After her bathe they went on to sit in the dining room where the dinner was set by the maids.
Emma looked disheartened by the event while Sarah looked confused while something completely different was seen on Priscilla's face. She didn't mind seeing Salviana in pain.
Then they had a silent meal for the first time since they met, after their silent meal, Salviana seemed barely able to keep her eyes open. She was exhausted, her spirit worn thin.
Alaric, sensing her longing for rest, stood and effortlessly lifted her from her seat. She made no protest, only curling into his arms as he carried her to the bedroom.
The quiet that enveloped them felt heavy, weighed down by unspoken words and emotions that lingered between them.
Gently, he placed her on the bed, where she tucked herself into a small, vulnerable shape.
Her sadness etched itself into her every movement, and seeing her this way, so unlike her usual self, stirred something fierce and protective within him.
He wanted to storm the halls, to confront every person who had dared treat her with cruelty. A fury simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
But that could wait; right now, she needed him by her side. He pulled the covers over her, lying beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
His hand drifted to her hair, gently stroking it, trying to bring her a sliver of comfort.
"Sleep, Salviana," he murmured softly, though his own heart was far from calm. He would hold her close, just as she needed, but the moment she drifted off, he vowed he'd make them pay.
Every last one.
When midnight arrived, Alaric lay awake, his gaze fixed on Salviana as she slept peacefully beside him.
Though as a vampire he required no sleep, tonight rest was further from his mind; he'd been waiting patiently, ensuring she slipped fully into her dreams before he left her side.
Silently, he slipped from the bed, wrapped himself in a dark cloak, and vanished into the night.
With the agility and speed only a vampire possessed, Alaric moved through the shadowed castle halls, evading the guards who felt only the gust of wind his presence left behind.
He arrived at the king's concubines' quarters, the place steeped in silence as midnight shrouded the estate.
Guards patrolled the grounds, their footsteps a distant rhythm he easily avoided. Slipping through the darkness, he made his way toward the hounds' den.
The two massive dogs, their coats dark and their growls deep, sensed his presence immediately, snarling and barking at the intrusion.
But as he lowered his hood and fixed them with an unyielding gaze, their aggression faltered, whimpers replacing the growls.
"Hounds," Alaric bellowed.
He reached through the bars, grasping one by the neck with a strength that choked the life from it, feeling its resistance fade.
He glanced at the second hound, considering a swift end, but anger flared. They'd been stupid enough to hurt his wife.
Couldn't they have sensed her divinity?
Instead, he slammed it against the stone wall, and the creature crumpled with a whine before silence fell again.
Moments later, the guards—alarmed by the dogs' brief, furious barks—rushed to the scene. Alaric had already disappeared, a dark shadow slipping past them, leaving them bewildered as they found the bodies of two lifeless hounds lying in the bloodied den.
In the stillness of the castle's midnight, Alaric's message was clear: no one would dare harm his wife without facing the consequences. And if they were wise, they would learn that warning well.
But the Velthornes were a thousand times more stubborn and cruel than they could ever be wise.
~~~{────────────
Dusk.
Salviana's Chambers.
Wyfkeep Castle, Wyfellon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
The early morning sun cast faint streaks of light through the drapes, a gentle warmth creeping into the room. Alaric lay in bed, his arms draped protectively around Salviana, who was curled up beside him, her breathing soft and even. Just then, a quiet but persistent knock sounded at the door. Alaric's brow furrowed, irritation flashing across his face.
A muffled voice came from outside. "My lord," Richard's familiar tone urged, "it's urgent."
Alaric clenched his jaw, casting a quick glance at Salviana to make sure she hadn't stirred. He slowly released her, easing himself out of bed without a sound. With his bare feet padding silently over the cold floor, he reached the door, opening it just a crack.
Richard's face appeared, lined with concern. "Apologies, my lord, but we've been summoned—an urgent matter. The council awaits, and…" He hesitated, his eyes flicking to the barely cracked door. "There's unrest near the borders."
Alaric raised a hand. "Quietly," he whispered, glancing back to ensure Salviana was still asleep. "Wait for me outside."
Richard gave a solemn nod, retreating down the hall. Alaric closed the door as quietly as he'd opened it. For a moment, he stood in place, the pull of duty at odds with his reluctance to leave Salviana's side. He knew he needed to be swift, yet every step he took, he was careful not to make a single sound.
He crossed the room to the closet, pulling out a dark tunic and his thick leather belt. Then he moved to the armory chest against the wall, lifting the lid with deliberate slowness to avoid even the smallest creak.
He took out his sword, laying it on the nearby table as he continued gathering his attire and adjusting each piece. Layer by layer, he prepared himself, buckling on his leather armour, strapping his sheath to his waist—all the while glancing over at Salviana to make sure she was undisturbed.
Once he was dressed, he paused for a moment at the bedside, looking down at her sleeping form. Her hair spilled over the pillow in soft waves, and her expression was peaceful, lips parted slightly as she dreamed. He couldn't help but reach out, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face.
"Salviana…" he whispered, a tender farewell he hadn't planned on giving voice to.
With the gentlest touch, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She stirred slightly, her lashes fluttering, but he pulled back before she could wake.
But then she mumbled something pausing him in his tracks.