Her expression softened as she reached out to touch his hand. "You wouldn't hurt me, Alaric. You're always so careful."
He looked at her, guilt flickering in his dark eyes. "Careful? Salviana, I walked away from our bed this afternoon because I was scared. I got carried away and—hurt you without realizing it."
Her lips curved into a gentle smile. "It's fine. I enjoyed it."
"That doesn't mean I do," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Promise me something."
"What?"
"If I ever go too far, you'll stop me. No hesitation."
She nodded, her gaze steady. "I promise."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then, as if to ease the tension,
Alaric reached across the table, his cool fingers brushing against her cheek.
"You're fine now?" he asked softly, his thumb grazing her skin.
She leaned into his touch, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I'm fine, Alaric. Truly."
His eyes softened as he took in her smile, his own lips curving faintly. "Good. Because I'd rather die than let anything harm you—even myself."
Her heart swelled at his words, and she let out a soft laugh. "You can be so dramatic."
"For you? Always," he teased, his hand lingering against her cheek for a moment longer before pulling back.
The rest of the dinner continued in comfortable silence, the air between them lighter, yet the bond they shared stronger than ever.
The maids moved efficiently through the chambers, their hands skilled as they prepared the couple for the night.
Salviana sat at the edge of the bed, her hair being brushed out by Thalia, the newest maid, whose touch was gentle yet precise.
Alaric stood nearby, his sharp features softened by the dim light of the room as he shed his layers with quiet grace.
The crack of distant thunder rolled across the skies as the first droplets of rain began to patter against the windows.
Salviana glanced toward the glass panes, a serene smile tugging at her lips.
"Rain," she murmured, her voice soft.
"It'll sing us to sleep," Alaric said, moving to her side. He dismissed the maids with a wave of his hand, his attention already fixed on his wife.
Once the room was cleared, he gently tugged her into his arms, pulling her against his chest.
The steady rhythm of the rain outside created a soothing symphony, wrapping the world in a cocoon of tranquility.
Salviana sighed as she rested her head against his shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the fabric of his nightshirt. "For a moment, it feels like there's nothing else—no wars, no ghosts, no fears. Just us."
"Just us," he echoed, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. His arms tightened around her as if to anchor her to him, to shield her from the chaos beyond their walls.
They settled into the bed together, their limbs entwined as the storm continued its gentle serenade.
The flicker of lightning cast brief shadows on the walls, but neither paid it any mind. In each other's arms, the world's problems seemed like distant echoes, unimportant and far away.
Sleep came easily, like a warm tide washing over them.
As the rain poured down and the night deepened, they slept, their breaths syncing as if in quiet harmony with the storm outside.
For that night, they existed only in their small, perfect world—untouched by the burdens they carried.
The storm had subsided by dawn, leaving the skies painted in muted tones of gray.
The soft rustling of the wind against the curtains was the only sound in the room as Alaric sat on the edge of the bed, watching Salviana's peaceful face.
Her red hair spilled across the pillow like dark silk, and the faint rise and fall of her chest gave him a rare sense of tranquility.
He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, and whispered, "Sleep well, my love."
Without a sound, he slipped out of bed, donned his cloak, and exited the chambers.
The castle was still, its vast halls bathed in the cool light of morning. His boots echoed softly as he made his way to the royal sanctuary.
At the Royal Sanctuary
The clinic smelled of herbs and ointments, a faint mix of lavender and something sharper—likely antiseptics used to clean wounds.
Beds lined the walls, each occupied by knights and warriors who had survived the recent battles.
Some were bandaged heavily, others slept deeply, still recovering from the trauma their bodies had endured.
Alaric's presence commanded immediate attention. Those who were awake stirred, attempting to straighten themselves despite their injuries. The prince's black eyes swept over them, sharp yet warm.
"Your grace," one of the knights rasped, bowing his head.
"Rest," Alaric said, his voice gentle but firm. "You've earned it a hundred times over."
He moved through the rows until he reached a secluded bed near the end of the room.
Richard, his personal knight and most trusted companion, lay propped against several pillows, his left arm wrapped in thick bandages, and his chest rising and falling with visible effort.
"Still breathing, I see," Alaric said, a rare smirk tugging at his lips as he drew a chair close to the bed.
Richard's eyes opened, sharp as ever despite the weariness etched into his face. "Barely. But if you've come to gloat, my lord, I might die just to spite you."
Alaric chuckled softly. "You're too stubborn for that."
Richard grinned weakly, the expression making him look more like the reckless soldier Alaric had fought alongside for years. "True. Someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed doing something stupid."
"I'll take that under advisement," Alaric said, leaning back in his chair. His gaze flicked briefly to the bandages. "How are you faring, truly?"
Richard's grin faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "Could be worse. The healers say I'll live, though I doubt I'll be swinging a sword anytime soon."