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Morning.
Salviana's Chambers.
Wyfkeep Castle, Wyfellon.
Wyfn-Garde.
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Alaric lay in bed that early morning, his head propped on his palm as he watched Salviana sleep, his gaze lingering over her peaceful features.
He noticed, with a faint smile, that her nose was dusted with freckles he was sure hadn't been there days before.
Her soft, slow heartbeat reached him, drawing him closer to her, as if by its gentle rhythm alone. She looked so serene with her dark lashes fanning against her cheeks, her face was a picture of calm.
He found himself grateful, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. Then, suddenly, her eyes fluttered open.
"Good morning, wife," he bellowed warmly, his usually guarded eyes brimming with an unusual softness as he admired her. To him she looked impossibly endearing this morning.
"Don't look at me like that," Salviana murmured, shifting under his gaze, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.
"Like how?" he asked, feigning innocence.
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "So intensely while I sleep." she mumbled.
He chuckled, shifting closer to her. "I thought I liked you when you were asleep," he declared with a grin, "but I like you even more now that you're awake."
A shiver ran through her at the depth in his voice. "You…like me?" she asked, almost shyly.
Alaric's smile softened. "You're my wife. Of course, I like you," he replied, as if it were the simplest truth in the world.
She bit her lip, her curiosity sparking. "And if I wasn't your wife?"
His face grew mockingly serious, eyes glinting. "Then I'd kill you."
Her eyes widened, taken aback. "Why would you kill me?"
"Because I like you," he answered coolly, "and you wouldn't be mine since I have a wife."
A little stunned, she stared at him, trying to read between the dark humor and raw honesty in his voice. "That's…dark," she replied, a little smile breaking through, "and sad."
"Thank nature's grace that I have you, then," he drawled, his fingers gently brushing a stray curl from her face, sealing the strange, beautiful truth of his words.
Salviana's blush deepened, blooming from her cheeks down her neck as she nestled further into the bed, the soft fabric pooling around her. She felt the weight of Alaric's gaze, and her heart quickened, its beat filling the quiet room. He tilted his head, a small, curious smile playing at his lips, as though enchanted by the sight of her bashfulness.
"You're so… healthy," he murmured, his voice low, laced with both wonder and a hint of something more. His fingers reached out, and she felt the warmth of his palm grazing the air between them. "And warm," he added, his words soft, as though spoken to himself.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as memories of the dream she'd had — the one that left her tangled in her sheets with an aching heart — surfaced, filling her with a familiar heat.
Her pulse thundered in her veins, each beat carrying her a bit closer to his touch, until it felt almost unbearable. His gaze locked on hers, his dark eyes intense as he watched her, catching every flicker of hesitation and longing.
"Can I…" he began, but his words drifted off, leaving his question lingering in the air like a delicate invitation.
"Touch me?" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, echoing his unspoken question.
His gaze softened, a gentle, unhurried warmth in his eyes as he held her forest-green gaze, a hint of reverence threading through his expression. "Can I touch you?" he repeated, his voice as soft as silk, carrying a quiet yearning.
She gave the smallest of nods, her lips parting as her answer slipped out without a second thought. "Yes… where?"
In response, he moved closer, bringing his hand to her face in a measured, almost reverent gesture. His fingers brushed the line of her jaw, light as a whisper, before drifting upward, tracing her cheekbone.
She felt his fingertips skim her temple, and then he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture achingly tender, his fingertips lingering near the curve of her ear for a breath too long, as if memorizing the shape of her.
A soft shiver rippled through her as his hand moved again, grazing her brow before tracing the gentle slope of her nose. Her breath hitched, and she dared not move, feeling as though one wrong shift would shatter the delicate moment between them. His thumb brushed the tip of her nose, playful yet intimate, and a smile tugged at his lips as he noticed the way she softened under his touch.
Her skin was warm beneath his hand, her blush deepening further. Alaric's gaze shifted lower, drawn to her mouth. His fingers moved with deliberate care, tracing the outline of her lips, the pad of his thumb brushing softly against the lower curve.
He could feel the flutter of her breath against his skin, a quick, shallow intake that hinted at her nervous anticipation, and he fought the almost overwhelming urge to lean in, to let his fangs graze her lip and sink in, marking her as his.
But instead, he settled on the simple sweetness of the moment, allowing his thumb to linger at the corner of her mouth before moving down, his hand resting gently on her chin. Her lashes fluttered in response, her breaths quickening, and she seemed almost to melt into his touch, her eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him.
He leaned closer, his breath mingling with hers, filling the narrow space between them. He could feel his heart pounding, his blood thrumming in his veins, but he kept his touch slow, savoring each sensation. His thumb traced the line of her jaw before moving to cup her face fully, his fingers trailing along her cheek, and he marveled at the softness beneath his palm.
A barely-contained hunger flickered in his eyes as he lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, letting his lips linger, feeling the warmth radiate from her skin. And as he pulled back, his gaze traced her face one last time, a mixture of gratitude and longing simmering beneath his gaze.
Salviana's breath was shallow, her heart a chaotic rhythm, her blush still fierce as she looked up at him. She whispered, almost too quiet to be heard, "You… you like touching me?"