News of Lord Belvane's death spread through the ballroom like wildfire. Though the music played on, the festive atmosphere was shattered. Guests huddled together, whispering about the shocking event. Some, knowing Lord Belvane's bad reputation, were secretly pleased, though they dared not say so openly. Others, particularly those close to the Lord, were furious and demanded Theresa's immediate execution.
One nobleman, pacing thoughtfully, remarked, "I heard Lord Belvane died today. It's... unfortunate. He was a business partner of mine. I'm not sure what will happen to our ventures now. I hope the King makes a statement soon." "Indeed," another agreed. "And the most shocking part is who did it."
"What do you mean? Do you know?" the first man asked. "The servants aren't saying anything," came the reply. "But I heard... it was a woman. A low-level servant!"
"What?!" The nobleman was incredulous. "Outrageous! She should be hanged!"
A small knot of women, their faces a mixture of shock and a barely concealed satisfaction, gathered in a quiet corner of the grand ballroom. The waltz music swirled around them, a stark contrast to the dark undercurrent of their conversation. While they maintained the outward appearance of polite concern, a sense of grim relief permeated their hushed tones.
"Did you hear?" one woman whispered, her eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. "They say it was a simple servant girl. Theresa, I believe." Another woman nodded, a thin, almost cruel smile touching her lips. "Indeed. A most… unforeseen development."
A third woman leaned in conspiratorially. "Unforeseen, perhaps, but not entirely unwelcome. Do you recall the incident with Elara? The poor girl was practically ruined after Belvane…" She trailed off, the unspoken accusation hanging heavy in the air. A collective shudder went through the group. Elara's story was a whispered tragedy, a dark mark on Belvane's character, though one he had effortlessly dismissed with his influence and wealth.
"And what of young Marianne?" another woman continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge. "He pursued her relentlessly, even after her engagement to Lord Harrington. The rumors he spread, the whispers… it was a scandal."
"He considered himself above reproach," a woman murmured, her eyes flashing with anger. "Protected by his title and his connections. He treated women like… like objects, to be used and discarded at his pleasure."
Another woman nodded in fierce agreement. "He seemed to believe his name gave him the right to do as he pleased. Remember what happened at the summer solstice festival? He… he assaulted Lady Seraphina in the gardens."
The women exchanged dark glances. Each of them carried a story, or knew of a story, of Belvane's deplorable behavior. His superficial charm, so convincing to those who didn't know him well, concealed a predatory nature, one that had inflicted considerable pain.
"It's a tragedy, of course," one woman said, the word "tragedy" sounding hollow and insincere. "Such a… sudden loss." But, she added, lowering her voice, "one can't help but wonder if justice, in its own way, has finally been served."
The women chuckled quietly at the whispered joke. "Do you think Lady Beatrice knew about all his… activities?" one of them asked. "Of course she did!" another exclaimed. "Everyone knows! Even ladies from other kingdoms have heard the stories."
"But did you see her reaction?" a third woman remarked, a hint of skepticism in her voice. "She acted completely heartbroken, like she was truly devastated by her husband's death." "Honestly," one of the women scoffed, "I wouldn't be surprised if she was secretly relieved. Maybe even… waiting for it."
The group exchanged knowing glances. They all knew Lord Belvane's reputation – his philandering, his cruel treatment of women, the whispers of more serious transgressions. It was hard to believe that his own wife, living under the same roof, could be completely oblivious. Surely, she must have heard the rumors, seen the signs. Perhaps she had simply chosen to ignore them, to turn a blind eye to her husband's misdeeds. Or perhaps, as one of the women suggested, she had been trapped in a loveless marriage, longing for an escape, and now, with Belvane gone, she was finally free.
They knew they were venturing into dangerous territory, speaking ill of the dead, especially a man of Belvane's standing. Yet, the shared memories of his offenses, the collective resentment of his past actions, gave them a sense of dark, quiet satisfaction. The world, they believed, was a slightly less tainted place without Lord Belvane in it.
Across the ballroom, a group of women were having a similar discussion. "Do you believe it?" one lady whispered. "A mere woman killing a lord? Lord Belvane was a soldier, wasn't he? I heard he even won a war!" "Absolutely," another chimed in. "And he was a big, strong man. It seems impossible that a woman could even knock him over."
"And I heard," a third woman added, "that the woman who did it is just a small, delicate thing." A lady from Sunaria, overhearing the conversation, leaned in conspiratorially. "What if," she suggested, her voice hushed, "what if she's a witch?"
