However Salviana in the castle no longer wanted the company of the garden, "We should go to the florist chambers," Salviana let out as she decided to follow the advice Rose had given her, burying her jealousy.
Salviana reached the chambers of Audrey Velthorne, the First Concubine, and Lucille Velthorne, the Second Concubine.
Their quarters were grand yet entwined, opulent tapestries and veiled curtains marking the entrances.
"Your grace," a maid rush to her, she smiled as she started to say. "I'm here for—"
But she was cut off sharply by a strong looking maid, "We'd get her my lady, wait here,"
Salviana blinked, "Okay," she mumbled as they turned away.
Salviana stood in the quiet hall, waiting as the maids acknowledged her presence with polite bows before disappearing inside to alert their ladies.
The air was thick with silence, almost too still, and an uneasy feeling crept up her spine.
She waited for the lady to come down but she didn't and soon the silence became unbearable, she tried to hum sounds to keep her mind busy but it didn't work.
Then, without warning, the silence shattered. The low, menacing growls reached her ears first. She glanced to her side and saw them.
Hounds. Massive hounds, their dark coats sleek and their eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger.
She realized with a jolt that she was suddenly alone in the corridor, abandoned by the maids who had vanished without a trace.
The hounds were closing in, muscles taut and jaws snapping with a deadly intent.
Panic surged within her, and she bolted, her footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.
As she ran the hound dogs rushed after her, they were angry looking and large, she couldn't wait to see if she could pet them.
She was running in fear but she heard it, laughter drifted down from above.
A glance upward revealed two figures leaning over the balcony, their laughter ringing out in cruel amusement.
Audrey and Lucille—watching her flee with delighted malice.
The realization hit her like a cold wave: they had released the dogs intentionally, and she was nothing but prey in their twisted game.
She forced herself to keep running, to ignore the urge to stop and glare up at her tormentors.
There wasn't time to waste; the dogs were gaining on her, their growls growing louder with each stride.
She ran with all her might, but some stones stood their ground with even more might than Salviana ran from the dogs.
Her feet stumbled on the uneven stones, sharp and unyielding beneath her soles, nearly tripping her as she sprinted.
The hounds' snarls were closer now, and she could feel their hot breaths just inches away.
Yet she pushed on, her heart pounding, desperate to escape their snapping jaws and the jeering laughter echoing from above.
The dogs chased Salviana relentlessly, their heavy paws pounding the uneven ground as she stumbled forward, the adrenaline in her veins not enough to carry her fast enough.
Why weren't they calling back their dogs?
Was this how she'd die?
Or perhaps become disfigured?
She wanted to remain beautiful, she didn't want to be rough handled by wild hounds this evening.
Why were they laughing and were are her guards?
Soon the floor started to feel like it was rising up till her knee and she couldn't run well anymore.
Just as she tripped, her heart clenched with fear, she screamed her husband's name, "Alaric!"
Her voice barely left her lips when she fell, the hounds inches away, their snapping jaws ready to close in on her. But in an instant,
Alaric was there, moving with a speed that blurred his form.
He appeared like a dark savior from the shadows, his gaze fierce and focused as he kicked one of the hounds away with ruthless force.
The other creatures snarled but hesitated, recognizing a predator far greater than themselves.
They ran away.
He took down the remaining hound with a swift, decisive power, and then turned to his wife, lying wide-eyed on the ground.
She looked up at him, her eyes fixed on his face with awe, as though he wore an angel's halo—though he knew he was anything but.
The shock in her expression softened as she took in the sight of him, her protector.
Wordlessly, he bent down and scooped her up, cradling her close to his chest. His arms tightened around her as he noted with a quiet anger how her guards had abandoned her in her time of need.
She snuggled into him seeking the warmth and safety of his embrace, her fingers clutching gently at the fabric of his coat as though anchoring herself to him.
Alaric …could feel her trembling slightly, each quiver pulling at something deep within him, something he didn't often allow himself to acknowledge.
As her fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his coat, a fierce protectiveness surged through him—a need to shield her from anything that dared threaten her peace.
Without a word, he gathered her closer, wrapping his arms around her with a gentleness that contradicted the ruthless strength he'd just shown.
She was safe here, and he wanted her to feel it, to know it as surely as he knew the shadows he lived in.
Her cheek rested against his chest, and he could feel her breath slowly becoming steady, each rise and fall calming his own tumultuous heart.
"Hold on tight," he murmured, his lips close to her ear, a quiet command that carried both reassurance and a hint of vulnerability.
She tightened her arms around his neck, her small gesture grounding him in a way he hadn't expected.
Her warmth seemed to seep through his cold exterior, warming him from within as he prepared to carry her away from the danger that had pursued her.
With a final glance back, he launched into the evening, his vampiric speed transforming the world around them into a blurred tapestry of shadows and moonlight.
In his arms, she was a vibrant, fragile presence—something precious he held with both awe and a reverent strength.
And for those few stolen moments, they were beyond reach of the darkness, bound together in a silent, undeniable trust.