~~~{──────────
Afternoon.
Inside Kingdom, Wyfellon.
Wyfn-Garde.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
As if sensing her amusement, Alaric pulled Soar to a stop and dismounted smoothly before reaching up to help Salviana down. His hands were firm as they settled around her waist, lifting her easily from the horse. She landed on her feet but stumbled slightly, and he held onto her a moment longer, his grip possessive.
The teenager, still lingering nearby, gazed up at her in admiration. "You're the most beautiful lady I've ever seen," the boy said earnestly, not at all intimidated by Alaric's looming presence.
Alaric's eyes narrowed, and he gave the boy a hard look, his expression darkening. "That's enough," he muttered, his voice low and clipped.
Salviana giggled, finding the situation more amusing than threatening. She smiled at the boy, her tone gentle. "Thank you, again. You've made my day brighter."
The boy, sensing it was time to leave, gave a quick, shy bow before darting back into the crowd, his face flushed with excitement.
Once the boy was out of sight, Alaric turned back to Salviana, his eyes still smoldering with jealousy. "I don't find that funny," he muttered, glaring as if the boy had stolen something precious from him.
Salviana couldn't help but laugh softly, her heart warming at his reaction. She gently patted his chest, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh, come on, Alaric. He was just a boy. Are you really that jealous?"
Alaric's glare softened slightly, though his lips remained a tight line. "It's not jealousy," he grumbled, though it was clear to both of them that it was exactly that.
She smiled up at him, her laughter lingering in the air. "I think it's adorable."
He scowled but couldn't hide the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as he tugged her close to him. "Let's get you back to the palace before anyone else gets any ideas," he said darkly, though the softness in his tone gave away his playful frustration.
With that, they remounted Soar, but this time, there was an undeniable warmth between them, the tension of the day having melted into something gentler. As they continued on their way, Salviana glanced over her shoulder, catching Alaric's eye and giving him a teasing smile. He only shook his head, a mix of amusement and possessiveness flickering in his gaze as he guided them back toward the palace.
As evening began to descend, casting a warm glow over the town, they turned Soar back toward the palace. Salviana's arms were full of the little things Alaric had bought for her—sweets, small trinkets from the local market. She felt like a child again, her heart light and her mind free from the burdens of royal life.
But then, as they rode slowly back, the tension she had been trying to ignore resurfaced. She could sense Alaric's protectiveness, the way he had watched over her all afternoon, making sure she was comfortable, trying to distract her from the troubles his family had caused since her arrival.
It had only been two days, yet it felt like a lifetime since she had entered this new world of complicated politics and hidden tensions.
Salviana shifted slightly in the saddle, feeling the warmth of his body behind her, his strong arms holding the reins just in front of her. The closeness was unexpected, and her pulse quickened. She could feel his steady breath on the back of her neck, the subtle rise and fall of his chest against her spine.
"Alaric…" she began softly, unsure of what she wanted to say, but needing to break the quiet. "Thank you for today. It was… nice."
He was silent for a moment, as though considering her words. "I wanted you to forget," he finally said, his voice quiet but intense. "Even if just for a few hours."
She swallowed, her heart fluttering again. "Forget what?"
His grip on the reins tightened slightly. "The way my family has treated you… since you came."
Salviana blinked, surprised by his bluntness. She hadn't expected him to bring it up, not like this. She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of his profile, the hard lines of his face softened by the evening light.
"I didn't expect… I mean, I didn't think you'd notice," she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you'd… be like them."
His jaw tightened at her words, and she could feel the tension radiating from him. "I'm not like them," he said, his voice sharp, almost defensive. "I'm not."
She didn't know what to say to that. She had seen glimpses of his kindness, his protectiveness, but there was still so much she didn't understand about him. There was a wall between them, built from years of mistrust, distance, and the burdens they both carried.
"I want to believe that," she whispered, her words more to herself than to him.
Alaric heard her though, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, he leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear as he spoke. "Then believe it, Salviana. I may not be what you imagined, but I won't let them hurt you. Not again."
His words sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of fear, confusion, and something deeper—something she wasn't ready to name yet.
She wanted to trust him, to believe in the man who had shown her this gentle side, but there was still so much unknown between them. Still, in that moment, with the warmth of his body behind hers, she felt a strange pull toward him—an undeniable connection that made her heart race.
They rode in silence for a while longer, the tension between them growing with every passing second. Her mind raced with conflicting emotions—confusion, curiosity, a growing desire to understand him. And something else. Something more dangerous.
