The maid's smile vanished.
"What?"
Her voice trembled now, no longer righteous. No longer bold.
"You are to leave this castle immediately," I repeated.
The corridor felt tighter somehow. The watching servants had gone very still.
Tears welled quickly in the maid's eyes. "Y-Your Highness… why?"
"Because," I said evenly, "if you are willing to accuse your Crown Princess without proof for the sake of a mere assumption, then you do not deserve to stand in this palace."
Her face drained of color.
"I only— I thought—"
"You thought wrongly."
Her gaze darted instinctively to Ophelia.
Ah.
There it is.
[And now we observe the migration pattern of the desperate palace maid, seeking protection from the nearest saint-shaped figure.]
The maid's lips trembled. "Lady Ophelia… I only spoke because I believed—"
I did not look at Ophelia.
I waited.
This was the moment.
If Ophelia begged for leniency, if she wept and pleaded and painted me cruel before them—
