Alaric arrived, freshly dressed and exuding his usual air of authority, though his stride was sharper than usual. The news of the attempted arson on Jean had reached his ears while he was on his way to his chambers.
But instead of heading there, he pivoted and made his way toward Jean's quarters. If there was one place he was sure to find answers—and Lucius—it was there.
When he reached the door, he knocked firmly, announcing himself. "It's Alaric. Open up."
The door swung open almost instantly, revealing Lucius. The old vampire stood tall, his presence crackling with unspent rage.
His dark eyes shimmered with barely restrained fury, the kind that seemed ready to ignite at the slightest spark.
"You have to kill that woman before she spirals," Lucius said without preamble, stepping aside to let Alaric in. His tone was cold and absolute, as though he had already planned ten different ways to eliminate the threat.
Alaric moved further into the room, his brows arching. "Why didn't you do it yourself last night?" he asked casually, though the glint in his eyes suggested he already knew the answer.
Lucius let out a sharp exhale, the frustration clear in the clench of his jaw. "Jean stopped me," he admitted, his voice laced with irritation. "She begged me not to. And you know how impossible it is to say no to her when she looks at me like that."
Alaric smirked, his expression half-amused, half-skeptical. "The great and terrifying Lucius, tamed by a single look. I never thought I'd see the day."
Lucius shot him a glare, though it lacked real venom. "Mock me all you want, boy, but Jean has a way of making even a centuries-old vampire question his instincts."
Alaric chuckled, shaking his head. "You're whipped, old man."
"Careful," Lucius warned, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Alaric leaned against the edge of a nearby table, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't worry about Margaretha. I'll make sure she's punished. Properly. You have my word."
Lucius nodded, though the tension in his shoulders didn't fully dissipate. "See that you do," he said, his tone serious. "She's dangerous, Alaric. If we let her slip through the cracks, she'll come back for Jean—or worse."
"I won't let that happen," Alaric promised, his voice steady and firm.
They exchanged a few more words, the kind of banter that was half-teasing, half-reassuring. Lucius, despite his outward anger, seemed to ease under Alaric's assurances.
As Alaric turned to leave, he cast one last glance at Lucius. "Try not to brood too much, old man. It's bad for the complexion."
Lucius snorted, the faintest hint of a grin breaking through. "And you try not to get yourself killed with that sharp tongue of yours, prince."
With that, Alaric left, his resolve solidified. Margaretha wouldn't escape justice—not while he had any say in the matter.
Alaric entered his chambers, the heavy oak doors closing softly behind him. To his surprise, Salviana stood by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the damp morning light.
She was dressed immaculately, her crimson gown cinched perfectly at the waist, cascading like a river of fire to the floor. Her fiery red hair was pinned elegantly, with a few loose curls framing her delicate face.
It was almost impossible to believe this was the same woman who had nearly died in his arms the night before.
"You look…" Alaric began, his voice trailing off as he crossed the room toward her. He pulled her into his arms, holding her as if letting go would undo everything. "You look like you could conquer the world, my Salviana."
She smiled softly, leaning into him. "It takes more than poison to break me, Alaric."
His chest tightened at her words. Her strength always left him in awe, but it also made his desire to shield her even stronger. Before he could respond, the door creaked open, and Jean appeared, her presence as bold as ever.
"Well, aren't you two just nauseatingly sweet?" Jean teased, her sharp blue eyes glinting with mischief.
She was dressed in a midnight-blue gown with silver accents, her neckline modest yet regal, and her dark hair twisted into an intricate braid.
Despite her near-death experience, her aura screamed defiance and resilience.
Alaric smirked. "Jealous, Jean?"
Jean shrugged. "Only if you start reciting poetry. I'm here to drag you out of this love nest. There's a court session to attend, and I assume Margaretha's fate is on the docket?"
Alaric stiffened slightly at the mention of Margaretha, his jaw tightening. "Yes. I was about to head there. They'll discuss the execution hall and decide her punishment."
