Married To Darkness

Chapter 519: Confused but in harmony

"I’ll do it," he’d said, and for the next twenty minutes, the "Monster of the North" met his greatest challenge: silk ribbons and hidden stays.

"Alaric, that goes under the lace, not through it!" Salviana laughed, her voice bright and melodic as she batted his large hands away.

"There are too many strings, Salviana. It’s a tactical nightmare," he grumbled, though a rare, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He accidentally looped a ribbon around his own thumb, drawing a squeal of laughter from her as she spun around to face him.

"You can decapitate a beast in the Wyfwood with a single swing, but you’re being defeated by a corset?" she teased, her emerald eyes dancing with mischief.

"The beast is predictable," he countered, finally cinching the final tie. He stepped back to survey his handiwork. The dress sat perfectly, the tiers of sage and cream fanning out around her like the petals of an exotic flower.

The image they projected in the mirror was striking. Alaric, tall and imposing in his dark, sharp lines, looked every bit the shadow prince. Beside him, Salviana was a vision of vibrant life. Her auburn hair had been swept up into an intricate arrangement of curls, held in place by gold pins that caught the flickering hearth light. Around her neck sat a delicate choker of brown velvet adorned with a single, tear-shaped emerald that rested just above the swell of her breasts.

"You look..." Alaric started, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made her toes curl against the rug. "You look like a dream I’m terrified to wake up from."

Salviana turned, smoothing the lapels of his dark coat. "And you," she whispered, her gaze roaming over his sharp jawline and the intense, devoted glow in his dark eyes, "look like a king who doesn’t need a crown to be followed."

He leaned down, his hands finding her waist, careful not to crush the delicate lace. The kiss they shared was different from the hunger of the morning; it was a slow, grounding seal of their partnership. It tasted of jasmine, rosewater, and a quiet, unshakable promise. When they finally pulled apart, they both let out a small, breathless laugh—a shared secret against the world waiting outside their door.

"Ready to face the lions?" Alaric asked, offering his arm.

Salviana took it, her posture straightening, her chin tilting upward with the grace of a woman who knew she held the heart of the most dangerous man in the kingdom. "Let them roar, my love. They have no idea that the fire has already won."

Together, they stepped out of the room, the heavy thud of their boots and the rustle of her silk echoing down the corridor as they headed toward the lion’s den of the royal breakfast.

The heavy doors of the royal suite swung open, and the atmosphere in the hallway shifted instantly. Waiting there were their personal attendants and guards—a loyal group of nine who had survived the mist, the Wyfwood, and the King’s scrutiny alongside them.

Jean stood at the front, her eyes widening as she took in the couple. Salviana’s gown, with its chocolate-brown velvet bodice and tiers of sage silk, seemed to glow against the stone corridor. Beside her, Alaric was a pillar of dark elegance, his black brocade coat shimmering with silver thread.

"Oh, my Lady," Jean breathed, her hands flying to her cheeks. "You look like a forest spirit made flesh. Truly, the goddess herself would be jealous."

Wizard, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, let out a low whistle of approval. "And the Prince looks like he’s actually ready to be seen in public for once. Cleaned up nice, didn’t you, Boss?"

Alaric gave a mock scowl, but the tight grip he kept on Salviana’s hand betrayed his good mood. "Careful, Wizard. I can still find a reason to put you on stable duty."

"You wouldn’t," Sarah chimed in, stepping forward to adjust the emerald choker at Salviana’s neck. She was blushing furiously, her eyes darting between the two of them. "You both look... well, you look like you actually like each other. It’s enough to make a girl swoon."

"It’s the eyes," Lucius added, leaning in with his signature smirk, his own crimson eyes glinting with mischief. "They’ve got that ’we’re-keeping-the-family-waiting-on-purpose’ glow. Very stylish."

Salviana felt the heat rise in her cheeks, her emerald eyes sparking as she laughed. "We aren’t that late, Lucius. And besides, Alaric was the one struggling with the corset ribbons."

A collective gasp and then a wave of snickering broke out among the guards. Even the stoic guardsmen at the back of the line tucked their heads to hide their grins. Alaric stiffened, his jaw tightening in a fake show of royal offense.

"I was performing a tactical adjustment," Alaric growled, though he couldn’t hide the way his eyes softened when he looked down at his wife.

"Tactical? Is that what we’re calling it now?" Jean teased, nudging Sarah. "I suppose that explains why your hair is a bit more ’windswept’ than it was an hour ago, my Lady."

"Jean!" Salviana hissed, though she was smiling. She swiped playfully at her maid, who ducked behind Sebastian with a giggle.

The hallway was filled with a rare, buoyant energy—a moment of pure happiness and camaraderie before the inevitable political storm of the breakfast. For a few minutes, they weren’t just a cursed prince and a divine pawn; they were a family of misfits celebrating a rare victory of the heart.

"The carriage is waiting, your Graces," a guard called out from the end of the hall, trying to sound professional despite the grin on his face.

They began the walk down the grand staircase, the nine attendants following like a protective, teasing shadow. As they reached the courtyard, the crisp morning air hit them, carrying the scent of dew and horses.

The royal carriage sat waiting, its black lacquered wood polished to a mirror finish, emblazoned with the silver Velthorne crest. The coachman, an older man who had seen three generations of princes grow and fall, stood by the open door. He bowed low, but as Alaric handed Salviana inside, the coachman caught the Prince’s eye.

"A fine morning for a drive, Prince Alaric," the coachman, Manni said softly. "And a finer bride to share it with."