The slap came without warning causing Althea's head to snap to the side while her cheek exploded with pain. She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her face as tears sprang to her eyes.
"You thief!" Sylvia shrieked, her face twisted with fury. "You filthy, conniving little thief!"
"What—I don't—" Althea stammered, her voice trembling. She clutched her burning cheek, trying to process what was happening.
"Don't play innocent with me!" Sylvia advanced on her, finger pointed like a weapon. "You stole from the prince! You ungrateful church rat!" She literally spat on her.
"I didn't steal anything," Althea whispered, her voice breaking. The tears were flowing freely now, hot and unstoppable. "I would never—"
"Liar!" Sylvia spat. "You were the only one in his chamber today. The only one!" She turned to the other servants who had gathered in the hallway, their faces a mix of shock and curiosity. "This wretch has stolen money from Prince Caysen himself!"
Althea shook her head frantically, her hand still pressed against her throbbing cheek. "No, no, I only cleaned his room. I didn't take anything, I swear—"
What the hell was happening? How....how could Sylvia accuse her of theft?
"Save your lies," Sylvia hissed. "You'll answer to the prince now, and you'll vomit that money you stole."
Before Althea could respond, heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. A palace guard appeared, his expression stern. "Althea," he said gruffly. "The prince has summoned you to his chambers."
Her legs nearly gave out beneath her. The prince. He wanted to see her? That alone made her shudder with fear. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she followed the guard, her cheek still stinging, tears still streaming down her face.
The walk to the prince's study felt endless. Each step was heavier than the last. What if he didn't believe her? What if no one believed her? She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, but they kept coming.
The guard knocked twice before pushing open the heavy oak door. "The maid, Your Highness."
Caysen stood by the window, his back to her. She didnt need to see his face to know that he'd been seething with rage. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, making him look even more imposing than usual.
When he turned to face her, his eyes were cold—glacial. The warmth she'd glimpsed before was nowhere to be found.
"Your Highness," she managed, her voice barely audible. She curtsied, though her legs were shaking so badly she nearly lost her balance.
He said nothing at first, just stared at her with those piercing eyes. She could feel his gaze taking in her tear-stained face, her trembling hands, the red mark on her cheek.
"I left a chest beneath my bed," he said finally, his voice dangerously quiet. "A chest filled with gold coins." He paused to look at her before continuing. "And now it's gone."
"Your Highness, I—"
"You were the only one who cleaned my chamber today," he continued, taking a slow step toward her. "The only one with access to my private quarters."
"I didn't take it!" The words burst from her before she could stop them. "Please, Your Highness, I would never—" A sob choked her.
She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to steady herself. "All I did was clean your room. I dusted the furniture, changed the linens—" Her voice cracked. "The sword cut my hand, and after the physician bandaged it, I left. I never took anything. I swear it on my life."
She held up her hand, showing him the bandage wrapped around her palm—evidence of her story. But his expression didn't soften.
Caysen studied her for a long moment. Part of him wanted to believe her. The fear in her eyes seemed genuine—the kind of terror that couldn't be faked. He'd seen enough liars in his lifetime to know the difference.
And yet... the chest was gone. She'd been the only one there. If the sword had cut her, she'd have seen the chest because they were next to each other.
He couldn't let his judgment be clouded by a pretty face or pitiful tears. He was the prince and he had to be certain. Jumping to conclusions either way would be a mistake.
"Come with me," he said coldly.
"Your Highness—"
"Now."
He swept past her, his cloak billowing behind him. She had no choice but to follow, her heart sinking further with each step. The guard fell in behind them as they made their way through the palace corridors.
They emerged into the punishment courtyard—a wide, stone plaza where judgments were carried out. Althea's blood ran cold. A crowd had already gathered—maids, guards, kitchen staff, stable hands. They lined the perimeter, their faces eager with morbid curiosity.
And there, at the front, stood Sylvia, her arms crossed and a satisfied smirk on her lips.
Althea knew. She knew that this was all Sylvia's doing. How could her hatred run so deep to the point where she had to frame her?
She'd always minded her business, yet Sylvia seemed to hate her for reasons best know to her.
Caysen climbed the steps to the raised platform, his presence commanding immediate silence. "Althea," he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "You stand accused of theft. Of stealing gold coins from my private chamber. What do you say?"
"I'm innocent!" She climbed the steps on shaking legs, turning to face the crowd. "I never stole anything! I would never betray the prince's trust!"
"She's lying!" Sylvia's voice rang out. "That church rat stole those coins! I know she did!"
"Silence!" Caysen's voice cracked like a whip. He turned his glare on Sylvia. "What proof do you have? Or are you just flapping your tongue for sport?"
Sylvia's smile faltered, but only for a moment. Before she could respond, another voice spoke up.
"I have proof, Your Highness."
Althea's heart stopped because she knew that voice. She turned slowly, dread pooling in her stomach.
Eloise stepped forward from the crowd, her expression carefully neutral. She was one of the senior maids, someone Althea had considered a friend—or at least, not an enemy.
"Speak," Caysen commanded.
Eloise bowed before she began to speak. "Today, Your Highness, Althea accompanied me to the market. On our way back..." She paused, glancing at Althea with something that might have been pity—or triumph. "On our way back, I saw her give two gold coins to a beggar on the street."
The crowd erupted in gasps and whispers. Althea felt the ground tilt beneath her feet.
"No," she breathed. "No, that's not—"
"Two gold coins," Eloise repeated, louder now. "I saw it with my own eyes."
"She's lying!" Althea turned to Caysen, desperation making her voice shrill. "She gave me those coins! While we were in the market, she said it was a gift—payment for accompanying her because her feet hurt!"
Tears were streaming down her face again. "I tried to refuse, but she insisted! Why would she lie now?"
"Me? Give you gold coins?" Eloise scoffed. "Why would I do such a thing? Stop lying, Althea. Just admit what you've done becsude a mere maid like me can't boost of a gold coin not to talk of two."
"I'm not lying!" Althea's voice cracked. "You gave them to me! You did!"
"Enough!" Caysen's roar silenced them both. He descended the steps, his jaw clenched. His mind was at war with itself. The girl looked genuinely terrified—but Eloise had no reason to lie. Unless...
No. He couldn't afford to second-guess every accusation brought before him. He needed facts.
"Guards," he said sharply. "Go to the servant quarters. Search Althea's belongings. Every inch. Turn everything upside down if you must and find that chest."