The town was no longer quiet.
Whispers filled the streets, louder than the market bells. Children stopped playing when guards passed. Bakers paused mid-knead to glance at the palace gates.
The group had returned — Marco, Colden, Elaine, Carmine, and Francis — but the people's faith had not.
The Viremont conspiracy had spread like wildfire.
"She locked her own daughter," someone muttered.
"She tried to kill the prince's allies," another whispered.
But the worst rumors were about Marco.
The public, adhesive to scandal, began twisting the truth.
They called Marco a slave.
A possession.
A tool of the prince's indulgence.
The administrative council met in haste. Their verdict was cold: Marco must return to the inn. He cannot remain in the palace until the situation is resolved.
Colden was silent when he heard.
But inside, he shattered.
Every moment he'd spent with Marco — the garden walks, the shared pastries, the quiet hand-holds — now felt tainted. Not by truth, but by perception.
He watched Marco pack his things.
He didn't speak.
Marco didn't ask him to.
Viremont, meanwhile, faced backlash from every corner of the court.
Nobles refused to dine with her.
Maids whispered behind her back.
Even Elaine, once protected by her name, now heard the taunts of other concubines.
"She's the daughter of madness."
"She ran away for love. How pathetic."
Elaine held her head high, but her heart trembled.
The castle was no longer sturdy.
It was cracking.
Then came the letter.
Francis opened it in his study, hands trembling.
From Hauston.
Queen Isabelle was arriving.
Colden's mother.
The woman who had abandoned Windmere — and her youngest son — years ago.
She had wanted nothing to do with the ninth prince.
But now, with Viremont disgraced and the king unfit, the council had made their decision.
Colden would be crowned king of Windmere.
Francis folded the letter slowly.
The storm was coming.
To be continued…