The hall erupted.
Viremont stood, voice sharp and venomous. "She is my product! I decide what's best for her!"
Her words sliced through the room like broken glass.
Colden flinched.
Francis moved instantly — stepping between them, shielding Colden with a reflex born of years in diplomacy and danger.
But before anyone could speak, a loud crack echoed.
Marco had slapped her.
Hard.
"How dare you," he said, voice trembling with fury. "She's not your product. She belongs to herself. This isn't care — it's control. It's formality. It's unfair."
The room froze.
Viremont staggered back, stunned.
Francis turned, smoothing the tension with practiced grace. "Let's not forget where we are," he said to the nobles, voice calm but commanding. "This is a palace, not a battlefield."
The noble who had earlier mocked Colden shrank in his seat, terrified. He raised a hand to his cheek, shielding himself from any potential side-eye — as if Colden's gaze alone could burn him.
Outside, Colden and Marco met Carmine and Elaine.
Guards stood in formation. And in front of them — August.
Francis watched August carefully, sensing something deeper.
August stepped forward. "Elaine," he said, "you must adhere to the rules. This isn't good. You shouldn't leave."
Elaine's eyes welled.
She looked at August, voice cracking. "I'm in love. I can't hold back. Someone dear to me once said… you should always believe in second chances."
August froze.
Her words pierced something old in him — something buried.
He stared at her, then at the guards.
Then he smiled.
A small, broken smile.
He stepped aside.
"All of you," he said to the guards, "leave."
They obeyed.
Elaine turned to the castle one last time.
She saw the towers, the windows, the memories — the girl she used to be.
Viremont appeared at the entrance, watching.
She didn't speak.
She didn't chase.
But something flickered in her eyes — hesitation. Regret.
Elaine climbed into the bull cart beside Marco, Colden, and Carmine.
The cart jolted forward, wheels spinning fast, hooves pounding against the stone.
They passed the town — the bakery, the fountain, the alley where Marco once cried alone.
Three days had felt like years.
And now, finally, they were free.
To be continued…