Married To Darkness
Chapter 314: The Search Of Departing Guests

Chapter 314: The Search Of Departing Guests

Jean bit the inside of her cheek, forcing the thought away.

None of it mattered now. The only thing that mattered was finding Salviana before something terrible happened.

But no matter how fast she walked, how many rooms she checked, she couldn’t shake the gnawing voice in her head.

You’re incompetent.

Slow.

Weak.

They’ll strip you of your duty even if she’s found safe.

The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through her.

A hand suddenly grabbed her wrist, halting her frantic movement.

She turned sharply, eyes wild, only to meet Lucius’s dark, steady gaze.

"Jean." His voice was calm, grounding. He tugged her closer, just enough to make her hold his gaze. "Stop blaming yourself. It won’t help us find her any faster."

Jean clenched her fists. "But it’s my fault—"

"It’s not," Lucius cut in, his tone firm. "Salviana left on her own. You couldn’t have known what would happen.

And right now, standing here wallowing in guilt won’t bring her back."

Jean swallowed hard. He was right.

They still had a chance. No one was leaving the castle—the king had approved the lockdown. At the very least, they knew

Salviana was still somewhere inside these walls.

Jean inhaled sharply and nodded. "Fine. I’ll pretend I haven’t fucked up until we find her."

Lucius’s lips twitched—something between amusement and exasperation. He shook his head like he could hear her thoughts, making her frown.

"First," he said, his grip tightening just slightly, "we will find her."

His certainty sent a strange feeling through Jean’s chest.

For the first time since the chaos began, she let herself believe it.

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Rumors in the Air

Whispers spread like wildfire.

From the grand hall to the kitchen, through the dim corridors and servant quarters, the murmur of uncertainty thickened the air.

It slithered between hushed conversations, weaving itself into every corner of the castle.

"The Seventh Princess is missing."

"I heard the Third Prince ordered a lockdown—without the king’s approval at first!"

"Do you think she ran away?"

"Ran away? Why would she? She chose him, didn’t she?"

"But did she really?"

The music in the hall lost its charm. The wine no longer tasted as sweet. Even the laughter, once abundant, now felt strained—hesitant.

At the kitchen’s entrance, a group of maids huddled together, their hands gripping their aprons.

One of them, a girl with wide eyes and trembling fingers, whispered, "What if something happened to her?"

"Shhh!" Another maid elbowed her, glancing over her shoulder. "Don’t say things like that! If the prince hears you—"

"If the prince hears what?"

A sharp voice cut through the hushed chatter, making them all stiffen.

A royal steward stood behind them, his gaze cold and knowing. He didn’t wait for an answer before sweeping away, his steps brisk.

The tension was mounting.

In the corridors, servants walked faster, their gazes lowered. Guards tightened their grips on their weapons, listening closely to the movements in the castle.

The nobles, though still feigning amusement, had lost the sparkle in their eyes.

Enjoyment was slipping away, replaced by something else.

Something colder.

Something that felt like the edge of a blade pressing against a throat.

"Enough of this nonsense!"

A sharp voice echoed through the corridor, silencing the murmuring servants.

Princess Abigail stood with her arms crossed, her royal blue gown shimmering under the candlelight.

Beside her, Prince Warren’s gaze was cold, his expression unreadable.

"Do you all have nothing better to do than gossip?" Abigail’s tone was sharp, laced with irritation. "If you have time to whisper behind walls, then you have time to search for the princess."

A few maids flinched. One of the kitchen boys lowered his head, clutching the tray in his hands.

"But, Your Highness—" one of the braver stewards began, only to be cut off by Warren’s cold voice.

"Go."

The command was simple. Final.

Immediately, the staff scattered, rushing to different parts of the castle.

Abigail exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is ridiculous. How does a princess vanish inside her own home?"

Warren didn’t answer immediately.

He simply stared into the dimly lit corridor, as if trying to see beyond the flickering shadows.

"She either left willingly..." he murmured, his voice unreadable. "Or someone took her."

Abigail frowned. "She wouldn’t leave just like that. And Alaric would’ve noticed if something was wrong before now."

Warren sighed. "Then that only leaves one possibility."

Silence hung between them.

Had someone taken the Seventh Princess?

And if so... why?

However,

Alaric felt like a caged beast. His mind was a whirlwind of panic and frustration, his body thrumming with restless energy.

He had already retraced his steps to their chambers—twice—hoping, praying, that maybe she had returned and he had just missed her.

But the rooms were as empty as his patience.

Still no sign of her.

His teeth clenched as he stormed back towards the grand hall, his sharp blue eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. The celebration was now falling apart, tension thick in the air.

People were leaving, but not easily.

The moment Alaric had declared that no one was to leave without being thoroughly searched, chaos erupted.

"Your Highness, this is outrageous!" Lord Efron, an aging noble with a belly full of wine, staggered as guards inspected his carriage. "You’re treating us like common thieves!"

"Then prove you have nothing to hide," Alaric growled, his patience razor-thin. "Unless you’d like to be detained."

Lord Efron’s face turned red as he waved a hand dismissively. "Fine, fine! But this is no way to treat your guests—ugh, watch the silverware!"

Across the courtyard, Lady Beryl clutched her pearl necklace, her voice sharp. "What exactly are you expecting to find in our carriages, third Prince? Surely you don’t think one of us would have taken your wife!"

Alaric’s icy gaze snapped to her.

"I will not rule out anyone," he said coldly.

A few nobles exchanged uneasy glances. Servants rushed around with torches, illuminating every carriage, every trunk, every bag.