Liliette gasped in horror. Blaming a woman who had come to pray for her dead child was beyond unforgivable. She couldn’t comprehend how Vlad could wield such a tragedy as a weapon. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to confront him. The man standing before her—cold, unrelenting, and gray eyes filled with contempt—felt like a stranger.
“You abandoned your child among orphans, and now you cling to my wife like a vengeful ghost. Did you think I would stand idle, Your Highness?”
“How is that my fault?” Ingrid shot back. “I intended to keep the child in the palace. It was you who suggested to my father that I be sent to Nerva’s chapel!”
“Leaving a newborn to die isn’t what I’d call ‘keeping.’”
“You insolent wretch!” Ingrid’s shrill outburst echoed through the room. Her entire body trembled, her pale neck straining with fury. Vlad’s accusation had finally sunk in, and she was livid. “How dare you accuse a mother of wanting to kill her own child! You, who have no children of your own—”
