Hours Later
The soft hues of twilight bathed the castle in a warm glow as Salviana descended the grand staircase, her earlier unease from the strange dream slowly dissipating.
By the time Alaric returned home, the evening air carried a cool stillness.
As soon as she spotted him entering the hall, Salviana rushed to greet him, her flowing gown trailing behind her.
"Salviana," Alaric said with a soft smile, his arms opening for her.
She melted into his embrace, the familiar scent of him instantly soothing. He pressed a tender kiss to the crown of her head.
"You're home," she whispered, the tension in her shoulders easing.
"Always," he replied with quiet conviction.
Hand in hand, they made their way back upstairs. Salviana sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Alaric changed out of his formal attire into simpler evening clothes.
The light in the room softened, casting long shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon.
"Shall we?" Alaric asked, offering her his hand.
She took it with a nod, and they descended to the parlour.
As they entered, Alaric's gaze immediately landed on the pile of carefully wrapped packages stacked neatly in one corner of the room.
"You didn't open them?" Alaric asked, his brows furrowing in surprise.
Salviana hesitated, clasping her hands in front of her. "I don't like surprises much, and I was waiting for you," she admitted softly.
Alaric's face softened, though he couldn't hide his disbelief. "You're more patient than I am. I sent them for you," he said, his voice tinged with excitement.
"Manni was rather cryptic about it," Salviana replied with a small smile.
Alaric rolled his eyes. "That old bat loves his theatrics. Come on, let's open them together."
They settled on the plush rug before the packages.
Alaric handed her the first one, and with careful fingers, she untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper. One by one, Salviana uncovered an array of art supplies that left her breathless.
There were brushes of all shapes and sizes, their bristles fine and pristine. Pots of richly pigmented paint shimmered as she held them to the light.
Rolls of canvas, pristine and waiting for inspiration, sat alongside heavy sheets of parchment and delicate vellum.
Wooden palettes, ink bottles, sketching charcoal, and delicate carving tools for etching filled the packages.
There were even small, ornate containers of gold leaf and powdered pigment.
Salviana's hands trembled as she opened the last package—a set of finely crafted brushes nestled in a carved wooden box, each handle engraved with delicate patterns.
Her eyes welled with tears as she turned to Alaric. "Why did you get me all of this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alaric shifted closer to her, his gaze steady and warm. "Salviana…" He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment. "I…You—"
"You knew," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.
He nodded. "I noticed how your fingers would trace the edges of the books in the library, how you'd pause at the tapestries. You knew and appreciated them."
Salviana inhaled sharply. "And you didn't say anything?"
"I couldn't possibly make demands of you," Alaric said, his voice low. "I've already taken you away from the life you knew. The least I can do is give you back something that made you happy."
Salviana reached for his hand, clutching it tightly. "I don't regret leaving," she said fiercely, her tone brooking no argument. "I don't regret us."
Alaric's breath hitched, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes was unmistakable.
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice laced with gratitude and a hint of relief.
As they sat amidst the scattered papers and paints, a quiet resolve settled between them. Alaric had doubted her happiness, feared that she might one day long for the life she left behind.
But in that moment, Salviana's words, her fierce loyalty to him, eased some of those doubts.
Maybe, he thought, if he continued to show her that he could be the husband she deserved, they could truly build a life together.
A partnership that would stand strong against whatever challenges lay ahead.
For Salviana, the dream from earlier still lingered at the edge of her thoughts, but with Alaric beside her, she felt steadier.
She glanced down at the tools before her, the possibilities they represented, and felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this was the beginning of something new, something beautiful.
As Salviana ran her fingers over the fine bristles of one of the brushes, a wistful smile crossed her face. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice soft with emotion. "I missed painting."
Alaric watched her intently, noticing how the light from the chandelier played on her features. "I'm sorry I didn't bring it up sooner," he admitted, gently pulling her closer. Salviana rested her head under his chin, and he stroked her hair absentmindedly.
"Why didn't you?" she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.
He played with the loose strands of her hair, his fingers brushing against her nape. "I wanted you to rediscover it and tell me yourself," he said thoughtfully.
Salviana sniffled, her voice tinged with shame. "I couldn't. I wanted to be seen…without the gift of nature. As just me."
Alaric tilted her chin up, looking her in the eyes. "But that is you, Salviana. It's a part of who you are, what makes you happy. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you had to prove your worth to me."
She blinked up at him, confused by the intensity in his gaze. Alaric leaned down, pressing a kiss to her nose. His lips lingered just long enough to make her smile.
"You're worth everything, my fiery wife. Everything, and more," he declared with conviction.
Her cheeks flushed at his words, and she leaned against his chest once more. "I was insecure," she admitted, her voice trembling.