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Morning.
Bedroom, Wyfkeep Castle.
Wyfellon, Wyfn-Garde.
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Morning light crept softly into the chamber, casting a warm glow over Salviana's face as she stirred, blinking herself awake. The first thing she felt was the solid weight of Alaric's arm draped around her, holding her close. His breathing was steady, a gentle rise and fall, and his face looked softer than she'd ever seen it—a peaceful expression that softened his otherwise intense features.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him this vulnerable, if ever. Did he even sleep most nights? She wondered, finding it hard to imagine him still and resting rather than prowling the halls or tending to some matter of the night.
Her curiosity lingered, absorbing the subtle details of his sleeping form: the way his dark lashes rested against his cheeks, the slight part of his lips, and his relaxed brow, free of its usual intensity. She bit back a smile, thinking how strange it was to see her fierce, imposing husband so tranquil.
But then her attention drifted to her own situation—a pressing need she could no longer ignore. Her legs shifted, pressing together, and she squeezed her eyes shut in discomfort, trying to delay it just a bit longer.
She didn't want to disturb him; he looked so peaceful, and there was something oddly comforting about being held like this, wrapped in his arms. She tried to relax again, but her body had other plans. She squirmed subtly, biting her lip, hoping to will away the urge.
The pressure only grew, and despite her best efforts to remain still, her need became impossible to ignore. She wriggled slightly, her legs tangling under the sheets as she shifted carefully, attempting to ease herself out of his hold without disturbing him. But Alaric's arm seemed to tighten instinctively, pulling her a bit closer, as if he sensed her movement even in sleep.
She froze, heart pounding, wondering if he'd wake up. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her like this, practically squirming to avoid waking him just to answer nature's call.
She clenched her legs together, biting back a groan of discomfort. It felt almost silly, holding back when relief was just a few steps away, yet something about leaving his embrace—even for a moment—was oddly difficult.
She took a breath, steeling herself to gently lift his arm and slide out of bed. Alaric shifted again, this time murmuring something under his breath, his face inching closer to the crook of her neck. A soft smile broke onto her lips at his sleepy possessiveness, even as her own need became more urgent. This tug-of-war between the pull of his closeness and the pressing discomfort was quickly testing her resolve.
Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer. With as much care as she could muster, she tried to wriggle free, hoping to pad softly out of the room and return before he even noticed she was gone but nope.
"What are you doing?" Alaric's deep voice wrapped around her, low and gruff, sending a shiver up Salviana's spine. She froze, caught mid-squirm, feeling the warmth of his gaze prickling at her skin.
"Mmm?" She tried to play it off, her voice coming out in a breathless mumble as she pressed her thighs together, attempting to contain herself. Her brows arched high, hoping to look innocent.
Alaric's eyes narrowed, his head tilting to study her face. "Why are you shaking? Are you cold?" His voice was laced with genuine concern, but there was an edge to it, almost as if he found her reaction amusing.
"No," she managed, her reply coming out tighter than she intended.
He shifted closer, loosening his hold on her. "Are you sure? You look… uncomfortable," he remarked, an amused glint in his eyes. "Did I hold you too tight?"
"No," she insisted, her voice a bit strained.
Alaric's frown deepened. "Salviana, you're not saying anything," he pressed, his brows drawn together in confusion.
"What?" she gasped, blinking up at him, flustered. Before she could gather her wits, he reached out, pressing a cool hand to her forehead, his touch lingering.
"You're sweating," he observed, his tone dramatic, his lips quirking up just slightly.
Sweating?! At this rate she'd pee on her body. In bed! With Alaric watching. She shook her head rapidly and in a flash of panic and embarrassment, Salviana wrenched herself from his arms, scrambling out of bed with a small squeal. She clutched the hem of her nightdress, trying to shield herself from his bewildered stare as she bolted toward the bathroom.
Alaric remained in bed for a split second, stunned, watching her flee with an expression that mingled amusement and confusion. Finally, he shook himself out of his stupor and followed her, stopping just outside the bathroom door. He stood there, feeling uncharacteristically awkward, his knuckles brushing against the wood.
"Fiery?" he called, a hint of concern breaking through his usual stoic tone.
A beat of silence.
"Are you alright?" His voice was gentler, a bit apprehensive.
"Don't worry about me, I'm fine!" came her muffled reply from the other side of the door, sounding anything but fine.
He frowned, tapping a knuckle against the door, his patience beginning to thin. "Then come out," he insisted, sounding both curious and a little bit amused. He almost had an idea of what was happening now but he couldn't stop the little fear blooming in his heart.
There was a pause, followed by her groan, and he could almost feel her frustration through the closed door. Alaric smirked, folding his arms as he waited.
He wasn't going anywhere.
'Oh no, oh no, oh no…' Salviana's heart raced as she sank back against the bathroom wall, wide-eyed and mortified. She hadn't meant for this to happen—she'd only rushed in here to pee, to just 'quickly' relieve herself and go back to bed.
But now… oh, this was a disaster! The moment she tried to hold everything back, her body betrayed her, and now she needed to do far more than just pee. And Alaric was right outside, 'waiting' for her.