Married To Darkness-Chapter 427: The Village’s Silence

Meanwhile back in Wyfkeep Castle, Wyffellon, Wyfn-Garde; The long dining table groaned under the weight of golden trays, ornate goblets, and untouched food gone lukewarm.

Silver clinked softly as nervous nobles fidgeted. The air buzzed with irritation and thinly veiled disdain.

At the head of the table, King Gideon of Wyfn-Garde chewed slowly, eyes fixed on the carved lion crest on his goblet, tuning out the rising voices around him.

"—And I’m saying," Lady Audrey, the king’s first concubine, snapped as she slammed her spoon down, "that we’ve sent every hunter, every scout, every blade in this kingdom after those things—and still, not a single trace of him or his witch-wife!" Her eyes blazed as she gestured with manicured fingers. "Not even a whisper of one of the demon prince’s vicious group!"

Lady Lucile, the second concubine, elegantly bit into a sugared plum, utterly unbothered. "Perhaps they’re smarter than we gave them credit for," she murmured, smirking. "Or maybe your hunters are just as dim as they look."

Audrey’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don’t mock me, Lucile."

"I’m not mocking," Lucile said with a shrug. "Just observing. Loud desperation has never caught anyone worth chasing."

The queen, Sansa of Wyfn-Garde, sat like a statue of grace and weariness at once. Her hands rested in her lap, the sapphire ring on her finger glinting with each flicker of the chandelier above.

She hadn’t touched her food. Not even the lavender cakes.

She longed, just for a moment, to vanish from this hall of fools—to ride out far beyond the kingdom’s borders, to where titles meant nothing and silence reigned.

But that was a fantasy for girls without crowns.

Audrey’s voice cut through her daydream.

"Your Highness, what do you think?" Audrey’s tone was sharp, pointed, already baiting. "You’ve been awfully quiet."

The king sighed and raised his head. "Audrey—"

"No, I wasn’t speaking to you, love." she interrupted. "I’m asking the queen."

The room tensed. Even the servants froze mid-pour.

Queen Sansa lifted her gaze slowly, her expression unreadable. "What do I think about what, precisely?"

Audrey’s lips curled with mock innocence. "About everything. The demon—"

"Third prince," the queen corrected smoothly, voice soft yet cutting. "If you refuse to speak his name, then at least show him the respect of his birthright. He is still the son of your husband’s sister, Queen Reannon."

Audrey blinked. "Well—yes—but—"

"And yours by extension," Lucile added with a purr, sipping her wine.

Audrey cleared her throat, visibly flustered. "Fine. The third prince. What is your opinion of his... treason? His escape? His actions?"

Queen Sansa met her gaze without flinching. "I think the bounty placed on him is irrational."

A ripple ran through the table.

Audrey nearly choked. "I beg your pardon?"

Gasps followed. The tension stretched like a drawn bow.

"You would protect him—after what he did?" Audrey barked. "My son is dead because of that bastard and his whore!"

The king slammed his goblet down, teeth clenched. "Enough, Audrey—"

Audrey interrupted the king as she’s a spoilt lover, "Why would you say enough to me when it’s all the discrimination and lies and pretense that I get—"

"No," Queen Sansa said coldly, rising just slightly, her chair creaking. "You will be silent. I have tolerated your hysteria and hatred for months. But I will not allow you to poison this table with your spite tonight. Eat your food—or excuse yourself."

Audrey’s mouth hung open.

The other princes—Benjamin the firstborn, Spencer the second, and their wives—sat silently, eyes darting, forks poised midair.

No one dared move. Not with Sansa like this. Not with the queen’s voice still humming with righteous fire.

Lady Diana Reed simply smiled.

Even Lucile, usually a storm in silk, lowered her goblet and gave Sansa a look of cautious admiration.

The king, jaw tight, returned to his plate with no further words. His fingers trembled slightly.

And so, in the aftermath of the queen’s storm, the table fell into a strange, uneasy silence.

Only the clink of cutlery remained, a brittle rhythm under the weight of a kingdom on edge.

The third prince, Alaric, was nowhere in the castle.

And yet, even in his absence...

He made them bleed.

**

Back here morning in Wyfmoor

The inn door creaked as Thalia and Sebastian stepped out into the soft gray light of dawn. Mist still clung to the cobblestones, curling around their boots like reluctant fog spirits.

The village of Wyfmoor stirred slowly—a bit too slowly for Thalia’s liking.

The streets were quiet. Too quiet.

Thalia hugged her cloak tighter as a chill drifted in the air. "Let’s ask the innkeeper first," she said. "Maybe he knows where that mansion is."

They returned to the front desk, where the keeper was wiping a mug with a sour expression and a slower-than-necessary rhythm. His eyes narrowed when they approached.

"Excuse me," Sebastian began politely, "we’re looking for a mansion nearby. Old estate, high stone walls, arched windows, velvet furnishings—high noble property."

The innkeeper raised a brow. "There are no mansions in Wyfmoor."

Thalia frowned. "But we saw it. Last night."

"You saw it?" he echoed, skeptical.

"In a—" Thalia hesitated. "Never mind. Thank you."

They left him to his wiping and stepped back into the street.

They tried two bakers, a cobbler, and a woman sweeping her stoop. Each gave them a bland look, a shrug, or nothing at all. Eyes slid away. Voices hushed as they passed. The village wasn’t just quiet—it was wary. Guarded.

"I don’t like this," Sebastian murmured. "This place pretends to be small and forgettable, but it’s not. Someone’s watching."

"We just need one person who’ll talk."

That’s when they heard it—a scuffed shoe, a light footstep behind them.

"Are you looking for the mansion?" a small voice piped.

They turned.

A boy stood a few feet away, no more than ten. Dirt-smudged cheeks, hair like brown straw, eyes far too knowing for someone his age. He kicked a stone, not meeting their eyes.

"Yeah," Thalia said carefully. "We are."

He pointed behind him. "It’s the big place with the stone lions out front. Guards in black and gold. Belongs to Prince Embrez. I seen them go in. I can take you there if you want."

Sebastian’s body tensed beside her.

"Prince Embrez?" Thalia echoed, eyes narrowing. "As in... first prince of Wyfn-Garde?"