And after last night… Alaric trailed off, his voice dropping into a seductive rumble. "Do you know how close I feel to you now? How much I crave you?"
Salviana's cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink, and she tried to wriggle free, but his grip only tightened. "Alaric—"
A knock interrupted their moment, and a maid's voice called through the door. "Lady Salviana, the tailor has arrived with your dresses."
Her eyes lit up, and she sat up immediately, the blankets slipping from her shoulders. "Oh! They're here!"
Alaric groaned, his hold on her loosening as she tried to slip away. "No," he grumbled, his voice almost petulant. "You're not leaving."
Salviana heard the door click locked and her eyes widened. He could do that?!
"Alaric, I've been waiting for those dresses for almost a week!" she protested, hurriedly slipping out of bed.
"I've been waiting for you for almost a month," he retorted, sitting up and watching her intently. His pale blue eyes tracked her every movement as she tied her hair back and smoothed down her nightgown.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her lips twitching into a teasing smile. "You always get what you want, dearest husband. Let me have this."
He groaned again, this time flopping back onto the bed dramatically. "You're cruel, Salviana," he muttered, his arm draped over his eyes.
"No, you said I was fiery and you love it," she shot back playfully.
"I do," he admitted, peeking at her through his fingers. "But don't think I'm letting you off so easily. The moment you're back, you're mine for the rest of the day."
She laughed softly, her heart fluttering at the intensity in his voice. "Fine. I won't take long."
He propped himself up on his elbows as she began to tidy up quickly, brushing her hair and donning a simple dress.
His gaze never left her, sharp and focused, like a predator watching its prey.
"You're beautiful," he said suddenly, his voice softer now, almost reverent.
Her hands paused mid-motion, and she turned to look at him, her cheeks flushing. "You're impossible," she whispered, flustered by the sincerity in his tone.
"I'm yours," he corrected, his lips curling into a small, lazy smile. "And I'll be waiting right here when you come back."
"Don't sulk while I'm gone," she teased, heading for the door.
He smirked, lying back against the pillows. "No promises, my fiery one."
Salviana shook her head, her heart full as she left the room. Even as she descended the stairs to meet the tailor, she could still feel Alaric's gaze, his possessive love lingering like a warm embrace.
The morning air in the hall was filled with a quiet buzz of activity, and as she entered, the room shifted with subtle energy.
Jean, Sarah, Emma, two other passive maids, Mr. Spur Stanley—the tailor—and his young apprentice Monica Asilem were waiting.
Jean looked much better than she had last night, though there was still a faint shadow of guilt in her expression and Salviana wondered what was wrong.
"Good morning, my lady," Jean began, bowing slightly, her voice tinged with contrition.
Salviana smiled warmly, brushing off any lingering awkwardness. "Good morning, Jean. I trust you rested well?"
Jean nodded hesitantly, but her eyes flickered with relief at her lady's graciousness.
Maid Sarah and Emma, however, looked delighted to see Salviana. They practically beamed as they greeted her in unison. "My lady!" they chirped, their happiness contagious.
The two other maids, less familiar and more reserved, stood quietly to the side.
Their postures were stiff, and Salviana noticed the way their gazes darted around the room, lingering on her with a curious edge.
They weren't just passive—they were observant, too much so. It was as if they were gathering information rather than performing their duties.
Salviana didn't miss it, but she chose to focus on the positive.
She offered a polite nod to them before turning her attention to the tailor and his apprentice. "Mr. Stanley, Monica, I'm impressed you made it so early despite the rain. How was the journey?"
The tailor, a middle-aged man with a carefully maintained mustache and an air of pride, straightened. "My lady, it is always an honor to serve you. The rain was of no concern—we couldn't keep royalty waiting."
Monica, a young woman with bright eyes and nimble hands, nodded enthusiastically beside him. "We are grateful to have the opportunity to present our work, my lady."
Salviana's smile widened. "Your dedication is appreciated. Now, let's see the fruits of your labor."
Mr. Stanley and Monica eagerly opened the large leather bag they had brought, revealing an array of dresses.
The fabrics shimmered under the soft morning light—silks, velvets, and satins in rich, jewel-like hues.
Embroideries of gold and silver threads adorned the bodices, and intricate beadwork added an extra touch of elegance.
"You've outdone yourself," Salviana remarked, her tone genuinely impressed.
The tailor puffed his chest with pride. "Efficiency and excellence are my creed, my lady. I know you deserve nothing less."
Salviana stepped closer, running her fingers over the fabric of a deep emerald gown. "Stunning work," she said. "Each piece speaks of your skill."
As the tailor and Monica began explaining the designs mostly to Jean, Salviana took a moment to glance back at her maids. "Sarah, Emma, Jean—how did you all fare through the storm last night?"
Emma, ever cheerful, replied first. "It was heavy, my lady, but nothing we couldn't handle."
Sarah nodded in agreement, though her gaze flicked briefly to the quiet maids in the corner.
Jean, looking slightly sheepish, added, "I… I was a bit unnerved, my lady, but I'm well now."
Salviana smiled softly at her. "I'm glad to hear it. A storm can be unsettling, but it always passes." Her voice held a double meaning, a reassurance to Jean that her absence during the storm was forgiven.
"I apologize for not being able to stand with you through the storm," Jean said softly.