Alaric carefully laid Salviana onto the cushions in their dimly lit chambers. He took two steadying breaths, his gaze sharpening as the faint, metallic scent of her blood began to fill the air.
Every instinct within him flared, each inhale torturous as he fought to keep himself composed. She kept her head bowed, her expression clouded with shame.
Removing his gloves with slow precision, he lowered himself onto one knee before her. He stretched his hand toward her, his voice slipping out rough and strained, "Your hand."
Salviana blinked, momentarily lost, before hesitantly extending her palm. As he held it, his eyes flickered over her hand, taking in the thin scratches streaked with fresh blood, each wound stark against her soft skin.
His brow furrowed, and he looked at her as though the marks had carved through her very bones.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice softened now, his gaze meeting her glassy, pained eyes.
She swallowed. "It stings a little," she murmured, her voice trembling as she fought the sudden urge to let her eyes close, to find comfort under his gaze.
Alaric gently lifted her hand to his lips, his warm breath sending a soft breeze across her palm, soothing the wounds.
Then, with measured slowness, he pressed his mouth to her skin, his tongue brushing over the cuts with a tenderness that made her suck in a sharp breath, caught between surprise and the slight sting.
He could feel her pulse race beneath his touch, her entire form tensing yet yielding in the same beat.
In that quiet, intimate moment, the tension between them seemed to swell and fade, her pain soothed, and his hunger and anger fuelled by the little taste of blood that he had gotten from her.
"Why did you go there?" Alaric's voice was tight as he gently licked Salviana's wound, soothing the stinging cuts left from her fall with the snarling dog in the concubines' chambers. Her palm had scratched and had cuts.
"For flowers," she whispered, her eyes downcast.
He let out a laugh laced with restrained fury. "And they let their dog loose on you."
She shook her head. "It just... lost control."
"No, it didn't." He spoke through gritted teeth, the anger barely contained. "Maybe I didn't make it clear, but those conniving bastards in the castle—they'll hate you if only for being mine."
Salviana's chin quivered as her mind spun through the memory of the vicious dog and the disdainful looks from the concubines.
It stung to realize that she was viewed as an intruder here, someone unworthy of simple kindness.
Why would they go so far just to humiliate her?
What had she done to deserve this hostility, this isolation?
A hollow ache formed in her chest. She couldn't grasp how being with Alaric made her a target, and the thought left her feeling strangely alone.
Seeing her hurt softened Alaric's expression. He took a deep breath, reining in his temper. "You could've told me," he said, gentler now, though a sharp edge still lingered in his words.
"Told you what?" She watched him as he stood, his protective instincts flaring to life.
"That you wanted a flower," he said, voice thick with frustration.
Her lip trembled, and finally, the weight of the silence around her broke. "I want a flower garden," she admitted, her voice soft but laced with a quiet longing. "This place… it feels bland, unmotivating. It's almost an inspiration killer."
His brow furrowed. "What are you looking for inspiration for?"
She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the cold, undecorated walls. "Nothing." Her voice was barely a mumble.
"Fiery," he chided, trying to coax her out of her guarded shell. But she only shook her head, her hair spilling over her shoulders and lightly brushing his face. "Forget it, please."
He wanted to say something to bridge the growing distance, but her expression held him back. Instead, he turned, ready to give her space. Just as he was about to leave, her fingers closed around his wrist.
"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Help me out of this dress. I feel… horrible."
Alaric paused, searching her face, and he felt her hesitation, the vulnerability just beneath her brave front. He moved with care, fingers deftly loosening the delicate laces of her dress, his eyes meeting hers in a soft exchange.
She looked away, cheeks flushed, her shyness radiating a sweetness he hadn't seen in a long time, one that tugged at something deep in him.
It was moments like this that made him want to shield her from every cruelty, every slight.
As he unzipped her zipper with care, the harsh anger he'd felt just minutes ago transformed into something gentler.
Noticing her discomfort, he stepped back slightly, a playful glimmer in his eyes.
"Would it make you feel better if I closed my eyes?" he offered, his voice soft with understanding.
She managed a small nod, her hand brushing against his as she steadied herself, and he closed his eyes obediently, waiting.
Slowly, she eased out of her dress, and only once she had slipped into the warm bath did she say, "Alright, you can open them now."
When his eyes opened, they softened at the sight of her. Steam curled around her face, and the flickering candlelight cast a warm glow, turning her hair into a halo of copper and gold.
She looked so serene, nestled in the water, the stress of the day finally seeming to ease from her shoulders.
He gave her a reassuring smile and moved to rest against the doorframe, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that she could feel his quiet presence.
His gaze remained on her, though softened, as if he were a guardian keeping watch over her peace.
In the silence that followed, there was a shared, unspoken understanding between them.
She allowed herself to fully relax in his presence, her eyes closing as she soaked in the warmth, feeling the last of her worries melting away.
And Alaric, standing protectively nearby, waited patiently, content simply to be near her as she prepared for the night, his silent promise lingering in the air.