"Dreams I took away."
Salviana reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. "And you must have been part of those dreams," she said gently. "You weren't the end of them—you were the culmination."
He looked at her, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her conviction never wavered as she continued. "Her love lives on through you, Alaric. Her legacy. Her name. You're proof of all that she wanted to achieve, and she would be proud of the man you've become."
For a moment, he didn't speak, his throat working as he swallowed thickly. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Salviana gave him a small smile. "You're not a mistake. Not to her, and certainly not to me."
The tender moment was interrupted by a maid stepping into the room, her voice chipper. "Your Graces, dinner is ready!"
Alaric stood, pulling Salviana up with him. "Let's go feed you," he said, his tone lighter now.
"And then you can feed," Salviana quipped playfully, her voice low and suggestive.
They stopped, their eyes locking. The tension broke almost immediately as they both burst into laughter.
"Did we just—" Salviana began, giggling.
"We did," Alaric confirmed, chuckling.
As their laughter died down, he leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Come on, wife. Let's eat."
Later, as she ate and he watched her with an indulgent smile, Salviana felt a warm certainty settle in her chest. Whatever shadows lingered from the past, they were no match for the light they brought into each other's lives.
Earlier,
Salviana reached her chambers after leaving Jean's place, her mind swirling with thoughts of what lay ahead.
She paused at her vanity, retouching her makeup with practiced precision. Her fingers smoothed the faintest crease in her gown as she studied herself in the mirror.
Satisfied, she smiled, though the expression was tinged with nerves. Taking a deep breath, she rose and made her way to the door.
When she stepped out, her chambermaids were already waiting.
"Your Grace," one of them said, dipping her head respectfully, "are you heading somewhere?"
"Yes," Salviana replied, adjusting her skirts. "To the queen's chambers."
The maids exchanged quick glances, their curiosity evident, though they remained composed.
One of them handed her a delicate basket containing the embroidery work she'd finished earlier.
"Good luck, Your Grace," the maid said softly, as if aware of the unspoken tension surrounding the visit.
Salviana accepted the basket with a gracious nod and left. Outside, two guards stationed near her chambers snapped to attention.
"Your Grace," they greeted her, bowing deeply.
She acknowledged them with a small smile. As they fell into step beside her, one of them spoke.
"The queen's chambers are quite a walk, Your Grace. Shall we summon a carriage?"
She shook her head, her smile unwavering. "No, I could use the fresh air."
The guards exchanged a brief look but said nothing more.
The path wound through the sprawling grounds of Wyfn-Garde, past the famed Wyfgroove Garden, the largest and most beautiful flower garden in the region.
Salviana's gaze softened as she took in the vibrant blooms swaying in the gentle breeze. The air was perfumed with the mingling scents of roses, lavender, and jasmine.
"Your Grace," one of the guards ventured, "would you like to rest in the garden for a moment?"
Salviana turned to him, her golden eyes lighting up with a youthful eagerness. "Yes, I'd love to."
Her enthusiasm caught the guards off guard. They glanced at each other, bemused.
It was hard to reconcile the image of this spirited woman with her stoic and brooding husband, Alaric.
The guards escorted her to a quaint cubicle nestled in the garden—a wooden pavilion draped with flowering vines.
The space felt secluded, as if it existed in its own little world amidst the grandeur of Wyfgroove.
The garden maids, alerted by her presence, hurried over. "Your Grace," one of them asked politely, "is there anything you'd like?"
"Just water, please," Salviana said, her tone gentle.
One maid rushed off to fetch it, while the other stood silently nearby. Salviana smiled, glancing around at the vibrant expanse of flowers. "This garden is lovely," she mused aloud. "I'd love to paint here someday."
The maid didn't respond. Her silence was unsettling. Salviana glanced at her, noting the stiff posture and lowered gaze.
It dawned on her—this wasn't one of her chambermaids. These maids were trained to serve but not speak unless directly asked.
Her initial warmth dimmed, replaced by a flicker of discomfort. She shifted in her seat, her fingers brushing the edge of the basket on her lap.
Before she could dwell on it further, the other maid returned, carrying a tray with a jug and a cup.
As she poured, Salviana noticed the liquid wasn't clear as she'd expected.
"I asked for water," Salviana said, her voice calm but questioning.
The maid offered a polite smile and cleared her throat. "This is the garden's most popular juice, Your Grace. You should try it."
Salviana hesitated but nodded. "Alright. Thank you."
She took a tentative sip, the tangy sweetness surprising but pleasant. Relaxing slightly, she leaned back and let the cool breeze wash over her.
As she gazed into the distance, her attention was caught by two figures walking along the path outside the garden—Christiana and Jolene.
They were giggling, their heads bent close together as they cast fleeting glances in Salviana's direction.
Salviana's fingers tightened around the cup, though she forced herself to remain composed.
Let them giggle, she thought, her lips curving into a faint, determined smile. I don't care.
She took another sip of the juice, letting its refreshing flavor calm her nerves.
After a while, Salviana stood, smoothing the front of her gown and forcing herself to take a steadying breath.
She hated to admit it, but her insides felt like they were tightening into knots. Gulping down her nerves, she picked up the basket and resumed her walk. She thought it might be the nerves.
The guards followed closely behind, their footsteps a steady rhythm against the stone path.