As Aiden walked through the palace corridors, he couldn't escape the stifled laughter of the staff he passed. Each bow and "Welcome, Your Highness" was accompanied by the faintest twitch of lips, the barely contained amusement that seemed to follow him like a shadow. The rumor mill in Breton worked fast, and it seemed like everyone in the palace had already seen the video. Aiden clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his composure. The entire situation irritated him to no end. It wasn't just the humiliation of the video itself; it was the fact that everyone believed he got slapped for staring at Anne-Marie's chest—an entirely false accusation.

As he approached the queen's chambers, he could already hear her laughter, bright and unabashed. The sound made his stomach tighten with dread.

"Your Majesty," one of the maids announced as he reached the entrance, "His Highness the prince is here."

Aiden walked in, the guards closing the doors behind him as he made his way to the balcony where the queen sat, her laughter echoing across the room. Vanessa, his mother, was thoroughly engrossed in something on her phone, her head of maids beside her, equally amused. The moment the older woman noticed Aiden, she attempted to stifle her laughter, bowing slightly.

"Your Highness," she murmured, nudging Vanessa who looked up at Aiden with tears of laughter in her eyes.

"Aiden?" Vanessa greeted him with a broad smile. "You're back. Have you seen this?" She tilted her phone towards him, revealing the now infamous video of Anne-Marie headbutting him. Aiden sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in frustration.

"Mother, please," Aiden said, trying to keep his tone calm, though the exhaustion was clear in his voice. "Can you stop playing that? It's really not that funny."

"Oh, but it is," Vanessa insisted, her eyes still glued to the screen. "I always knew Paris was bold, but I never imagined she'd be bold enough to headbutt the Prince of Breton. She must have been really upset when you—" Vanessa paused, her lips twitching as she tried and failed to suppress her laughter.

Aiden groaned inwardly, recognizing where her thoughts were going. "I didn't," he cut in quickly, hoping to squash the insinuation before it could fully form.

Vanessa scoffed, her laughter bubbling up again despite her attempts to hold it back. Even the head maid, despite her best efforts, couldn't keep from smiling.

"Mother, I'm serious," Aiden continued, frustration creeping into his voice. "I didn't do what they're saying I did."

That was all it took. Vanessa burst into laughter once more, the sound filling the balcony. Aiden rolled his eyes, feeling utterly defeated. Everyone believed he was some sort of pervert, and here was his own mother, laughing at the thought.

"I'm sorry," Vanessa said, reaching out to him as she tried to control her laughter. "I'm really sorry, your highness, but I just can't help myself."
Her laughter only seemed to grow at the sight of his exasperation, and Aiden knew it was a lost cause trying to get her to stop.

He gave her a look, his irritation evident, but she only smiled, trying to compose herself.
"I know," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Of course, I believe you, you'd never do something like that."

Aiden narrowed his eyes at her, not fully convinced. She might be saying the right words, but the amusement still dancing in her eyes told a different story. He let out a weary sigh, slumping back in his chair.

Vanessa sniffed, lowering the phone to the table.
"Oh, my," she said, noticing the red imprint on his cheek. "It seems Paris was really upset."

"Is this really funny to you?" Aiden asked, a hint of hurt creeping into his voice. "How can you laugh after your son got hurt like this?"

"You're right," Vanessa said, trying to sound serious even though her eyes were still twinkling. "We should get that treated and set up a meeting with the Vutrons to discuss this. No one should lay their hands on a prince of Breton, no matter what."

"Exactly," Aiden agreed, feeling a small flicker of vindication.

Vanessa nodded sagely.
"Yes, we should punish Paris for what she did. No one should dare do something like that to you, to a prince...even if they caught him sneaking a peek at their breasts."

Aiden stared at her, disbelief flooding his features. Was she being serious or was this another jab? He couldn't tell anymore. Vanessa, seeing his expression, bit her lip, trying to hold back another bout of laughter.

"We should get someone from the royal infirmary to look at that forehead." She pointed to his forehead, still trying to keep a straight face.

Aiden rolled his eyes again and stood abruptly. "Forget it," he muttered, turning on his heel. He could tell his mother was too caught up in her amusement to focus on anything else.

