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Morning.
Compound
Wyfkeep Castle, Wyfellon.
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As they walked further, the temperature noticeably dropped, and Salviana began to feel an odd rumbling sensation beneath her feet. The ground seemed to vibrate every few seconds, sending a wave of anxiety through her. She shot a glance at her husband, the dark prince, his hooded eyes steady and unreadable as they had been all morning. His gaze was slightly narrowed, almost as if the daylight bothered him—like a cat exposed to too much light, or an albino struggling under the sun.
Like a vampire.
Her heart skipped a beat. He noticed, his gaze flicking towards her, making it skip again. She quickly looked away, pulling her shoulders back in a futile attempt to look composed, but her mind was racing.
How had she forgotten? She had told herself only this morning that he was a bloodsucker, a demon of the night. She should be avoiding him, not walking beside him. But a question began to bubble up inside her:
How was he able to walk so comfortably under the sun?
Didn't vampires burn in the sunlight?
Could she ask him? Or should she flee? But she couldn't do either.
Sighing in frustration, she felt his fingers press more firmly into the small of her back in response, a silent command to stay focused.
Salviana realized that they had been walking for what felt like ages. The estate where she grew up, though noble, was nothing compared to the grand expanse of this castle. Back home, the mansion and its surrounding gardens could be crossed in mere minutes, and she knew every corner of it.
But here, in the castle of the dark prince, they had walked for long stretches, and she was certain they had not even seen much of it. The corridors seemed endless, each turn revealing more vast halls and eerie chambers. Everything about the castle felt like it had been built to intimidate.
The cold gnawed at her as they approached a large bridge that stretched across a body of water, though she couldn't tell whether it was a river or a lake. Steam rose from the surface, creating a thick mist that shrouded the bridge in an eerie, chilling veil.
The steam seemed to swirl ominously around them, and with each step, the sensation of the ground rumbling became more pronounced. It felt like the earth itself was alive, warning her of something dark and hidden beneath the surface.
"If it isn't the hot new bride and her cold dark prince," a loud, boisterous voice broke the uneasy silence, and Salviana nearly jumped. Ahead of them stood a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his light brown hair perfectly styled, his dark blue eyes filled with arrogant amusement.
"Don't say a word," her husband whispered under his breath, a command that made her frown. Why would he ask that of her?
Salviana considered obeying but recognized the man approaching them—it was one of the princes she had seen at breakfast. Deciding not to make enemies on her first day in the castle, she mustered a polite smile and bowed slightly. "Your grace," she greeted.
Jaron Velthorne, the man in question, side-eyed Salviana, his lips twisting into a mocking smirk, but he gave her no reply. His gaze slid back to her husband, filled with lazy arrogance. Jaron was tall, about six feet, his royal attire impeccable, but something about him seemed flighty, as though he could never sit still.
He carried himself like a man used to power, but not the kind that earned respect—rather the kind that demanded it through force or cunning. His strong build was unmistakably royal, but his eyes carried a sharp cruelty that sent a shiver down Salviana's spine.
"You couldn't get a better quality?" Jaron asked, gesturing toward Salviana dismissively.
Her smile faltered, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She knew he was referring to her, and the sting of his words cut deep. Her husband's fingers pressed more firmly into her back as though cautioning her to remain still, though his face remained expressionless.
"Where's your sadly stupid son?" her husband shot back, his voice cold, entirely unaffected by his brother's jab.
Jaron's jaw ticked in irritation, though his smirk remained. "Your jabs never get old," he muttered, shrugging.
Salviana's embarrassment surged, but she kept her head high. She was a princess now, she reminded herself. And that meant she had to endure insults with grace, even when every fiber of her being wanted to lash out.
"I heard about the drama at the table," Jaron continued, his gaze flicking to Salviana but only briefly, as if she were beneath his notice.
"And you don't have to guess who was leading it," her husband replied dryly.
Salviana's mind scrambled to catch up. Were they speaking about one of the children from earlier at breakfast? Simon, perhaps? But the dark prince had already corrected her guess.
"It was your twat, Johnny Dummy," he said, his tone as flat as ever.
Johnny Dummy. So that obnoxious boy was Jaron's son. Salviana almost let out a laugh but quickly swallowed it down when Jaron's icy gaze landed on her. He looked like he wanted to rip the smile off her face.
Jaron chose to ignore the insult about his son and instead changed the subject. "Where are you taking her?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of suspicion.
Without turning to look at her, the dark prince replied coolly, "You can come along."
Jaron glanced warily at the mist-covered bridge ahead, his smirk fading slightly. The steam rising from the water was so thick now that it almost obscured the entire path ahead.
It was an unsettling sight, and Jaron, who had just moments ago been brimming with arrogance, took a small step back. "No, thank you," he said, his voice suddenly quieter, more cautious. "You're a sadistic bastard, and I don't trust you."
His words hung in the air like a warning. He cast one last glance at Salviana, his lips curling into an odd smile—half pity, half farewell—before he turned and walked away.
Salviana blinked in confusion. What just happened? Why did Jaron seem afraid? What lay beyond that bridge that even someone as arrogant and bold as him wouldn't dare to cross?
Sadistic? Trust? Oh no.
Her heart raced as her husband guided her forward once more, his grip firm and unyielding. She had a sinking feeling that whatever waited for them on the other side of that eerie, mist-covered bridge was far worse than anything she had imagined.
It was going to change everything.