"Is that… Lady Salviana?" one whispered to another.
"The seventh princess,"
"She's running to the gates," another replied, his tone a mix of astonishment and respect.
"She must be going to meet him," murmured a maid, pausing in her work to watch Salviana's determined figure.
"The demon prince?" One scoffed.
Salviana paid no attention to the whispers, her mind consumed by one thought: Alaric. I need to see him.
Her feet barely touched the ground as she sped through the corridors, her personal guards struggling to keep pace.
"Lady Salviana!" one of them called, his voice tinged with alarm. "Please, slow down!"
But she didn't stop. The emotions in her chest burned too brightly—joy, relief, anticipation, and an aching longing she couldn't contain.
Her heart raced as she neared the grand gates. The closer she got, the louder the sounds of celebration grew—the cheers of villagers, the clatter of hooves, the distant echo of victorious horns.