Vanessa picked up the phone again as he walked away, unable to resist one last look at the video. Aiden paused mid-step as he heard her laughter start up once more. Without thinking, he spun around, marched back to the table, and gently yanked the phone from her hands.

"I'll take this," he said, forcing a smile as Vanessa gasped in surprise. He turned and strode towards the door, not waiting for her response.

"Aiden?" Vanessa called after him, but he didn't break stride. "One of the royal doctors will be here soon!" she added, her voice tinged with lingering amusement.

Aiden raised a hand in a half-hearted wave as he walked out, the door closing behind him. He knew this wouldn't be the last he'd hear of it, but for now, he just needed to get away. Away from the laughter, away from the video, away from everything that reminded him of the day's humiliation.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Denise passed the pot to the woman in an apron across the counter, who took it immediately and moved to set it on the stove. Denise returned to seasoning the chicken, completely absorbed in the rhythm of her cooking, so much so that she didn't notice the soft footsteps approaching from behind.

"Good day, Mrs. Vurton."

Denise turned, her hands still in the pan, startled by the voice. Anne-Marie stood at the counter, offering a nervous smile.

"Anne," Denise greeted her with a gentle smile, turning back to the chicken as Anne-Marie stepped closer. "Good day to you too."

Anne-Marie leaned against the counter, her gaze drifting into the pan. For the first time since her return from the academy, a genuine smile tugged at her lips. The tension that had gripped her all day began to ease slightly. The whispers, the endless notifications on her phone—it had all been too much. But here, in the kitchen, she found a distraction, a small comfort.

"It sounds like you had quite the first day at the Royal Academy," Denise noted, her tone soft but perceptive. She glanced at Anne-Marie, noticing the strain behind her smile. Anne-Marie exhaled, the weight of the day evident in her breath.

"Yeah," Anne-Marie murmured, starting to roll up her sleeves.
"It was... a big one." She paused, looking at the chicken. "Can I help?"

Denise's lips curled into a slight smirk as she focused on the task at hand.
"Do you know how to?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Oliver is very particular about his food and seasoning."

Anne-Marie shrugged, her smile growing a little more confident.
"I try," she said. "At least, I can season chicken."

Denise chuckled softly, the sound warm and inviting.
"I do it a lot every Christmas and on Abel's birthdays," Anne-Marie added, her voice softening as memories surfaced.
"Abel helps me too. Since it's the only time we can afford chicken, I try to make sure it's worth it. My mom taught me before she..."

The words caught in her throat, and Denise sensed the sudden shift in her mood. Anne-Marie's eyes glistened with the pain of the memory she couldn't quite bring herself to voice. Denise, feeling the weight of the moment, kept her focus on the chicken, giving Anne-Marie space to compose herself.

Anne-Marie forced a small smile, trying to dispel the sadness that had momentarily settled over her.

"Anyway," she continued, her voice a little brighter, "I love to cook, but my skills are a bit rusty. I've never really had the time to perfect them. Abel and Mickey say I make the best chicken, so I'm convinced I'm pretty good at it. I hope I am... for Mr. Vurton's sake."

Denise glanced at her, a trace of fondness in her expression. She turned to the woman across the counter.

"Mary?" she called, and the older lady turned to her.

"Mrs. Vurton?"

"Could you bring Anne an apron, please?"

Mary nodded and hurried to a cupboard, returning moments later with an apron in hand. She passed it to Anne-Marie, who accepted it gratefully.

"If you really want to learn how to cook," Denise said, returning to her work, "you should start by observing basic kitchen etiquette. Always wear an apron and wash your hands before doing anything."

Anne-Marie quickly tied the apron around her waist and moved to the sink to wash her hands, following Denise's instructions to the letter. Denise watched her with a small, approving smile.

"You know, my mother taught me how to cook too," Denise continued, her voice soft with nostalgia. "I loved watching her in the kitchen from the time I was five. I made my first chicken when I was eleven, and I burnt it."

Anne-Marie chuckled lightly, and Denise joined in.

"I tried again when I was thirteen and burnt it again, but when I was fifteen... I made the best chicken," Denise said, a hint of pride in her voice. "My father was so impressed that he bought me a bicycle with the money he'd been saving for a new car."

Denise laughed, the sound rich with fond memories. "It was so good."

Anne-Marie could easily imagine it. Denise's cooking was phenomenal—better than anything she had ever tasted. Since arriving at the mansion, she had savored every meal, always looking forward to the next one.

