Just as she thought he might draw closer, perhaps to kiss her, Alaric shifted, breaking the spell. He moved away, much to her surprise, and picked up a pair of gloves from the table in front of her.
She blinked, her breath still shallow, as the moment they had shared hung in the air, unfinished.
Was he teasing me? Her eyes widened as she realized what was happening. He was putting the gloves on, and not just putting them on, but doing so in a way that was sensual, deliberate.
The leather hugged his hands, fitting over his long fingers and muscled forearms, the movements so languid that it drew her full attention.
She could only watch, her mouth going dry, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly.
Gods, he's too much.
The way his arms flexed as he pulled the gloves into place sent a shockwave of desire through her. She had never thought something as simple as putting on gloves could feel so… intimate.
It was as if the room shrank, the space between them tightening as she watched him in a daze, her lips parting in awe.
Before she could form a coherent thought or ask what he was doing, a loud knock came from the door. The sound startled her, making her jump, and she nearly yelped.
Alaric, however, stood still, though his expression darkened instantly. His posture stiffened, his jaw tightening in clear irritation.
The moment was shattered, and Salviana's heart sank as she turned toward the door, feeling the abrupt tension in the air.
The impatient maids knocked again, this time more insistently. Salviana flinched at the sound, her eyes flicking back to Alaric.
He remained composed, though she could sense the way the interruption had annoyed him. She could feel his restraint, the way he kept his frustration just beneath the surface, but the air in the room had undeniably shifted.
For a moment, she thought he might tell the maids to go away, but instead, Alaric straightened his gloves with one last tug. His face, now cold and unreadable, didn't acknowledge the knock again.
Alaric strode toward the door, Salviana following close behind. His presence was commanding, each step deliberate, his expression stone cold.
With a swift motion, he swung the door open, revealing the impatient figures of the head maid Mathilde, along with several other servants behind her.
Before Mathilde could open her mouth to speak, Alaric raised his index finger, silencing her in an instant.
Mathilde, who had approached with a look of irritation, froze at his commanding gesture. Her mouth snapped shut, the words she had ready to spill now trapped behind her lips.
Alaric glanced briefly at the guards stationed nearby before turning his sharp gaze back to Mathilde. The woman shuddered slightly under his scrutiny but quickly squared her shoulders, attempting to maintain her composure.
"It is morning," she began, her voice tight, "and the princess has yet to allow her chambermaids to assist her in starting her day."
Alaric's gaze didn't waver. He spoke with icy calm, his voice firm yet carrying an undercurrent of quiet menace. "She is the princess, and she will decide when and how she wishes to be attended to. You do not dictate the schedule for my wife."
Mathilde blinked, momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained her posture. "But, Your Grace, it is the royal—"
Alaric cut her off, his voice rising slightly, sharp with authority. "You do not get to expect my wife to act according to your whims or your rules. She is not yours to control."
Priscilla, standing just behind Mathilde, attempted to chime in, her voice trembling with forced confidence. "It's important that the princess adheres to…" she trailed off
But Alaric didn't even glance her way. His cold disregard for Priscilla's words was palpable, as though she were invisible.
Her face flushed with embarrassment as she realized she had been entirely dismissed, her lips pressed into a tight line.
Mathilde, on the other hand, was not so easily silenced. "Your Grace, I had to come," she pressed on, her eyes darting nervously between Alaric and the others. "It was dawn and she wasn't ready, it is my duty to—"
"Were you unaware that my wife is with me?" Alaric's voice turned harsher, a dangerous edge creeping into his words. "That should have been reason enough to wait until you were summoned."
Mathilde faltered, glancing nervously at Priscilla, who had promoted her to the position of head maid. She could feel the tension mounting, but she had to tread carefully.
Priscilla, who remained silent and humiliated, looked away, no longer eager to push the matter.
"And let me make this clear," Alaric continued, his eyes narrowing. "Do not attempt to tame my wife to your standards. You hold no such power here, no matter how long you've served. She will decide what she needs, not you."
Mathilde clenched her hands together, trying to maintain her dignity in the face of his firm rebuke. She knew better than to challenge him outright, but the sharp sting of being reprimanded so openly in front of the other maids was humiliating.
Just as she opened her mouth to defend herself, Priscilla once again attempted to interject, clearly eager to save face. "It's just that responsiblities should be carried"
Alaric's gaze slid over her once more, completely dismissing her presence, as if she weren't worth acknowledging.
The sting of his disregard made Priscilla's face flush even deeper, her words dying on her lips as she realized her position here was utterly insignificant.
Emma, one of the maids who had been standing quietly, lowered her head in shame, clearly embarrassed to be caught in the middle of the situation. She shuffled awkwardly, wishing to disappear into the background, her eyes never daring to meet Alaric's.
Meanwhile, Sarah, stood on her tiptoes, trying to peer over Alaric's broad frame into the room behind him. She was clearly worried, wondering if something might have happened to Salviana, her concern growing with every moment that passed without seeing the princess.
Her eyes flickered with worry, imagining scenarios in which Salviana had been harmed or was too unwell to rise.