Chapter 488: Missing Home Finally
The maids hurried forward, distributing the sugared petals. Salviana accepted hers gracefully, biting into the crystalized violet with perfect calm. The sweetness broke across her tongue like glass.
Inside, she thought, It tastes like pride. Bitter, even beneath the sugar.
But outwardly, she smiled faintly, dabbing her lips with her napkin. "Lovely," she murmured.
Across the table, Irene sat rigid, shoulders stiff, her rose petal untouched.
Beatrice’s tea, Abigail’s violets, Irene’s roses—the air was now saturated with rivalry, the hall thick with whispers and unspoken daggers. Salviana could feel every pair of eyes shifting, measuring, waiting for the next clash.
She smoothed her skirts, adjusted her jeweled hairpin, and folded her hands atop the table with serene poise.
Let them watch, she thought. Let them test me. If they believe I came unarmed, they will soon learn—my silence is a blade, and I know how to use it.
The tension at the long table had barely thinned, though the sugared petals were melting on their tongues. The air was taut with rivalry when the carved double doors at the far end creaked open. Heads turned.
"Lady Agatha," Lilian said in mild surprise, rising slightly from her seat.
At once, every princess and lady present murmured respectful greetings. "Lady Agatha... Lady Agatha..." They bowed their heads in acknowledgment, even Irene and Abigail, though their eyes betrayed irritation. The king’s brother’s wife, wrapped in a deep green gown embroidered with silver threads, swept inside with the grace of age and dignity.
Her face was softened by laugh lines, her brown hair touched with streaks of white at the temples, but her eyes—clear and steady—held an authority that demanded respect without a word.
"I thought I heard laughter... and sharp tongues," Agatha said, pausing by the doorway, her smile gentle yet knowing. "So I came to see if my little doves were at each other’s throats again."
A ripple of nervous chuckles filled the air.
"Oh no, Lady Agatha, we are behaving," Princess Lilian said quickly, smoothing her skirts and folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Wouldn’t you agree, Princess Salviana?"
All eyes swiveled.
Salviana tilted her head, her smile composed but not false. "A few words with daggers’ edges cannot scatter a party. We are... as you said, behaving."
Her tone was calm, but her gaze flicked toward Irene for only a moment, enough to remind the others what "daggers" meant.
Agatha chuckled, the sound warm and low. "That’s the spirit." She stepped further into the hall, the skirts of her gown whispering against the marble. Then she turned her gaze onto Salviana—steady, kind, almost maternal.
"My sweetheart," she said, the endearment spilling so naturally it made the other princesses stiffen. "You are back after such a long travel with your husband. I’ve missed you in these halls."
Salviana blinked, caught off guard by the affection, but then rose gracefully to receive her. Agatha’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her into an embrace that smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment. For a moment, Salviana felt her chest tighten.
She hadn’t expected it. Not here, in this place where every smile carried poison. The warmth was almost disarming.
"Lady Agatha," Salviana murmured, her voice softer than she intended. "It’s so good to see you again."
Agatha leaned back to look into her face, her hands still resting on Salviana’s shoulders. "You’ve grown lovelier, though you always were. Look at you, with the glow of travel still upon your cheeks."
A blush warmed Salviana’s face, and she found herself smiling shyly. "You are too kind."
For just a flicker of a moment, as Agatha’s hand brushed her cheek in passing, Salviana thought of her own mother—her mother’s hands, her mother’s voice. A pang of longing struck her chest, sudden and deep. She hadn’t realized how much she missed that grounding presence until now.
She swallowed it down, but her smile trembled at the edges. How cruel, to be reminded of what I can never go back to.
Agatha seemed to notice, for her thumb gave one last soft caress before she let go. "I only came to check on you all," she said brightly, glancing at the table. "I was not invited to this little gathering, but I will not linger where I don’t belong."
"Nonsense," Lilian said with her usual silky diplomacy. "Your presence honors us."
Agatha waved her hand dismissively, though her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Ah, flattery. You children forget I was your age once. I know the tone of practiced diplomacy when I hear it."
A ripple of embarrassed laughter scattered around the table. Jolene covered her mouth to hide her grin.
Agatha turned once more to Salviana. "I am glad you are back where you belong, sweetheart. Don’t let their little stings trouble you. Bees buzz, but honey lasts longer."
Salviana’s lips parted in a small laugh at the metaphor, her tension easing. "I will remember that, Lady Agatha. Thank you."
The older woman patted her hand one last time before turning, raising her hand in a small wave. "Enjoy your tea, ladies. And remember—your voices carry further than you think."
With that, she swept out, her gown trailing behind her, leaving the scent of lavender in her wake.
The doors closed softly, and silence followed in her absence, though the air felt lighter, steadier, as if her presence had brushed away some of the venom lingering in the room.
Salviana sat back down, smoothing her skirts, her chest still warm with gratitude. Her thoughts whispered: I miss my mother.
But outwardly, she smiled, steady once more, prepared to face the princesses and their endless games.
The chatter in the air had only just begun to smooth out, the ladies sipping their teas and nibbling dainty sweets, when a new ripple moved through the room. A soft click of heels echoed at the threshold.
Salviana didn’t immediately turn. She had long learned that every entrance in this castle was a performance; whoever it was would eventually float toward the circle of chairs gathered in the gilded salon. She lifted her cup to her lips instead, breathing in the floral blend Beatrice had been so proud to present.
But before she could even set the porcelain back onto its saucer, the subtle perfume reached her—sweet, heavy, almost intoxicating. Salviana’s breath caught. That scent was no accident. And then came the voice, a soft blade sheathed in honey.
"May I sit?"
Salviana turned her head and found herself staring at Eva Layor.
The royal seductress.
Eva was draped in silk the color of wine, her neckline scandalously daring even for the privacy of women. Dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing a face made to be admired: lips like crushed berries, eyes half-lidded with practiced allure. Many whispered she could have been queen if charm were the only requirement.
Salviana blinked, stunned for a beat, before she caught herself. She summoned a polite smile—the kind court life demanded even when one’s stomach churned. "Np. Please," she said, voice even, "take another seat. I’ve reserved this one for Florence."