"Cooking is kind of my safe place," Denise went on, her tone more reflective now. "Mixing ingredients, stirring the pot, chopping vegetables, listening to the hiss of the gas burner... it soothes me. It helps me relax."

Anne-Marie listened intently, drawn into Denise's words.

"When I'm stressed," Denise continued, "I just come into the kitchen, grab a pot, and everything else fades away. I find... peace."

Peace. Anne-Marie liked the sound of that. She felt it too, here in the kitchen, a quiet contentment she wished she could hold onto forever.

"It's the only thing that keeps me sane," Denise chuckled softly, then paused, turning to Anne-Marie. "It's funny... and a bit strange that we're doing this."

Anne-Marie frowned slightly. "It is?"

Denise scoffed gently.

"Don't get me wrong," she said, her voice tinged with a touch of melancholy. "It's just that Paris never liked to cook. She hated being in the kitchen, let alone being with me in it. Watching you here, interested in cooking, listening to my boring old stories... it makes me wish I had that kind of relationship with Paris. It makes me wish I had tried harder with her before the accident."

Anne-Marie felt a pang of guilt at Denise's words. She forced a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Is something the matter?" Denise asked, sensing the shift in Anne-Marie's demeanor. "You look flustered. Did something happen at school today?"

"I think I bumped into someone who wasn't on good terms with Paris," Anne-Marie admitted, her voice tentative.

"Oh, really?" Denise asked, her tone suddenly more serious.

"I think her name was Valerie," Anne-Marie continued.

Denise's expression changed, her body tensing slightly as she turned to face Anne-Marie fully.

"You met Valerie Westrov?"

Anne-Marie nodded, raising an eyebrow at Denise's reaction.

"She tried to drown me in the school's pool."

"What?" Denise's voice was sharp with concern as she slowly removed her gloves, giving Anne-Marie her undivided attention.

"She threw me in," Anne-Marie explained. "She probably thought I was Paris, I can't swim. Good thing the prince saved me in time."

Denise's face softened into a mix of relief and worry.

"Oh my goodness, Anne, I'm truly sorry she did that to you."

Anne-Marie sighed, the weight of the day settling back onto her shoulders.

"Who is she?" she asked, genuinely curious. "From the way she acted, it seemed like she really resents Paris."

Before Denise could answer, a deep voice cut through the air, causing both women to turn toward the doorway.

"She does," Oliver's baritone voice resonated in the room, making Anne-Marie's heart skip multiple beats. She instinctively placed a hand over her chest as he strode into the kitchen, his eyes locked onto her.

How had no one noticed him enter the house, let alone the kitchen?

"The entire Westrov family does," Oliver continued, his tone as calm as it was menacing.

"The Westrovs and the Vurtons haven't been on the same side for years," Denise added, her voice measured as she turned back to Anne-Marie. "Both families are part of the five power families of Breton and have been in competition for as long as I can remember. Vivian Westrov was Paris' only real competition for the position of Queen-in-Waiting... at least, the only one that mattered."

"Until the king chose our family," Oliver interjected, his tone laced with satisfaction. "It was predictable. My daughter is ten times better than any of her so-called competition, including Vivian Westrov. It was foolish of Fabian to think his daughter could ever hold a candle to Paris."

"Valerie failed in the selection," Denise added quietly. "She didn't pass the purity test."

"The purity test?" Anne-Marie frowned slightly, not fully understanding.

"It means she's a whore," Oliver said bluntly, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "And the seat of Queen of Breton isn't for the likes of her, or anyone who has been with anyone else besides the future king."

Anne-Marie's breath caught in her throat as the implications of his words settled in. So, it was a virginity test.

Denise sighed softly, sensing Anne-Marie's unease.

"My husband believes the Westrovs were behind the attack on the prince during the engagement party," she explained. "He thinks Fabian was trying to get Paris out of the way, leaving his daughter without competition."

"I don't think it—I know it," Oliver corrected her, his voice hardening. "Fabian tried to kill my daughter. He pulled that trigger and tried to take her life. But what he doesn't understand is that the Vutrons always repay their favors... in a thousand folds. I will put an end to his family. I will watch him crumble, lose everything, before I take his life and that of his daughter."

