"Because your divine hands will make these seeds grow beautifully," he said, his voice low and sincere.
Salviana paused, meeting his eyes. For a moment, the world around them seemed to still.
She smiled, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush, and got to her feet. "Fine," she said, her voice soft. "Let's see if your theory is true."
She took a step toward him, but the oversized trousers she wore—his trousers—slipped under her toes. Before she realized it, she tripped, her arms flailing as she fell forward.
"Salviana!" Alaric called, but just as her body was about to hit the ground, something strange happened. She felt herself lifted, weightless, as if an invisible force had caught her mid-fall.
Wide-eyed, she glanced down at herself, then at Alaric. He stood a few feet away, his hand casually extended, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.
"What are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling with shock and awe.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he stepped toward her, his smirk deepening. "I'm your Fire Prince," he growled, his voice rough and full of promise.
Before she could respond, he moved under her floating body, caught her in his arms, and pulled her close. His lips met hers in a searing kiss that left her breathless.
She melted into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened, time slipping away.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, and his voice was soft as he murmured, "I won't let you fall, Fiery. Not now, not ever."
Her heart swelled, her cheeks still warm from the kiss. "You better not," she whispered, smiling despite herself.
Gently, he set her down on her feet. "Now," he said, handing her the seeds with a wink, "let's see if those divine hands of yours work their magic."
She laughed, brushing her hair out of her face as she took the seeds. "Fine, but if these don't grow, I'm blaming your gardening skills."
Alaric grinned and nudged her shoulder playfully as they knelt together.
Side by side, they planted the seeds, their laughter mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.
The garden felt alive with their joy, a testament to their bond and the life they were building together—one seed, one moment, at a time.
As they worked in the garden together, Salviana's thoughts wandered to her earlier encounter with Warren. She looked at Alaric, who was digging a small hole for a seed, and decided to share her thoughts.
"Alaric," she began hesitantly, "I think Warren is a nice man."
Alaric didn't stop his work but hummed in acknowledgment, his tone neutral. "Hmm. Warren, my cousin?"
"Yes. I told him that Rose could come here anytime," Salviana said, leaning forward to wipe a stray leaf off his face. But instead of clearing it, she accidentally smeared mud across his cheek.
Her eyes widened. "Oh no!"
Alaric paused, brushing dirt off his gloves. His focus was still on the soil. "I see," he replied, not entirely invested in the topic but understanding her intention.
"Alaric?" she called again, trying to gauge his mood.
"Yes?" He glanced at her briefly. "Are you tired? Should we take a break?"
"No," she replied quickly. "I'd never leave you to build this garden alone."
He finally turned to her fully, his brow furrowed slightly—and that's when she noticed the mud streak on his face again. Unable to hold back, she burst into laughter.
Alaric's expression softened, and he started to smile. "What's so funny?"
She tried to compose herself but failed miserably. "Oh, Alaric! There's mud on your face!" she stammered between fits of laughter.
He smirked knowingly, shaking his head as he leaned back on his heels. "I wonder who put it there," he teased, his tone light but pointed.
"Let me wipe it off," she said quickly, standing to grab a handkerchief from the garden table. She returned, squatting beside him, and gently dabbed at his cheek with the soft cloth.
Alaric held still, his dark eyes fixed on her. He wanted to pull her into his arms but refrained, mindful of the mud on his gloves. Instead, he chuckled, his voice low and warm. "You're adorable, you know that?"
Before she could respond, he leaned in, closing the distance between them. Their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and electrifying. Sparks ignited between them, and Salviana sighed into him, her reaction fueling his growing hunger.
Alaric deepened the kiss, nibbling on her lower lip. When she gasped, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue against hers, the intimate exchange sending shivers down her spine.
Just as their muddy hands began to move closer, brushing against each other's clothes, a sudden downpour interrupted them. Heavy raindrops fell fast, soaking them in seconds.
They broke apart, laughing breathlessly. But before Salviana could suggest seeking shelter, Alaric cupped her face, his bare hand cradling the back of her head. The rain did nothing to douse his passion as he leaned in again, capturing her lips in a fervent kiss.
Somewhere in the midst of it, he had shed his gloves, and now his hands moved freely, tracing her wet hair and cupping her cheeks. Salviana's hands gripped his shoulders as she melted into him.
Without breaking the kiss, Alaric stood, effortlessly lifting her into his arms. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers tangling in his soaked hair.
Using his vampiric speed, he whisked her to the castle, pressing her against the cool stone of the hallway wall. The contrast of the cold wall against her back and his heated body against her front made her shiver, a moan escaping her lips.
She arched into him, her hips tilting upward as their kisses grew more heated. The rain continued to fall outside, but inside, they were lost in their own storm, one fueled by passion and unspoken promises.
"Alaric," she whispered, her voice trembling with desire, but before she could say more, his lips claimed hers again, silencing her with a kiss that spoke of love, possession, and unrelenting devotion.