"I'm coming with you," Jean announced, folding her arms.
Before Alaric could protest, Salviana stepped forward, her expression determined. "And so am I."
Alaric turned to his wife, his brow furrowed. "Salviana, no. You need rest after yesterday. Let me handle this."
"I've rested enough," Salviana argued, stepping closer. Her golden eyes shimmered with a mix of stubbornness and determination. "She tried to kill my lady-in-waiting and indirectly threatened this kingdom. Do you think I'll sit idly by while you deal with it alone?"
Alaric opened his mouth to refuse, but then Salviana unleashed her secret weapon: the softest, most endearing pout he had ever seen.
Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, and her eyes widened just enough to melt the resolve of even the coldest heart.
Alaric sighed in defeat, running a hand through his dark hair. "Fine. But you're staying close to me at all times."
Salviana smiled triumphantly, and Jean chuckled. "You're a softie, Alaric."
"Quiet, Jean," Alaric grumbled, leading the way.
When they stepped out into the grand corridors, they were a sight to behold.
Alaric, in his finely tailored royal attire, exuded power and command. His long black cloak billowed behind him, and the ornate silver embroidery on his coat gleamed with every step.
Salviana, with her fiery gown and commanding presence, looked every inch the queen she was destined to be. Jean, though technically a lady-in-waiting, held her own with an air of nobility that demanded respect.
As they marched toward Wyfn-Court, the grand royal court, whispers filled the air.
Servants and nobles alike paused to watch the trio, their gazes drawn to the imposing aura that surrounded them.
It wasn't just their appearance—it was their intent. The gravity of their purpose was palpable.
Alaric's mind, however, was far from the admiration of onlookers. As much as he wanted to focus on Margaretha and her crimes, his thoughts kept circling back to Salviana.
Someone had poisoned her, and while Margaretha's actions were heinous, she wasn't responsible for that particular atrocity.
Whoever had dared to harm his wife would soon face a wrath that would make the execution hall seem merciful.
But first, they'd deal with Margaretha. One step at a time.
When they entered the grand hall of Wyfn-Court, the buzz of conversation died instantly.
All eyes turned to the trio as they strode down the aisle, their presence commanding absolute attention.
Alaric's expression was as sharp as a blade, while Salviana's fiery determination and Jean's calm confidence added to the charged atmosphere.
They were here to deliver justice, and nothing would stand in their way.
~~~{───────
~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Meanwhile, somewhere in Wyffellon, trouble stirred once more.
Serenity, The girl Alaric and Lucius had risked their lives to save had vanished. It wasn't the first time.
The morning after her dramatic rescue, she had slipped away from the care of Wyfhaven Sanctuary, a center dedicated to aiding the displaced and forgotten souls of the kingdom.
The founder of Wyfhaven, Lady Ellinora, stood in the main hall, her elegant features shadowed with worry.
The sanctuary, known for taking in the lost, orphaned, and wounded, was a sprawling stone structure with ivy climbing its walls. It was a haven, but it seemed even havens couldn't keep restless spirits at bay.
"I knew she wasn't ready to trust us," Ellinora murmured, her voice tinged with regret. She turned to the head steward, Robb, a middle-aged man with a stern countenance softened only by his tireless compassion. "How long has she been gone?"
"Since dawn, Lady Ellinora," Robb replied, clutching a ledger to his chest. "One of the guards reported seeing her near the Wyf-Wood forest before she disappeared into the mist."
Ellinora's lips pressed into a thin line as she paced. Serenity's fragile state had been evident from the moment she arrived.
Covered in bruises and trembling with fear, she had clung to silence like armor. Ellinora had hoped time and kindness would coax her into trusting them, but now it seemed the girl's fear had driven her back into the shadows.
"She's been through so much," Ellinora said softly, her gaze distant. "But running won't save her. We need to bring her back before she gets hurt again—or worse."
Robb nodded. "I've already dispatched a search party, but the woods are vast. If she doesn't want to be found…"