Morning crept into the room slowly, the soft, golden light spilling in through the edges of the heavy curtains. Salviana's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was Alaric. He was standing by the window, the faint rays of dawn catching in his dark hair, casting a sharp silhouette against the backdrop of the morning sky. For a moment, it felt like a dream—the prince, the vampire, the man she'd been married off to, standing so calmly in the same room as her.
This was the first morning she'd woken up with him still in the room. He had always been elsewhere, either gone before dawn or never having entered the bedroom in the first place. It had made her feel like she'd been sleeping alone since her very first night here, despite the grand titles and ceremony that tied them together.
She shifted slightly under the covers, her gaze lingering on him as he delicately picked a single lily from its vase on the windowsill. He turned it toward the light, examining its soft petals, letting the pale beams filter through them.
"You woke up early today," he remarked, his voice low and rich, the deep timbre sending an unexpected thrill through her. Her heart seemed to skip a beat at the sound of it, though she wasn't sure if it was from the unexpected intimacy of waking up to him or the smooth, commanding tone of his voice. She swallowed softly, still unsure how to react to him—this man who was supposed to be her husband yet felt more like a stranger every day.
She blinked away the remnants of sleep, trying to find her voice, but her mind was still sluggish, thoughts swirling in slow motion. He had never been here in the morning, not like this.
"Your maids will be here soon," Alaric added, turning his gaze toward her, his eyes dark and intense, making her feel as though he could see right through her hesitance.
Salviana stared back, unsure what to say.
What did he mean, she woke up early?
Did he mean she usually slept late, or was this his way of remarking that he'd been watching her? She wasn't sure if she liked the thought of him observing her so silently while she slept.
Her gaze drifted to the lily in his hand, delicate yet strong, its white petals glowing faintly in the soft light. "Why is there just one flower in the chamber?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, still soft and hesitant, unsure if it was the right thing to ask.
Alaric's eyes softened slightly, and he looked back at the flower, gently caressing its petals with surprising tenderness for someone of his nature. "It was my mother's," he answered, his voice deep but tinged with something else—pride, perhaps, or nostalgia. "This lily has survived for years. It's resilient."
Salviana's lips parted in a small smile. There was something about his voice, about the way he spoke of this single flower, that made her feel a warmth she hadn't expected. He cared for something. Even if it was just this one flower, it was something of his past, something that connected him to the idea of family.
"I heard she used to sing to it whenever she watered it," he added, his tone growing more distant, almost melancholic. He wasn't looking at her now, but she could feel the weight of his memories pressing into the room.
Salviana furrowed her brows, confused. "You heard?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
He glanced at her, a shadow of sadness crossing his features. "I never met her," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, almost as though the words were hard to speak.
Her heart clenched in her chest. She hadn't expected that. "She's… gone?" she asked, her voice barely louder than a breath, her own emotions catching her off guard.
"She died before I was born," Alaric replied, the words clipped and emotionless, but Salviana could sense the deep well of sorrow beneath the surface. His fingers still brushed over the lily as if the flower were the only thing left of her.
"I didn't know. I'm so sorry," she whispered, her chest tightening with empathy for him. She had assumed the Queen was his mother—like everyone else did.
He shook his head slightly, still not looking at her. "Don't apologize. It's been a long time."
Salviana studied his face, her mind racing with new information. His mother was not the queen. That explained the coolness in the royal family, the whispers she had overheard in the halls. "The queen's not your mother?" she dared to ask.
"She would've been, but my mother was the King's elder sister," he said flatly, his tone making it clear that this was a fact of his life he had long accepted, though perhaps never fully made peace with.
Salviana's mind raced, her thoughts turning over. Did that mean his mother should have been queen? She held her tongue, unsure if she should press further. This wasn't something you just casually asked about. Still, it was a heavy revelation, one that settled between them in the silence that followed.
She didn't know what to say, how to comfort him. Could she?
She shifted again, pulling the covers back and moving to get out of bed. But as she stood up, a sharp ache shot through her thighs and lower back, making her wince and letting out a soft whimper of pain.
Alaric's gaze snapped to her immediately, his eyes narrowing with concern. "What happened?" he asked, his voice firm, commanding in a way that made her feel both flustered and cared for at once.
"Nothing," she quickly replied, not wanting to seem weak or fragile.
He shook his head, his gaze hardening slightly. "What hurts? You just whimpered," he pressed, his tone leaving no room for evasions.
Salviana flushed, embarrassed by the attention, but he wasn't going to let it go. "Alaric," she murmured, trying to downplay it, but his intense stare bore into her.
"I am your husband, Salviana. Tell me," he prompted, his voice firm but with a trace of tenderness that made her resolve crumble.
"My thighs," she finally admitted, her cheeks flushing as she shifted awkwardly. "There's an ache. I don't know where it came from."
His expression softened with realization. "Was it your first time?" he asked, moving closer to the bed.
Salviana blinked, flustered. "First time?" she repeated, confused by his question.
"Riding a horse for so long," he clarified, a hint of guilt creeping into his voice as he pieced together the cause.
"Oh," Salviana breathed, the answer dawning on her. "Yes… I've never ridden a horse before. Not like that."
Alaric frowned, his eyes dark with guilt. "I didn't even think about it," he muttered, his voice low, almost as if he were berating himself for not considering her comfort.
Before she could say anything else, he straightened up and said, "Wait here."
Salviana watched, perplexed, as he walked purposefully to the bathroom. She heard the sound of water running, the faint clink of glass as he prepared something. After a few minutes, he returned to her side, his face more relaxed but still serious.
He had drawn a bath for her, the steam rising in soft curls. "Come on," he said, lifting her effortlessly into his arms, her body barely resisting the movement as she squealed in surprise.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.
"I'm taking care of my wife," he replied, his voice husky, sending a shiver down her spine.
'My wife', she thought, her heart skipping as his words lingered in the air. The way he said it was possessive but tender, as though it meant more to him than she had realized. Her cheeks flushed a deeper red as he carried her towards the bathroom, his arms steady and strong, making her feel something unfamiliar—safe.
Then he reached the mirror in the steamy bathroom and gently set her down on her feet. The room was warm, the scent of peppermint oil and something soothing wafting up from the bath he had prepared. Salviana blinked through the mist, her eyes following Alaric's every movement, curiosity and nerves dancing within her. She could feel her heartbeat quickening in her chest, a strange anticipation building as he stood so close, his presence commanding even in the most mundane of actions.
'What is he doing?' she wondered, feeling the heat of the room mixing with the heat rising on her cheeks. He hadn't spoken since carrying her in, but the atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken words. Salviana swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the humidity in the air.
She was flustered—why did she always feel so unprepared around him? And yet, there was a sense of quiet excitement too, like she was on the brink of understanding something about him, about them, that she hadn't before.
Alaric's hand brushed lightly against her back as he stepped forward, guiding her closer to the mirror. "Turn around," he said softly, his voice still deep and soothing, but there was an edge of seriousness to it.
Salviana hesitated, a nervous fluttering in her stomach. 'Turn around?' What was he planning? She knew she should trust him—he was her husband now, after all—but this was all so new, so unexpected.
With a tentative breath, she did as he asked, slowly turning to face the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes wide and uncertain. She could feel him behind her, his warmth close but not touching, and it made her shiver with both apprehension and something else… something she didn't want to name.
'What is happening?' she thought, her pulse quickening as the silence stretched between them. She gulped, her mouth dry, her hands fidgeting at her sides.