The other women gasped, their eyes widening. "A witch?" one breathed.
"Do you really think so?" another asked.
"A witch in the palace?" a third whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and excitement. "What if she is?"
As the murmurings about witchcraft spread through the crowd, they drifted closer to Emily, who was anxiously searching for Madeline and Sarah, completely unaware of the rumors swirling around her.
Sarah, her smile strained, served drinks to the guests. Her hands trembled slightly, and her once smooth movements were now jerky and nervous as she moved through the crowded ballroom. She'd overheard some ladies near the parlor whispering about something terrible. They were saying Theresa, her dear friend, was the killer. Sarah's heart pounded in her chest. She had no idea where Theresa was, and she desperately wanted to find her and get Madeline. She needed to get away from the ball but Miss Emilia, the strict head servant, wouldn't allow it. Besides, the ballroom was packed; there was no way to slip out unnoticed.
Sarah knew Theresa. Kind, gentle Theresa could never hurt anyone. She didn't believe the rumors for a second. She hadn't even been there when… whatever happened, happened. But she knew her friend. Even though Theresa kept secrets, like the identity of Madeline's father, Sarah knew, deep down, that Theresa wasn't a murderer. If it's true, she thought, she must have a reason. 'I need to talk to her', she thought.
Lost in her worries, Sarah didn't see the man coming. He bumped into her tray, sending glasses crashing to the floor. The loud shatter silenced the music and chatter, drawing everyone's attention. "Another commotion?" a woman muttered.
Emily, startled by the noise, rushed over. She saw Sarah, pale and apologetic, bowing to the man, broken glass glittering around her feet. With his back turned, Emily couldn't see who the man was. Sarah, too, looked up and realized it was none other than Duke William, the King's nephew.
Emilia, the head servant, went to Sarah's side and bowed deeply. "My lord, I am so sorry for this clumsy servant," she said, her voice tight. "I will clean this mess immediately, and the servant will be punished if you wish."
"It's quite alright," Duke William said, a smile playing on his lips. He looked around at the crowd. "I understand the servant's nervousness. After all," he said, his voice now louder, "who wouldn't be nervous? Someone died here tonight, and the killer is among us… one of their friends, perhaps."
Sarah and Emily froze. Emily recognized the duke's voice. It is him, she thought. Sarah stared at him, her eyes questioning. William's gaze met hers. "And," he continued, his voice dropping slightly, "I've heard rumors of a witch being involved."
The crowd buzzed, a low hum of fear and excitement. "A witch?" someone whispered, their voice trembling. Others shifted nervously, glancing around as if expecting a shadowy figure to appear. A few, however, nodded, their faces grim. "If the Duke says it, it must be true," one old woman muttered.
Sarah's heart pounded. 'This is a lie,' she thought, her eyes fixed on the Duke's smug expression. She wanted to scream, to defend Theresa, but she knew it would only make things worse. While Emily stare at the duke, feeling lost at his words. She didn't know what happened in the palace. King Alexander stepped forward, his voice booming across the hall. "Enough!" he declared. "Rumors have no place in my palace. We are investigating Lord Belvane's death, and the culprit will be found and punished. Until then, I will not tolerate spreading of misinformation." He turned, his face softening. "This is Princess Vivienne's birthday ball. Let us continue the celebration for her sake."
Duke William's smile was a thin, cruel line, barely visible behind the King, but Emily saw it. Her eyebrow twitched. She knew he was hiding something.
Finally, the head servant released Sarah and Emily. Her voice, sharp and dismissive, stated, "You may leave." Turning to Emily, Sarah's voice was filled with urgency as she said, "We have to find Theresa. I'll search for her in the palace, and you go find Madeline." Emily, confused, questioned, "Why? What's happening?" Sarah responded quickly, "I'll explain everything later, but right now, we need to move fast."
Emily nodded; her eyes determined. "Be careful," she whispered. As Emily slipped away, Prince Sebastian watched his father, King Alexander, leave the ballroom, followed by his guards. Curious, he trailed behind them. The King entered his study, and Sebastian followed.
"What are you doing here?" the King asked, his voice sharp. "I have important matters to attend to." "Just one question, Father," Sebastian said, his voice hesitant. "It will be quick." "Well?" the King said, his patience wearing thin.
"I saw Aunt Vivienne's necklace," Sebastian began, his gaze fixed on his father's face. "It looked... like Mother's. Did you give it to her? Is it the same?"