“Continue. Explain clearly—what exactly did you three… do that day?”
Astreia’s voice wasn’t loud, nor did it carry a hint of anger. It was as calm as if she were asking about the weather.
But this calm tone, when it fell on the ears of the three people in the royal bedchamber, was no less than a thunderbolt.
The decadent atmosphere, once thick with the sweet scent of fruit wine and ambiguous tension, was instantly sucked dry, leaving only a suffocating silence.
On the sofa, the three froze in their positions as if the God of Time had pressed pause, becoming a bizarre tableau.
Yekaterina’s slender foot, which had been hooked around Laxana’s calf, stiffened midair, toes rigid.
The seductive smile vanished from her face, replaced by a look of horror as if she’d seen a ghost.
Laxana’s chin, just lifted in pride, now drooped in defeat.
Her arm remained subconsciously wrapped around Wendy’s arm, but her beautiful face had gone as pale as the wall.
And Wendy, sandwiched between them, felt every inch of his skin screaming.
It’s over.
Completely over.
Three minds crashed at once, and then, three sets of eyes frantically darted and collided in the air.
Wendy: [When did she get back?!]
Yekaterina: [How should I know! Didn’t Klein say the earliest would be tomorrow?!]
Laxana’s gaze was already unfocused, full of despair: [How much did Astreia hear? Am I going to be skewered and grilled with her war spear?]
Wendy: [Stay calm! Don’t freak yourself out! Do as I say!]
This silent exchange finished in a split second.
No one knew how much Astreia had overheard.
Any guilty explanation would be a confession.
The only way out was to change the subject immediately and bury the deadly words they’d just spoken.
“Astreia.”
Wendy softly broke the silence.
Slowly but naturally, he moved Yekaterina’s small foot off his leg, then gently patted Laxana’s rigid hand, signaling her to let go.
The entire motion was smooth, as if they’d only been engaged in ordinary friendly banter, and now the prince was standing to greet the returning mistress.
“You came back at the perfect time. The ‘Plan of ‘Exciting Stimulation” Laxana mentioned just now referred to the plot against the royal family we just foiled.”
The prince’s eyes were clear and sincere.
A conspiracy?
Astreia’s starlit eyes flickered, her gaze shifting from Wendy’s flawlessly honest face to her sister and childhood friend.
Yekaterina had already withdrawn her leg, sitting upright on the sofa, regaining her queenly poise.
“Sister, during the two days you were away, the remnants of the Veid Family launched their final counterattack. They sent assassins into the Royal Palace, attempting… to kill us.”
“That’s right!”
Laxana also sprang to her feet, finally finding her voice.
Overcome with emotion, her cheeks flushed red, making her look more frightened than guilty.
“That night, the situation was critical! If I hadn’t sensed something was wrong and rushed back to the Royal Palace, His Majesty and Wendy… the consequences would have been unthinkable!”
She spoke faster, her words trembling with lingering fear.
“The three of us hid in a room that night, and together came up with the plan to fight back using the newspapers! The whole process was so dangerous, so thrilling! That’s why… that’s why I…”
She didn’t finish, but the meaning was clear.
Her explanation was flawless, the logic airtight.
Their ambiguous coexistence became a life-and-death alliance; that easily-misunderstood phrase—”like that day, the three of us…”—was now the harrowing night of planning their counterattack.
Even Wendy himself almost believed it.
Astreia remained silent.
Her emerald eyes swept over the trio, inch by inch.
From Wendy’s “calm” gaze, to Yekaterina’s composed account, to Laxana’s reddened eyes.
The bedchamber sank once again into oppressive quiet, broken only by the thundering heartbeats of the three.
None of them knew whether Astreia believed them…
After a long while, Astreia finally moved.
She stepped forward, the sound of her heavy armor scraping faintly as she advanced toward them.
She did not look at her sister, nor at her dearest friend.
Instead, she locked her gaze onto Wendy’s face.
The Princess reached out her hand.
Wendy’s heart leaped to his throat.
Yekaterina and Laxana held their breath.
But that hand did not slap anyone, nor grab anyone by the throat as they had feared.
It simply reached past Wendy’s shoulder, picking up the copy of the Valoran Daily on the low table.
“I saw it.”
Astreia’s voice remained calm as she flipped through the newspaper without raising her head.
“The Trial at the Square—I saw it all. Well done.”
The three exhaled in unison, feeling the cold sweat soak their backs.
So… she believed them?
But before they could fully relax, Astreia’s next words made their hearts leap again.
“Wendy.”
“Yes!”
The prince stood at attention.
“You—come with me.”
An unquestionable command.
With that, Astreia turned and strode out of the bedchamber toward the corridor, her decisive posture identical to when she commanded on the battlefield.
Wendy dared not hesitate and could only grit his teeth and follow.
Before leaving, he shot the two women on the sofa a look that said, ‘Pray for me.’
Yekaterina and Laxana exchanged glances, seeing in each other’s eyes both the relief of having survived and a deeper, lingering unease.
What was Astreia really thinking?
Did she truly believe them?
Why did she take Wendy away alone?
Countless questions circled in their minds, draining any joy from their hard-won victory as they watched Wendy’s back disappear through the door.
In the corridor, Wendy followed half a step behind Astreia, barely daring to breathe.
The Princess’s stride was steady and powerful, leaving only a silent, resolute figure ahead of him.
He couldn’t see Astreia’s expression, but he felt the heavy pressure emanating from her, enveloping him.
Only when they reached the corner, and the faces of the two pale women in the bedchamber were out of sight, did it happen.
A step ahead of him, the tension in Astreia’s profile eased, and the corner of her lips curled up in a faint arc.
There was no anger in that smile. No jealousy. Instead, it held a trace of… anticipation?