Anne-Marie's blood ran cold at Oliver's words. The sheer intensity of his anger and the depth of his vendetta left her feeling unnerved, frightened even.

"You must be careful around Valerie, Anne-Marie," Denise urged, her tone serious and filled with concern. "You can never let her or her father catch even a whisper of who you really are, or learn of our family's secrets. They could destroy us all."

Oliver stepped closer, his gaze narrowing as he focused on Anne-Marie. "Which brings me to the question I truly want to ask, Miss Davis."

Anne-Marie felt a chill run down her spine as he pulled out his phone, holding it up so that both she and Denise could see the screen. The video of her head-butting the prince played out, the sound of the impact echoing in the kitchen. Anne-Marie's heart sank as she heard the sharp bump sound again, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"What is the meaning of this?" Oliver demanded, his voice dangerously calm as the video looped. Denise gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"Mr. Vurton," Anne-Marie began, her voice trembling slightly as she saw the darkening expression on Oliver's face. "I can explain—"

"Oh, you had better," he interrupted, his tone icy. "Because I am dying to understand why you thought it was acceptable to do something as reckless as laying your hands on the prince."

Anne-Marie swallowed hard, feeling the walls close in around her.

"I... I couldn't help myself," she stammered, trying to find the right words. "He... he asked for it when I caught him staring at my—"

She stopped, her voice faltering as she realized how absurd it all sounded. She couldn't even bring herself to say the words. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"Do you even comprehend what you've done?" Oliver's voice rose, his anger barely contained. "Do you understand the gravity of the crime you just committed? Physically assaulting the future King of this country? Are you out of your mind?"

"Oliver—" Denise tried to interject, her voice soft and pleading, but Oliver was too enraged to listen.

"You hit the prince," he continued, ignoring Denise's attempt to calm him down. "You—a commoner with no royal blood—laid your hands on the face of the prince of Breton."

Denise exhaled, her heart aching for Anne-Marie, who stood trembling under the weight of Oliver's words.

"Oliver, that's enough—"

Anne-Marie held her breath, feeling as though she might collapse under the pressure.

"Do you know what this means?" Oliver's voice was relentless. "Your barbaric behavior has cast doubt on the sanity of my daughter in the eyes of the entire kingdom. This could jeopardize everything my family has worked tirelessly to build, putting us at odds with the royal family—all because you couldn't control yourself. Never, not even in his wildest dreams, has the prince been slapped before. Do you have any idea how shocked he must be? How precious every inch of his skin is? And you slapped him?"

"I was just trying to—"

"It doesn't matter what happened!" he roared, causing both Denise and Anne-Marie to flinch in fear. "You should never, under any circumstances, hit the prince or any member of the royal family—not even if he has a knife to your throat!"

"I didn't mean to—"

"Do I need to remind you," Oliver's voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "what's at stake here every time you make a foolish decision like you did today? Do I need to remind you that the only reason your brother is alive and well is because of my family's generosity—something I won't hesitate to take away if I see you dragging this family's name through the mud? Do I really have to do that? Do I have to regret ever bringing you here, because I'm truly starting to."

Anne-Marie was speechless, hurt by the venom in Oliver's words. She felt a wave of cold dread wash over her as she tried to process everything he had said.

"No," she whispered, her voice shaky and barely audible.

"Good," Oliver said, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself. "Get dressed immediately. We are going to the palace to fix the mess you've created."

He turned sharply and began to walk toward the door. "To fix this mess you just created," he repeated, his voice trailing off as he left the kitchen.

Anne-Marie stood there, trembling, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She fought hard to hold them back, but Denise could see the deep hurt in her expression. The words Oliver had said had cut deep, and the young woman looked utterly devastated.

Denise sighed deeply, feeling a surge of compassion for Anne-Marie. She quickly removed her apron and moved toward her.

"I'll talk to him," she assured Anne-Marie, her voice soft but firm. She offered a small, reassuring smile before turning and hurrying out of the kitchen after Oliver, determined to smooth things over and protect Anne-Marie from further wrath.

As Denise left, Anne-Marie was left alone in the kitchen, the weight of the situation pressing down on her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady her breathing, but all she could think about were the harsh words Oliver had thrown at her. The tears she had been holding back began to spill over, and she felt more alone and out of place than ever before.