CHAPTER 45: SUN AFTER STORM

By dawn, the palace had shifted.

There was no proclamation in the court, no decree etched into record, yet Lady Seraphine was no longer permitted to cross the palace gates. It was not a sentence for the world to hear, but a silent understanding that was sealed between the Crown Prince and the Lord of House Dorovian.

For the sake of the House’s dignity, no whispers escaped beyond those doors. But when the news reached Seraphine’s ears, she was far from pleased. The role of representative had been stripped from her and reassigned by her father’s own command, severing her standing at the Crown’s side.

Seraphine paced the length of her solar like a thunder in silk, the sealed parchment crumpled white in one hand. The royal seal — the impossible, humiliating seal — stared up at her as if accusing her. She had expected denials and barbs from the court, not the quiet, surgical manner in which her standing had been stripped away.

She tore the paper open again as if rereading might change the verdict, then slammed it onto the table upon deciphering the words. Servants froze at the sound. Her breathing was shallow. Outrage had sharpened her features into something dangerous that they did not dare to speak.

"You incompetent—" she began, voice low and venomous, then whirled toward the maid who hovered near the doorway.

The girl who was already pale with a folded scrap of kitchen list clutched to her chest made a futile bow. "My lady—"

Seraphine did not let the apology finish. She struck the maid across the cheek with a stinging smack that echoed in the room. The maid’s head snapped aside, a shocked sob choked out of her.

"This happened because of you!" Seraphine spat, every word measured and cold. "You were told explicitly to see that His Highness’ meal was prepared with discretion, not to leave instruments of persuasion in the open! Not to leave them where any idiot could mistake them for common spice!"

The maid flinched, her palm rising to her reddened cheek. "M-my lady, I was called away to the pantry. I thought i-it was an unused corner. I did not know it— I did not know it belonged to the princess—"

"You did not know?" Seraphine snarled, her red hair falling carelessly, devoid of the usual elegance she always carry. She stepped so close that the girl could feel the chill from her gown. "Of course you ’did not know!’ It is a wonder you can wipe a pot without setting the kitchen on fire!"

The maid stammered, eyes wide and wet. "When I came back, it was gone, my lady. I wasn’t even gone for long! I swear— I put it there only because I feared the steward would see it. I was trying to hide it until later. I did not—"

Seraphine’s hand found the sealed parchment again and slammed it down by the maid’s head, hard enough that the maid cried out and cowered in fear.

"You were supposed to hide the entire operation, not leave your contraband on a girl’s shelf and hope for the best! Do you understand the difference between secrecy and stupidity?!"

"I understand," the maid whispered, voice thin as paper. "I am sorry. I am so sorry, my lady. I—"

Seraphine’s face contorted with fury and humiliation. This was not merely a failed scheme; it was a public erasure, a quiet severing of the position she had been raised to hold. She stared at the girl and, for a breath, the mask of composure slipped to reveal something raw and small — a wounded pride.

"You are useless!" she spat, each syllable like a verdict. "Your stupidity costs me, and it will cost you more than a scolding!"

The maid bowed lower, tears finally spilling as she fell on her knees and lowered her head to the ground, hoping that she would be spared. "Please, my lady, forgive me— I’ll do better— I promise—"

But Seraphine has had enough. She pushed past the cringing girl with a movement that was all animal — swift, violent, and indignant. The maid’s sobs were swallowed by the click of her heels as she spun from the solar and stormed into the corridor with only one destination in mind.

The Obsidian Guards stationed before the prince’s chamber straightened the moment she appeared, a horde of Dorovian guards trailing close behind. Spears lowered in unison, steel cutting through the air with a hiss. The Crown Prince had warned them they might face an outburst by morning. His judgment, as always, had been right.

Seraphine did not bow, she spat, "I demand audience with Prince Levan this instant!"

The guards’ reply was a flat line. "The prince’s orders stand. Lady Seraphine Dorovian is barred from the palace, and thus your presence is unwelcomed."

"By what right does anyone barred me

from the place where I’ve served for years? Where I’ve stood beside His Highness since we were children?"

The guards did not move. And the tension only thickened. Her men exchanged brief, uneasy glances but remained behind her as shields of flesh and steel because her name commanded it. It seemed like escorting the lady back to the House would not be an easy feat.

Seraphine’s eyes blazed upon the silence. They used to heed her words without question, but now they were all looking at her as if she was an intruder; as if her name does not bother them anymore. Drowned in anger, she tried to push past the two hefty guards.

"Move aside!" She struggled. "Put your hands away from me— I will see the prince!"

"You will not," Marion’s voice cut through like tempered steel as he emerged from the antechamber. He seldom make an entrance unless summoned, and the fact that he did made the humiliation sting even more. "By order of the Crown Prince."

Seraphine’s face twisted even more upon the Chamberlain’s interference. For a man who used to respect her, he did not even have the decency to lower his gaze. "By his order, you say? Or is it by some whispered fear?"

