Chapter 283: Servants vs Reality
Eve offered him a small bow with a gentle smile. "It is my pleasure to meet you, Duke Silver."
Regulus grinned before replying, "Please call me Uncle Regulus, if you are comfortable with it," he said warmly, casting a smug glance towards Iskara. The king narrowed his eyes slightly at his cousin for encouraging Eve to address him so casually before he himself had been given such liberty.
Mirth danced in Regulus’s eyes, clearly delighted by his cousin’s quiet discomfort.
Ivan caught the subtle exchange between his father and uncle and pressed his lips together to hold back a smile.
Sighing inwardly, he thought that this was exactly where Damien got the trait from, finding amusement in others’ misery. ’Like father, like son,’ he shook his head faintly.
"Oh....I....yes. I would be happy to. Thank you, Du-"
"Yes?" Regulus raised an eyebrow at her, as if gently prompting a correction.
A soft chuckle escaped Eve’s lips as she amended herself. "Thank you, Uncle Regulus."
Regulus beamed at her and gave an approving nod.
Just then, Barnaby appeared through the doorway, walking up to the king, the gold rim of his monocle catching the sunlight. He bowed respectfully and announced, "Your Majesty, breakfast is served."
Iskara gave him a nod before turning his gaze back to Evelyn. "Would you mind having breakfast with me today?"
"Of course, Your Majesty. It would be my honour," she replied at once, her voice soft, drawing another smile from the king.
With that, they all headed towards the dining room.
As soon as the entire entourage stepped out of the lounge and began making their way towards the dining room, it was as though a trigger had been pulled, setting off a disastrous chain of events in their wake.
To say the servants were shocked would have been a grave understatement.
Their eyes first landed on King Iskara. Seeing him in this wing after so long was nothing short of extraordinary, as he had rarely set foot here since Prince Ivan had come of age.
It was not that His Majesty avoided his son, but rather that Prince Ivan usually ended up visiting the king instead. There was also the unspoken understanding that the prince valued his privacy, being a grown young man with a fondness for solitude.
Still, none of that eased the shock of seeing the king here. Nor did it explain why he had arrived with the White Tiger himself, Duke Regulus Silver.
At once, silent conclusions were drawn.
’Has His Majesty finally lost patience?’
’Is the duke here as muscle?’
’Are we witnessing a very polite exile?’
Panic rippled through the corridor, carefully concealed behind perfectly trained expressions. Trays were nearly dropped, and curtains were adjusted with unnecessary urgency. One servant silently prayed they were not about to be reassigned to the outer stables for witnessing something they were not meant to see.
Then their eyes drifted further back, and they spotted Damien, Cece, and Edward following behind.
’Was this a family intervention?’
’Should we start packing Princess’s belongings?’ another wondered.
They knew that the Silver siblings and the Lumen had been staying within the castle, yet over the past several days, they had caught sight of none of them except Damien.
He, of course, was frequently seen roaming about, often appearing at the most inconvenient moments, only to take great delight when things inevitably went awry in his presence.
It was usually the younger maids who lost their composure at the sight of the handsome young duke.
’Honestly,’ one maid thought, ’if trouble had a schedule, Lord Damien would be pencilled in.’
Lady Cece and the young Marquess Edward, however, had not been seen at all.
This led the servants to wonder whether they had fallen ill and had been resting in seclusion to recover.
Regardless, there was visible relief when Lady Cece appeared, walking normally and looking every bit her poised and beautiful self. She was highly regarded among the vampires, not only as a pure-blood vampiress but also as a cousin of His Royal Highness.
’Good,’ someone silently noted. ’If Lady Cece is walking just fine, then perhaps the castle will survive the day.’
Once the group had passed, the servants lingered with bated breath, their eyes fixed on the corridor, waiting to see if the one they had truly been anticipating would finally step into the light once more. More than Prince Ivan, it was Princess Evelyn they wished to see.
’Please let her be walking, or with all her limbs intact,’ one servant prayed fervently.
