The guards sealed the ballroom in seconds. No one in. No one out.
Ariana stood frozen, the bitter taste of injustice thick in her throat as whispers rippled through the crowd like venom. All eyes were on her — the outsider, the servant girl, the girl Damian had kissed in full view of the kingdom.
"She poisoned the cup."
"Damian's whore did it."
"The princess saw everything."
Lies. All of it.
But when power speaks, truth gets buried.
She turned, heart pounding, gaze locking with Selene, who smiled from the shadows like the snake she was.
This was planned.
Damian stormed forward, his coat billowing like a curse behind him. He didn't care about the nobles. The whispers. The blood.
He only saw her — Ariana, trembling and alone.
"No one touches her," he growled, voice like thunder.
Guards paused. Even the commander hesitated.
Damian reached her side, pulling Ariana behind him with a force that made her stumble.
"She's under my protection," he declared, loud enough for the walls to echo.
"Even if she's guilty?" Selene asked sweetly from her perch, voice honeyed with spite.
"Especially then," he snapped.
The silence was thick. Selene stepped down the staircase slowly, gracefully, her gown trailing like fire.
"You'd defend a peasant over your future queen?" she asked, lips curling.
"I'd defend her over you," he said. "And if you ever try to hurt her again, I'll forget you're royal."
Gasps filled the room.
Selene's smile faltered.
"Damian…" she whispered. "You'd strike me?"
He stepped closer.
"No," he said darkly. "I'd kill for her."
Ariana's breath caught. She didn't know whether to run… or fall into his arms.
Selene's eyes shimmered — not with sa
dness, but fury. And behind that fury was a promise:
This isn't over.