Chapter 330: The Resounding Slap and Whisper
"Speak," Alaric growled. "Or the next time you blink, we’ll be in the dungeons."
Jaron’s voice cracked as he tried to steady himself. "I—I felt like a loser after losing to Warren during the king’s grand birthday," he muttered, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "So I found a place to hide for a while—"
"Liar," Alaric scoffed, his fury barely contained wildfire. His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. "So you mean to tell me Salviana followed you to your sulking hole?"
Jaron’s lips parted, but his gaze flickered—once, twice—before he answered. "No! I... I passed through your chambers," he rushed out, too quick, too defensive. "Her smell must’ve... lingered on me. That’s all. You’re the only one who can perceive it, Alaric—it’s a baseless argument."
Alaric’s laugh was short, dark. "A baseless argument?" His voice was smooth as steel—calm, collected—but his black eyes burned. "You reek of my wife’s scent, Jaron. And you want me to believe it simply clung to you like a passing breeze?"
Jaron’s throat bobbed again.
"Alright then," Alaric said, taking a step closer. "If you have nothing to hide... follow me."
Jaron blinked. "W-Where—"
Alaric’s smile was a cruel slash. "I’ll force the words out of you."
The corridor seemed to shrink around them as tension clawed at the air—thick, unrelenting.
Jaron’s silence wasn’t just suspicious—it was damning.