’And preferably without crutches or bandages,’ another added.
They wanted to know whether she was truly crippled or merely unwell, to ease their hearts with the certainty that His Majesty would not cast her out and to silence the more dramatic rumours that had already begun to spiral wildly out of control.
Once everyone who had already stepped out vanished into the dining room, the corridor finally exploded into hushed whispers.
"What do you think?" a maid whispered urgently. "Will she really appear the way everyone has been saying?"
"I sincerely hope not," another replied, eyes darting around. "She is the only person alive who can calm His Highness’s temper. Without her, we are all doomed."
"If....I mean, if the rumours are true," a third maid began hesitantly, lowering her voice further, "then which part of her do you think is..." She stopped short, glancing about nervously. "You know."
"Hush," someone hissed. "Do you want all of us to be beheaded before lunch?"
"Of course not," the maid protested. "I was only wondering."
They lapsed into uneasy silence, broken only when one maid cleared her throat.
"I-If I remember correctly," she said slowly, "she was carried. So....what if it is her legs?"
Every maid within earshot froze.
Then heads snapped towards her.
"Oh my god," one gasped. "That is exactly what I was thinking."
"R-really?"
"Yes. Think about it. Her food has been delivered to her room every single day, and she has not taken one single walk."
"Oh gods," another whispered dramatically. "If that is true, then what will happen to His Highness?"
"And us," someone added, clutching her apron. "Who will protect us when he loses his temper? Certainly not Lord Damien. He would enjoy it."
Panic bubbled up once again, the whispers growing faster and more frantic, none of them noticing the quiet figure lingering nearby.
A spy planted by Silas listened with keen interest, a small, satisfied smirk briefly touching her lips before it vanished just as quickly, leaving behind nothing but innocent silence.
Even she could not suppress her curiosity about the princess everyone was whispering about, nor the question burning in her mind of whether the rumours were true.
If the princess truly was crippled, then she would be handsomely rewarded by Silas for delivering a flawless report.
More than that, Silas’s long-nursed ambition of marrying his daughter to Prince Ivan would finally be realised. When that happened, she would earn her promotion and, at last, be free to marry the soldier with whom she had been conducting a secret affair within Silas’s mansion.
Her future hovered dangerously close, close enough to taste.
She kept her crimson eyes fixed on the open doorway, scarcely daring to blink.
The slightest movement there sent a sharp spike of anticipation through her, her pulse thundering so loudly that she instinctively glanced around, half expecting someone to notice the frantic rhythm of her heart.
But as she focused on the others, she realised their hearts were racing just as fiercely. The realisation drew a quiet sigh of relief from her lips.
Then a figure emerged.
He had a sturdy build, brown hair falling to his neck, and red eyes that revealed nothing. His expression remained entirely stoic.
The spy recognised him at once as one of the deadliest men she had ever heard of. Prince Ivan’s right-hand man, Alexander Valehart, Commander of the prince’s most elite unit
The Ignis Blades.
The name alone was enough to shake even the bravest souls who had dared to break the law.
For those unfortunate enough to be caught by them, death was often the least of their worries. What awaited instead was a form of merciless torture so extreme that it drove men to beg for death as mercy. That was what people feared most about the Ignis Blades, even beyond their formidable skill and ruthless efficiency.
Her eyes narrowed in wonder.
If Alexander Valehart were here, then the prince was undoubtedly inside that room as well. She knew it with absolute certainty. The commander was Ivan’s second shadow, never far from his side, never appearing without reason.
And she did not have to wait long for her answer.
Distinctive footsteps soon echoed from within the room. They were light against the floor, yet every precise click sent back snapping straight, as though an invisible string had yanked everyone into perfect posture.
Whispers vanished on the spot. Lips pressed shut as though they had erased themselves from existence altogether. Eyes glued themselves firmly to the floor, suddenly fascinated by the patterns and imaginary dust, because looking up now felt like a remarkably poor life choice.
