Alaric nodded and turned to Salviana. "Would you like to see?"
"Koi eggs?" she asked, standing as he did.
"Yes," he said, guiding her to a smaller pond nearby. "Breeding them is an art. The eggs are delicate, and only the strongest survive. It takes time and care, but it's worth it when they grow into something so remarkable."
The nursery pond was shaded, with gentle currents circulating to protect the tiny eggs. Alaric knelt again, inspecting the water. "Look closely," he said.
Salviana leaned in, her eyes catching the faint shimmer of translucent eggs clinging to the rocks and plants. "They're so small," she marveled.
"And fragile," Alaric said. "But soon, they'll hatch, and the fry will grow. They'll need protection, good water, and the right food. It's a process, but one I enjoy."
Salviana smiled, watching him. "You talk about them the way I talk about salvia flowers."
Alaric chuckled. "Perhaps we're not so different after all."
They spent the next hour wandering the area, talking about the koi and their shared love for nature. Salviana admired how much care Alaric put into something so delicate, a stark contrast to his usual commanding presence.
As they walked back to the castle, Salviana's thoughts lingered on the koi and the surprising layers of her husband. She reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.
"You're full of surprises, Alaric," she said softly.
"And you make life worth surprising," he replied, squeezing her hand gently
Evening.
The air was crisp as Alaric and Salviana walked side by side through the grand corridors of the castle, the echo of their footsteps mingling with the soft rustling of silk and velvet.
Salviana's heart fluttered in her chest, though not from fear of the unknown—she had long since grown used to Alaric's presence, his strength, and his commanding energy—but rather from the way the castle's walls seemed to close in around them.
Alaric's hand, warm and firm around hers, was a silent assurance, a wordless promise that he was there, and he was hers.
She tried not to think too much about the whispers, the stares that followed them as they passed. Tonight, she had chosen an elegant gown of deep green velvet that complimented her features, the delicate beading along the bodice catching the light with each step.
Her hair was pinned in soft curls, and the faintest trace of perfume lingered in the air around her. She looked beautiful, though her mind constantly wondered if her beauty was enough in the eyes of the royal family.
Ahead, the royal family appeared—Prince Richard, Princess Elaine, and their younger sister, Princess Freya—walking toward the grand dining hall.
Their regal presence was imposing, their gazes cold as they moved with practiced grace, their faces set in the perfect mask of royal decorum.
The family's whispers were loud, as though they were waiting for the moment Alaric and Salviana would join them.
But that moment never came.
As they approached, Salviana's grip on Alaric's hand tightened slightly. She had heard the rumors.
She knew they had been banned from the dining hall after the unfortunate incident with the previous dinner, the one where her presence had been met with icy stares and harsh words.
It had been humiliating, the whispers about her background, her blood, her very presence—yet another sign of her place at the bottom of the royal hierarchy.
Before Salviana could fully process the situation, Alaric's hand subtly tightened around hers, drawing her closer. She looked up at him, startled, only to find him watching her with that unreadable expression, his lips curling into a faint smile.
"We don't need their approval," Alaric murmured, his voice low and smooth, like velvet. He was guiding her away from the royal family's path, turning them toward a quieter hallway that led away from the dining hall.
Salviana's heart twisted in her chest, but she didn't protest. She wasn't sure if it was because of Alaric's reassurance, or if it was because she didn't want to risk drawing attention to herself.
"But Alaric—" she began, her voice uncertain, the familiar pang of guilt creeping in. She could almost hear the whispers behind them, the judgment, the cold dismissal from the family.
"They can whisper all they want," he interrupted softly, his tone firm, though not harsh. He looked down at her with an expression that bordered on affectionate and fierce. "Let them talk. It doesn't change anything."
She could feel his determination in the firm way he held her hand, the way his broad shoulders squared against the growing tension in the air.
She couldn't help but feel the burn of humiliation in her chest, but she didn't want to show it—not to him, not in front of the cold, calculating royals.
"You don't care, do you?" Salviana whispered, as they walked further away, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. "About what they say?"
Alaric's gaze never wavered from the path ahead, his grip on her hand unyielding. "Not in the slightest. They can think what they want. It doesn't matter."
Salviana's lips parted as if to argue, but she stopped herself. Alaric's confidence was a strength that both calmed and intimidated her. His presence was like a shield around her, and for once, she found herself leaning into it instead of retreating.
She glanced back over her shoulder, toward the royal family, who were still watching them, their expressions unreadable. Prince Richard's eyes were cold, calculating; Elaine's gaze was sharper than a blade, her mouth drawn tight. And Freya... Freya's face was twisted in disgust, though she tried to hide it.
Salviana felt the sting of their judgment and, for a fleeting moment, thought of turning back. She had always been one to seek approval, to smooth over conflict, to please. But then, she felt Alaric's fingers tighten around hers once more, pulling her back into the present.
"I won't make you face them yet," Alaric murmured. "Not while they're like this. You are mine, Salviana. And mine alone."
She swallowed hard, feeling a strange mix of warmth and fear spread through her. There was a power in his words, in the way he claimed her—not with force, but with the calm assurance of someone who knew their worth. She felt it, too, in the way she was standing next to him, unshaken by the royal family's cold glares.
The whispers faded behind them as they turned a corner, leaving the family and their scorn far behind. It was just the two of them now. The world outside seemed distant and irrelevant compared to the strength they had found in each other.
She smiled up at him, grateful, yet unsure. "Thank you, Alaric."
He glanced down at her, his lips curling slightly in amusement. "For what?"
"For not letting me go back."
His expression softened, and for a brief moment, she saw something unguarded in his eyes. "You're stronger than you think, Salviana. You don't need their approval. Not anymore."
Salviana looked down at their intertwined hands, her pulse racing in her chest. Perhaps Alaric was right. Perhaps this was where she belonged, not in the shadows of the royal family, but by his side, where the whispers couldn't touch her.
And for the first time since her arrival, Salviana truly believed that, with him, she was enough.