"You're always right," Alaric praised, his lips quirking into a small smile.
The two retreated to the bath chamber, where steam soon filled the air. They slid into the warm water together, the heat enveloping them as the chill of the rain faded.
The silence between them was comfortable, their movements languid as they bathed each other.
Alaric's hands roamed her body, careful but deliberate, gliding the soapy water over her skin.
Salviana closed her eyes, savoring the intimate attention, her fingers tracing light patterns over his chest in return. Their gazes occasionally met, and the quiet spoke volumes.
After washing away the day's tension, they stepped from the bath. Alaric wrapped her in a soft towel, drying her skin with deliberate care.
She shivered again—not from cold, but from the intensity of his touch. He guided her to stand before the tall mirror.
Her reflection stared back at her, flushed and radiant, but beside her, there was only emptiness. Alaric's absence in the glass sent a thrill of unease down her spine, a reminder of his otherworldly nature.
Alaric ignored the mirror, his focus entirely on her. Taking a small vial of scented oil, he poured a bit into his palms, warming it before smoothing it over her skin.
His touch was slow and reverent, trailing over her shoulders, down her arms, and along her back.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and deep as his hands continued their journey.
Salviana's breath hitched when his palms slid over her hips and brushed her thighs, coming close—too close.
Her body trembled with anticipation, her mind racing. She was already wet, aching for him to take it further.
But instead of crossing that threshold, he leaned in and kissed her bare shoulder.
"Alaric…" she whispered, her voice breathless, her need unmistakable.
He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bedroom as though she weighed nothing. Her body pressed against his, every movement of his muscles reminding her of his supernatural strength.
He didn't stop at the bed. Instead, he brought her to the mirrored cupboard stool at the corner of the room.
Lowering her onto it, he knelt before her, his hands on either side of her thighs.
His gaze locked with hers, dark and intent, as though he were memorizing every detail of her flushed face and parted lips.
Slowly, he trailed kisses up her legs, his lips brushing against her skin like whispers.
"Alaric, please…" Salviana's voice was a soft plea, her hands tangling in his hair.
But he didn't give in to her unspoken desires—not yet. Instead, he kissed the inside of her thigh, his lips lingering there before he pulled back with a smirk that left her trembling.
"Patience, my love," he murmured, his voice a silken tease.
Salviana groaned softly, her head falling back as her pulse raced. She could feel the tension building between them, an unbearable yet thrilling anticipation.
Alaric stood, pulling her up with him. Their lips met again, this time with a hunger that matched the storm still raging outside.
A sharp clap of thunder broke their heated kiss, startling Salviana. She pulled back, her breathing uneven as she mumbled, "I need to brush my hair."
Alaric's dark eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her. She switches between topic quickly, her attention span was rather wavy while he was more of a single minded person.
"I'll do it," he offered smoothly, leaning back but still keeping her close.
Salviana glanced up at him, surprised. "Of course you would," she teased, a playful glint in her eye. "You sent the maids away, didn't you?"
Alaric smirked, his lips curving into that signature, devilishly handsome smile of his. "What would you do for me in return?" he asked, his voice rich with amusement.
"You're perfect," Salviana said sweetly, batting her lashes at him in mock innocence.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, my fiery one, that sweet mouth won't save you this time," he said, his tone teasing but firm.
"Well," Salviana started, tilting her head in thought. "You don't have sore muscles. I could've given you a massage."
Alaric arched a brow. "You're right. I don't have sore muscles," he admitted. Then, after a pause, he added with a sly grin, "But you could massage my head."
Her brows furrowed in concern. "Do you have headaches?"
"It's a frequent issue," Alaric confessed, his tone softening. "They tend to come stronger after wars like this."
Salviana's heart tightened at his honesty. "Okay," she agreed, her voice tender. "I'll take care of you."
Alaric's expression softened in return, and he helped her to her feet, guiding her gently toward the dressing area.
Retrieving one of her new dresses—a soft, flowing fabric in a deep emerald green that complemented her complexion—he held it out to her.
"Let me help," he murmured, and she nodded.
With deft fingers, he lifted the dress over her head, the material gliding over her shoulders.
His hands lingered as he adjusted the fit, smoothing it over her hips with an appreciative glance at her figure.
He tied the delicate ribbons at the back, his fingers brushing her skin in a way that sent shivers down her spine.
"There," he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Perfect."
Salviana smiled, feeling her cheeks warm under his gaze. "Your turn," she said, turning to fetch his clothes.
She picked out a finely tailored black tunic with silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar, paired with fitted trousers that emphasized his lean, muscular frame. "This will do," she decided, holding them up.
Alaric allowed her to dress him, standing still as she worked. She carefully slid the tunic over his shoulders, smoothing the fabric and fastening the intricate buttons.
Her hands lingered at his chest for a moment, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric.
Then she moved to his trousers, kneeling slightly to help him pull them on.
When she looked up, her gaze met his, and she saw the faintest smirk playing at his lips. "Enjoying yourself, my love?" he teased.