As Alaric went ahead his evening, in their chambers it was bustling, while the maids moved around the chambers, Salviana couldn't help but smile to herself, reminiscing about the day's unexpected sweetness.
Riding through Wyfellon with Alaric, the gentle moments they shared, and the thoughtful way he had tried to ease her troubles—everything had left her heart brimming with warmth.
She bit her lip, her cheeks reddening at the memory of his touch and the way he looked at her. It was overwhelming and yet… comforting.
Priscilla, her maid, was visibly annoyed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she folded Salviana's dress with quick, irritated movements.
The sight of her lady so joyful clearly grated on her, though she made no effort to voice it.
Emma, on the other hand, beamed with a proud, motherly smile, looking at Salviana like a doting guardian, silently approving of her growing fondness for Alaric.
