A few days later, Salviana and Jean were fully recovered, their energy restored, ready to face the world again.
But whispers had already begun to circulate through the castle and the kingdom. Rumors about Salviana being cursed—or worse, a dark witch—spread like wildfire.
It was the talk of nobles and commoners alike. Salviana's striking beauty, with her fiery red hair and vivid green eyes, was now seen as a mark of something otherworldly.
Her grace, her luck, her mere presence—it hadn't sat well with some before, and now, those doubts were bubbling to the surface.
Jean sat in her room, trying to tame her hair as she got ready for the day.
She frowned in frustration, struggling to fix a pin that refused to stay in place.
"Stubborn thing," she muttered under her breath.
Lucius appeared at the door, his sharp eyes taking in her struggle.
Without a word, he crossed the room, plucked the pin from her hand, and deftly slid it into her hair.
Jean blushed at the unexpected gentleness of his touch. "Thank you," she murmured, offering him a shy smile.
Lucius's lips quirked into a smirk. "You're quite adorable when you're frustrated," he teased.
Jean huffed, crossing her arms. "Don't get used to it."
He chuckled, finding her sassiness endearing. She paused for a moment, considering something, then spoke up.
"We should head to your mansion and start renovations," she said, glancing at him.
Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Renovations?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "You need your own home, Lucius. You've been staying here since that night you returned. It's time to reclaim your space."
Her words struck him oddly, and for a moment, he felt a pang of hurt. "Are you trying to push me away?" he asked, his voice tinged with doubt.
Jean's eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head. "No, not at all. But you can't keep staying here forever. This is the castle, Lucius. You need your own place—a proper home."
Lucius studied her for a moment, then sighed. "I suppose you're right. But you don't have to be so direct about it."
Jean rolled her eyes. "Stop taking everything so personally. It's not a bad thing. You'll see. Tonight, we'll start cleaning and see what we can do with the place."
Lucius nodded reluctantly. "Fine, but I'm holding you to that. And no slacking."
Jean grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."
"Are you planning to invite anyone to help?" Lucius asked.
Jean tilted her head thoughtfully. "Maybe I could ask Salviana. She's good with things like this."
Lucius's expression turned stern. "Absolutely not. If Alaric finds out we dragged his wife into something like this, he'll have our heads. Literally."
Jean laughed. "Fair point. I'll manage without her."
As she finished getting ready, she caught her reflection in the mirror and smiled, smoothing down her dress.
Lucius, leaning casually against the doorframe, watched her with quiet admiration.
"You look lovely," he said, his voice softer now.
Jean turned to him, her smile growing warmer. "Thank you," she said. Then, with a quick wave, she left the room to start her day.
Her thoughts, however, lingered on Salviana.
The rumors about her being cursed or a dark witch had spread like a storm, casting a shadow over the innocent woman.
Jean didn't know how to comfort her friend or how to convince others of Salviana's purity.
"She's divine," Jean whispered to herself as she walked down the hall. "How could they see her as evil?"
With a deep sigh, she resolved to stand by Salviana's side, no matter what. The kingdom might whisper, but Jean knew the truth.
~~{───────
~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
This morning, Alaric awoke to the sight of his wife standing by the window, bathed in soft morning light.
She was dressed in his oversized shirt, the fabric nearly swallowing her small frame as she folded and tucked it into place.
Her fiery red hair was piled into a messy bun, and her brow furrowed in concentration as she pored over a book.
A slow smile spread across his lips as he watched her. "Fiery?" he called, his voice still rough with sleep.
"Yes, Fire?" she replied without looking up, a playful lilt in her tone.
"Fire?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. The nickname caught him off guard.
"Yes, that's your new nickname," she said with a smirk, finally meeting his gaze. She snapped the book shut and crossed her arms.
Alaric chuckled, sitting up against the headboard. "You're very creative."
"I'm the artist, Fire. Don't tease me," Salviana quipped, narrowing her eyes but smiling nonetheless.
"You look ravishing," he said, his gaze warm and full of admiration.
She glanced down at herself and scoffed. "No, I don't. This is the most outrageous clothing I've ever worn," she said, but she couldn't deny the comfort.
The shirt smelled like him, and the way it draped over her made her feel wrapped in his presence.
"I don't agree," he said with a pout. "You look fabulous in my clothing."
"Well, you need to get up. The day's about to get busy," she declared, putting the book aside.
"What's the occasion?" he asked, stretching lazily.
"Gardening," she announced. "We're starting our garden today."
Alaric sighed dramatically, falling back against the bed. "I guess it's finally happening."
"Yes, and I don't care if every castle cat is dying—you're not leaving me alone today," she said sternly, hands on her hips.
"I barely leave you alone as it is," he countered, smirking.
"This garden has been delayed for weeks!" she whined, stamping her foot lightly.
"Then come into the bathroom with me," he said, shifting to the edge of the bed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"No, I'm fully dressed," she retorted. "I'll get the tools while you get ready."
"Yes, my lady," he said with a mock bow, watching as she turned to leave.
But his voice, low and dark, stopped her in her tracks. "Fiery."
She turned, narrowing her eyes at him. "What now?"
"Come here," he bellowed softly.