. "No, my lady. Not since...not since yesterday...morning, I think."

Salviana’s throat went dry. She moved to a guard at the end of the corridor, her voice sharper now. "What about you? Has Jean left her chambers? Did she go out?"

The guard straightened, but his face was blank. "I have not seen her, Princess. Forgive me."

Another maid was asked, then another guard, but each answer was the same—no one had seen Jean, not today, not last night, not even in passing.

A cold rush of dread seeped into her veins. Jean was not the type to vanish quietly. Not without leaving a word. Not without finding her.

"My lady..."

Salviana ignored him. Her heart thundered as she clutched her skirts, breath coming faster. Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong.

"I have to tell Alaric this," she whispered, half to herself, fingers trembling as they bunched the hem of her dress.

She spun on her heels, skirts swishing around her legs as she broke into a hurried pace.

Every shadow in the hallway seemed darker now. Every echo of her footsteps felt louder. And every step closer to Alaric brought a sharper fear—that Jean hadn’t simply gone missing. That someone had taken her.

Meanwhile,

The office of the Third Prince was steeped in golden candlelight, its tall windows draped in velvet and its carved oak desk spread with scrolls, ink, and maps.

Heavy curtains muffled the distant sounds of the bustling castle, cocooning the space in quiet authority. The air was rich with the faint aroma of wine and polished wood, the faint crackle of the fireplace lending an intimate glow.

Alaric sat in his high-backed chair, posture regal but not rigid, his dark attire catching the amber light.

Across from him lounged Prince Embrez, his elder brother, clad in a tunic embroidered with the crest of their house.

A crystal goblet rested lazily between his fingers, ruby wine swirling within as though he spun his thoughts in its depths.

They were not men at war in this moment. They were brothers—though royal ones, whose every word could alter kingdoms.

"You will not ask me how it was done," Embrez said, his voice low, velvet-coated but firm as steel. "The King forgave the matter of treason—your supposed treason, Alaric, and your Salviana’s. That is enough. Take the freedom I have secured, and let it make you happy."

Alaric’s jaw tightened, his hand curling over his own goblet. His onyx eyes glinted in the firelight, betraying both gratitude and the weight of his endless questions. "Brother..." he began, his voice carrying a roughness rarely heard beyond these walls, "you know I owe you more than words can hold. But secrets such as these—they do not fade. They return like echoes in dark halls."

Embrez leaned forward, a flicker of a smile touching his lips, though it carried no mirth. "And yet, not every echo deserves to be chased. I risked more than you know, Alaric. Let this one burden be mine."

The silence that followed was not empty—it brimmed with unspoken truths, heavy as the velvet that lined the chamber walls.

Embrez broke it, his tone shifting, brighter now, though sharp with command. "I have taken matters into my own hands for your union. Invitations have been sent to the kingdoms and the high royals. None will dare decline. Attendance is not a choice—it is law." He lifted his goblet slightly, almost in toast. "Even the luckiest of commoners will walk through these halls to witness your vows. It will be the grandest display of loyalty this kingdom has seen in decades."

Alaric’s lips curved, the faintest trace of admiration breaking his somberness. "You never do anything in half measures, do you, Embrez?"

Embrez laughed lightly, a sound rich with the arrogance of a prince and the fondness of a brother. He leaned back in his chair, wine shimmering in the firelight. "Would you have me? No. I am strict because the kingdom demands it. Those who fail to appear will be punished—an example must be made. Your marriage will not only bind hearts, Alaric—it will bind nations."

The words carried weight, a promise and a warning wrapped in one.