Married To Darkness

Chapter 520: Abigail The tease

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

Alaric paused, his hand lingering on the doorframe. He looked at Salviana, already settled among the velvet cushions, looking radiant in the morning light. He turned back to the coachman and gave a single, firm nod.

"The finest," Alaric agreed.

He stepped into the carriage, the door clicking shut with a finality that signaled the end of their sanctuary. As the horses began to trot, the laughter of their friends faded behind them, replaced by the steady rhythm of wheels on cobblestone.

Salviana reached out, taking Alaric’s hand and squeezing it. "Remember," she whispered as the palace dining hall came into view. "No sparring at the table."

Alaric let out a short, sharp laugh, bringing her knuckles to his lips for one last, lingering kiss. "I make no promises, also it never happens at the table my love."

The ride to the dining hall was a brief, gilded blur. Though Wyfkeep Castle spanned acres of jagged stone and sprawling gardens, the transition from their private wing to the heart of the palace felt like a crossing between two different worlds.

Peering through the carriage window, Salviana caught sight of Princess Florence—the Seventh Princess—strolling along the manicured garden path. She was leaning gracefully into the arm of her husband, Prince Lucas. They looked the picture of aristocratic peace; Lucas whispered something into Florence’s ear that made her let out a bright, crystalline laugh, her silks fluttering in the morning breeze.

"They look happy," Salviana noted, her heart still light from the morning’s intimacy.

"They look like they haven’t seen the King’s face yet this morning," Alaric countered dryly, though he didn’t pull his hand away from hers.

As the carriage came to a halt at the grand entrance, the doors were thrown open by guards who bowed so low their forehead nearly touched their knees. Alaric stepped out first, his black brocade coat catching the light, and reached back to hand Salviana down with a reverence that didn’t go unnoticed by the courtiers loitering near the pillars.

The dining hall doors groaned open, revealing a room bathed in gold and the scent of expensive spices. But before they could even find their seats, a high, melodic voice cut through the air.

"My lovely princess! Welcome!" Princess Abigail practically glided across the polished floor, her eyes sparkling with an intensity that was entirely focused on Salviana. She ignored Alaric completely, her hands reaching out to clasp Salviana’s as if they were long-lost sisters.

Alaric’s face transformed instantly. The scowl that settled over his features was so dark it could have swallowed the candlelight. He stepped closer to Salviana, his shoulder nearly brushing hers, his hand settling possessively at the small of her velvet-clad back.

This girl is a menace, he thought, his eyes narrowing at Abigail. She’s looking at my wife like a prize she wants to spirit away to her own gardens.

"Abigail," Salviana greeted with a graceful tilt of her head, though she could feel the radiating heat of Alaric’s jealousy beside her. It was a strange, intoxicating sensation—knowing the most feared man in the kingdom was currently threatened by a princess’s enthusiasm.

"You look absolutely breathtaking, Salviana," Abigail continued, her gaze sweeping over the tiers of sage silk and the emerald at her throat. "That color... it’s divine." She looked at Alaric,"You, you really shouldn’t keep her hidden away so much. It’s a crime against the arts."

Alaric’s grip on Salviana’s waist tightened just a fraction. "My wife has had a long journey," he said, his voice dropping into that protective, low-vibration growl. "She requires rest, not an audience."

Abigail let out a tittering laugh, seemingly immune to his intimidation. "Oh, don’t be such a brooding cloud, Alaric. It’s breakfast, not a siege."

Salviana reached back, her fingers grazing the silver embroidery on Alaric’s sleeve in a silent plea for peace. "It’s lovely to see you, Abigail. We were just about to join Prince Embrez."

At the mention of the older brother, Alaric’s posture went from jealous to alert. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on the head of the table where the "Prince of the Road, Prince Embrez" sat, already swirling a cup of tea with that infuriating, Reddington-esque calm.

"Indeed," Alaric muttered, his scowl deepening as he caught Embrez’s mocking wink from across the room. "Let us join the family before Abigail decides to draft you into her court permanently."

Salviana giggled, allowing him to lead her toward the table, the rustle of her skirts a soft counterpoint to the heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots. The lions were waiting, and the breakfast had only just begun.

As they approached the massive obsidian-topped table, the chatter died down to a dull hum. The sheer scale of the Velthorne clan was a physical weight—a sea of silver hair, sharp jawlines, and eyes that held centuries of cold ambition.

At the head sat King Gideon, looking every bit the iron-fisted patriarch, with Queen Sansa beside him, her expression as unreadable as a frozen lake. Crown Prince Benjamin and Lillian sat to the right, looking down their noses at the "disruption" Alaric and Salviana had caused by simply entering the room.

Across the table, Prince Spencer gave a brief, respectful nod, while his wife Beatrice—offered Salviana a small, encouraging smile.

"You’re late," a voice drawled from the middle of the table.

It was Prince Embrez. He was leaning back, peeling an apple with a silver knife, his eyes dancing with that familiar, mocking light. "I was beginning to think Alaric had forgotten the way to the dining hall. Or perhaps he was just... preoccupied with his tactical adjustments."

Alaric’s hand tightened on the back of Salviana’s chair as he pulled it out for her. The silver embroidery on his coat caught the light as he leaned down, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that carried across the table.

"The road must have made you soft, Embrez, if you find punctuality more interesting than the food."

"Enough," King Gideon’s voice cut through the air like a falling axe. The King’s gaze settled on Salviana, his eyes narrowing as he took in her radiant glow and the emerald at her throat. "Sit. We have much to discuss before the wedding festivities begin in earnest. The Divine Lady looks well rested—I trust the hunt wasn’t too... taxing?"

’What?’