"My word, Jean that is not your problem, thank you for caring but you have nothing to worry about,"
Salviana reddened she could tell Jean felt apologetic for not staying with her through the storm, especially after hearing about the scene Salviana had made while waiting for her husband's delayed return.
The two silent maids remained still, their expressions neutral but their eyes sharp. Salviana made a mental note to keep an eye on them. For now, she turned her focus back to the tailor.
"Let's try some of these on," she said, clapping her hands lightly.
Monica stepped forward eagerly, holding up a sapphire-blue gown. "This one was designed specifically with your grace in mind, my lady. May I help you?"
"Of course," Salviana replied, allowing herself to be led to the side to examine the gown more closely.
As the tailor and his apprentice began presenting each dress, Salviana couldn't help but feel a small twinge of excitement.
Alaric's reluctance to let her leave earlier had been endearing, but this moment—surrounded by beautiful gowns and the diligent efforts of those who served her—reminded her of the joys of her position and her life.
Still, she knew Alaric would be waiting for her upstairs, undoubtedly sulking in the bed. The thought brought a small smile to her lips. Perhaps she wouldn't linger too long here.
After all, she had someone waiting who craved her company just as much as she craved his.
Salviana chose a breathtaking soft lace and chiffon dress, its pale blush hue a perfect match for her delicate elegance.
The gown flowed like liquid silk, clinging softly to her figure without being overly revealing. She adored it instantly.
With a smile, she stepped into the adjoining room to change.
When she emerged moments later, the room fell silent. Every gaze was on her, wide-eyed and admiring.
"Oh, my lady," Jean gasped, her hands clasped together. "You look absolutely stunning."
"Gorgeous," Sarah murmured, while Emma nodded fervently, beaming while the other maids smiled practiced smiles.
Salviana's cheeks warmed at the compliments, but then she felt it—a more intense, pressing gaze that made her heart skip.
She turned instinctively toward the stairs.
There, standing halfway down with one hand resting casually on the banister, was Alaric.
His deep crimson eyes locked onto her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he growled, low and possessive.
"You look exquisite, my fiery wife," he said, his voice like a rich, dark melody. "I suddenly have the unexplainable urge to show you around."
His words made Salviana blush furiously, her cheeks burning as his gaze remained fixed on her.
Around her, the other women in the room were not immune to his commanding presence; their chatter quieted to hushed whispers as Alaric descended the stairs.
As he strode toward Salviana, the tension in the room thickened, but then his sharp gaze flicked to Mr. Stanley, the tailor, who was standing off to the side with Monica.
Alaric's steps slowed, and his head tilted slightly as he observed the man. His expression darkened immediately.
"What is a man doing here?" he asked, his tone dangerously calm, though the growl beneath his words was unmistakable.
Salviana quickly stepped forward, placing her palm on his chest in a soothing gesture. "Dearest husband, that's Mr. Stanley, our tailor. He's supposed to be here," she explained gently, her tone light to diffuse his tension.
The tailor, slightly startled, quickly bowed. "Your Highness, it is an honor to serve the Lady Salviana."
Alaric's eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded the man but did not reply. Instead, he turned his full attention back to his wife.
His gaze softened slightly as he took her hand and pulled her closer.
Without a word, he twirled her in place, making her giggle at the unexpected motion.
When she stopped, slightly dizzy but smiling, he wrapped his arms around her waist and then he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his touch warm and firm.
Salviana could feel the intensity behind the simple gesture—the possessiveness, the affection. It sent a thrill through her, making her smile even wider.
"Alaric," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rising slightly on her toes to whisper in his ear.
"I'm not going to run away with a middle-aged tailor when I have the most handsome prince for a husband."
Alaric's lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking his usual stoic expression.
Without hesitation, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, his arm tightening around her waist.
The intimate display sent a ripple of heat through the room. Jean and the other maids turned bright red, their eyes darting away.
Even Monica looked flustered, while Mr. Stanley cleared his throat awkwardly, attempting to focus on the fabrics in his bag.
But Salviana and Alaric paid no attention to the others. In that moment, it was as if the room had faded away, leaving only the two of them.
When Alaric finally pulled back, he gazed down at her, his crimson eyes smoldering. "You're mine, Salviana. Never forget that."
"I couldn't even if I tried," she replied with a soft laugh, her smile radiant.
With that, Alaric led her away, leaving the room filled with flushed faces and murmured comments about the unmissable bond between the prince and his wife.
~~~{────────
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The cold breeze of last night's rain still lingered in the air, slipping through the open windows of their bedroom.
Alaric had left them ajar before heading downstairs, allowing the room to remain warm yet kissed by the crisp morning air.
Salviana stood by the door, arms crossed, her expression caught between amusement and irritation.
"Alaric, we're not done with Mr. Stanley," she reminded, her tone laced with playful exasperation.
"Your lady-in-waiting will handle it," Alaric dismissed casually, not sparing her a glance as he removed his coat.
"But I have other dresses I wanted to see," she insisted, her lips forming a small pout.