As they approached the palace gates, the reality of their situation settled back over them like a heavy cloak. But Salviana couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Alaric's.
"Will you always try to distract me when things get difficult?" she asked, her tone light but the question serious.
Alaric's lips twitched, a hint of a smile breaking through his otherwise stoic expression. "If it keeps you smiling," he said softly, "then yes."
Her heart fluttered at his words, and despite herself, she smiled.
As they rode back into the palace grounds, Alaric helped her down from the horse, his hands lingering on her waist for just a moment longer than necessary. Their eyes met, and for a brief second, the world around them faded away.
In that moment, the confusion, the tension, and the strange desire between them simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to ignite.
But for now, they simply walked ahead, both unsure of what came next.
~~~{──────────
Afternoon.
Jarons Chambers, Wyfkeep.
Wyfellon. Wyfn-Garde.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
The hall was dimly lit, casting long shadows as Alaric stormed through the corridors of the palace, his mood darkening with every step. He had kept his composure all day for Salviana's sake, ensuring she enjoyed her time outside the palace walls, but beneath that calm surface, his anger had been simmering.
Jaron had crossed the line.
After ensuring Salviana was safely escorted to their chambers, he rushed to the one place he knew he'd find his stepbrother—Jaron's private study. The doors were slightly ajar, and Alaric didn't bother knocking.
In a blur of speed, before Jaron could react, Alaric seized him by the collar and hurled him across the room. The impact was brutal, Jaron's body slamming against the stone wall with a bone-rattling thud. He gasped, the air leaving his lungs in a wheeze as he crumpled to the ground, struggling to catch his breath.
Jaron's guards immediately surged forward, but before they could reach Alaric, Jaron raised a hand, his fingers trembling but firm, signaling them to stop. He coughed violently, clutching his chest as he pushed himself up, his eyes burning with fury.
"Alaric," Jaron hissed between coughs, his voice strained, "what in hell's name do you think you're doing?"
Alaric stood over him, his towering figure menacing, his dark eyes gleaming with barely contained rage. His voice was low, deadly calm. "You listen to me, Jaron, and listen well," he growled, stepping closer until he was looming above his stepbrother. "I've tolerated your hatred for years, your childish jealousy, your pathetic attempts to undermine me. But you will not bring my wife into this."
Jaron clenched his jaw, the anger in his eyes turning into a dangerous gleam. "Your wife?" he spat, still struggling to stand. "What are you talking about?"
Alaric's fists clenched at his sides, his whole body trembling with the urge to lash out again. "Don't play dumb with me," he snapped. "Your wife, Irene, lied about the hot water bit after
and the rest of your wretched family have been whispering behind Salviana's back, making her life miserable from the moment she stepped foot in this palace. I've been patient—for her sake. But if I hear of you or your pathetic family coming near her again, I will not be so forgiving."
Jaron's lips curled into a sneer as he finally regained his footing, his hand wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. "And what will you do, little brother? Kill me?" His tone was mocking, but there was an edge of fear in his eyes.
Alaric's response was immediate. In a flash of inhuman speed, he was in Jaron's face, his hand gripping his throat, squeezing just enough to make Jaron feel the threat. His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. "You forget who I am, Jaron. I could break you before you even had a chance to scream."
Jaron's guards flinched, hands on the hilts of their weapons, but they dared not move without Jaron's signal. The tension in the room was thick, suffocating.
After a long, tense moment, Alaric released his grip, shoving Jaron back against the wall. Jaron stumbled but stayed upright, his eyes blazing with fury and humiliation.
"You'll regret this, Alaric," Jaron snarled, rubbing his throat, his voice hoarse. "One day, you'll regret it."
Alaric's gaze darkened even further, his lips curling into a cold, humorless smile. "Perhaps. But today is not that day. Keep Irene and your family far away from my wife, or I swear, Jaron, I won't stop next time."
With that, he turned on his heel, leaving Jaron seething in the wake of his warning. The door slammed behind him, echoing through the halls as Alaric stormed away, his blood still boiling with anger.
He knew Jaron would plot, would scheme, but for now, he had sent a clear message. No one would lay a hand on Salviana. Not while he was alive.
As he made his way back to his chambers, Alaric's thoughts drifted to Salviana, hoping that the evening would be calm and free from the storm that was brewing behind closed doors. But he knew better than to trust the calm.