"I reckoned you have received the issued letter earlier this morning," he stated, his posture was rigid and commanding as he looked down at the lady with a narrowed gaze. "Have you not spare the time to read it carefully?"

Her nails dug into the parchment until the seal cracked. She shoved the decree forward with trembling fury. "This?" she sneered. "This insult? Do you think a wax seal will keep me from what is mine?"

"It will keep you," he said calmly, "from littering His Highness’ halls with your disorder. Not everyone here has the time or patience to scrub away after your messes. Better to remove the cause before it rots any further."

Seraphine clenched her jaw at the covert but unmistakeable insult. "It seemed you have forgotten your stature, Marion," she said through gritted teeth. "You are a mere servant serving the prince, not his equal."

Marion did not flinch. If anything, his eyes sharpened, the calm of a man who had kept the palace standing through worse tempests. He regarded Seraphine for a long beat, then spoke slowly, each word folded with ice.

"You call me a servant as if that diminishes me." His gaze flicked past her, toward the guards who still held their ground. "Perhaps you forget which roof keeps your house from falling into rubble. I serve the Crown. I keep this place whole so that men like you may bargain in halls without them burning down."

"And when a guest becomes a blade," he let the sentence linger, eyeing her accusingly, "—my duty is to sheath it, by force if necessary."

Seraphine’s mouth opened, a hiss of a retort forming on her lips. "You dare—"

"I dare," he cut in flatly. "Because I see what you do. You parade influence as affection, and you hide poison behind courtliness. You mistake familiarity for ownership. That is not power, my lady, it is vanity, and vanity here costs lives."

Marion stepped forward, palms splayed in an ironically conciliatory gesture. "So take your grievance where it belongs — to your Lord. If House Dorovian believes your methods are fit, let them plead your case at the proper table. Do not make this halls a stage for personal feuds. If you will not depart quietly, my men will see you out."

For a heartbeat she was suspended between outrage and calculation, then the feral mask returned. She slammed the parchment to the floor with a sound like a gunshot. With nothing more to say, she spun on her heels and fled. Her departure was a storm; the Dorovian guards trailed obediently, their lady still ranting as they escorted her away.

Marion watched them go with an expression like a man who had just closed one dangerous door and left another slightly ajar. As the echoes faded, Marion turned back into the antechamber. His face did not register triumph or fear, only the tired professionalism of a man who had steadied the crown through too many tempests to be ruffled by one more ruined pride.

"Inform His Highness about the commotion, he was at the solarium at the moment," he murmured to one of the guards, voice low and practical. "And see that House Dorovian understands this was not for spectacle. We will not tolerate another attempt."

The weight of his words lingered in the air as one of the guards bowed swiftly before moving to obey. The echoes of Seraphine’s outrage still clung to the stones when soft footsteps broke through.

All eyes turned.

And there she was.

The princess, radiant as morning itself, rounded the corridor with her usual brightness. Her hands were full, of course, they always were whenever she was here. Today it was a small plate covered with a cloth, balanced carefully in her arms.

The atmosphere shifted at once. The biting chill that had just hung over the chamber softened, as if her presence alone smoothed the edges of every grim face. Marion’s shoulders, taut from the confrontation, eased a fraction at the sight.

Ilaria halted at the stillness, head tilting in quite wonder as she observed the stiffness of the three men standing before her. "...Good morning," she said carefully, the kind of greeting that held no awareness of what shadows had just prowled the hall.

Marion inclined his head with a composure that betrayed nothing, his bow as impeccable as ever. The guards straightened at once and mirrored the Chamberlain’s movement, but not in the way they had for Seraphine.

"Good morning, princess," Marion greeted neutrally. "I assumed you’re here for His Highness?"

"Yes, yes..." She nodded eagerly before continuing to observe the way they stood as if they just came out of war, saying, "but I guess...he isn’t here?" When the silence confirmed her speculation, she puffed her cheeks softly. "Mm...it’s fine. I’ll see him later then."

Marion’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly. No one would have caught it unless they were close enough to the man. "The Crown Prince is at the solarium at moment, Your Highness. Do allow the guards to escort you to him."

At once, the Obsidian Guard stepped forward, bowing low before gesturing respectfully. Since he was already tasked to inform the prince of the commotion and ensure Lady Seraphine was escorted from the palace, they deemed it prudent to bring the princess along as well.

Ilaria’s smile bloomed with excitement. "Oh! That’s perfect. Thank you, Mr. Chamberlain!"

As she followed the guards and her skirts brushing lightly across the marble floor, the tension in the hall eased further. And Marion, watching her retreating figure, so blissfully untouched by the unease that had just raged, allowed himself the smallest exhale and the faintest shake of his head.

She was like the sun breaking after a heavy storm. And yet, she never even knew.