Married To Darkness
Chapter 138: The Fortune Telling.

Chapter 138: The Fortune Telling.

"Oh?" The room collectively gasped, some intrigued, others bristling.

As the fans were passed around, the responses varied. Many of the women, feigning courtesy, accepted them with forced smiles and murmurs of thanks.

When the maid reached Irene, she waved the gift away with a dismissive gesture. "No, thank you. I’m always cold," she lied, her tone dripping with false indifference.

The maid moved on to Audrey Velthorne, who took the fan but couldn’t resist a cutting remark. "I have no evil to ward off," she said with a sly smile, earning a few chuckles from the table.

Genevieve’s turn came next. She accepted the fan, turning it over in her hands as if examining its worth. For a brief moment, Salviana thought she might keep it, but Genevieve suddenly flung it to the ground.

The dramatic gesture was punctuated by her abrupt rise from her seat. "I don’t need trinkets," she snapped, her voice sharp as a blade. With an indignant huff, she stormed out of the hall, her skirts billowing behind her.

The room fell into an uneasy silence before the chatter resumed, though the biting jabs directed at Salviana grew notably fewer.

Some of the ladies began using their fans, fluttering them gracefully as they engaged in polite conversation. Others merely pressed their lips together, holding the fans in stiff hands, unwilling to show any satisfaction with Salviana’s gift.

As random topics emerged, Salviana found herself observing the room. She noted the absence of Queen Sansa Velthorne and her sister, Diana Reed. Their strict presence was often a commanding force in such gatherings, and their absence piqued Salviana’s curiosity.

Her gaze then shifted to a quieter figure seated at the far end of the table—Rose. She wasn’t officially a Velthorne yet but was inexplicably included in the gathering. Rose seemed withdrawn, her posture stiff, and her eyes avoiding Salviana’s altogether.

Salviana’s lips pressed into a faint line. Now that she had confirmed Rose wasn’t the one who had kissed her husband, guilt began to creep in. She had likely treated Rose with coldness or dismissal without cause.

Still, this wasn’t the time or place for reconciliation. The atmosphere was too charged, the air too thick with unspoken rivalries. Salviana simply made a mental note to speak with Rose in private, away from the judgmental eyes and sharp tongues of the other ladies.

"I have news," a meek voice interrupted the idle chatter, drawing the table’s attention.

It was Florence, wife of Prince Lucas, the fifth prince. Salviana blinked in surprise, realizing she hadn’t noticed Florence before. She vaguely remembered Sarah’s explanation of the royal hierarchy—Florence was the tenth princess. Her voice was as soft and fragile as she appeared.

"Go on, please, Florence," Lilian encouraged, her tone laced with an air of condescension masked as kindness.

Florence hesitated but then smiled nervously. "I... I wish to announce that I am with child," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Audrey, her mother-in-law, broke into a wide smile. "Oh, my sweet child! When did you find out?"

"Last night," Florence answered innocently. "I came over to tell you this morning, but you’d slept at the king’s chambers."

The room fell into an awkward silence. Audrey’s smile faltered for a split second, her cheeks reddening, while Lucile, the second concubine, cleared her throat uncomfortably. Audrey recovered quickly, giving Florence’s shoulder a congratulatory pat—perhaps a little too hard.

"Congratulations," Christina offered, her polite smile breaking the tension.

"I hope you have a pretty girl," Jennifer chimed in with a small smile.

"It’s a boy," Salviana said abruptly.

Jollene scowled. "What?"

"The child," Salviana repeated, her voice steady but slightly hesitant under the sudden scrutiny. "It’ll be a boy."

Lilian snickered, leaning forward. "And how, pray tell, do you know that?"

Caught off guard by the attention, Salviana shifted in her seat. "I... I just know," she murmured, avoiding their gazes.

"You’re such a crook," Christina accused, her voice dripping with disdain. "She wants a girl."

Florence shook her head quickly. "No, I don’t. I love boys," she said, her cheeks flushing as she tried to deflect the brewing tension.

Lilian raised an eyebrow, her voice pointed. "Where exactly did you get the confidence to declare the child’s gender?"

Salviana opened her mouth, struggling for an answer, but Jean stepped in. Clearing her throat, Jean began, "She is the di—"

"Perhaps we should just wait until he’s been birthed, then," Salviana interrupted, her voice firm as she shot Jean a silencing look.

The room simmered down, though the tension remained palpable. The tea meeting resumed, the maids moving deftly to serve refreshments while idle gossip and subtle jabs floated around the table.

Salviana’s attention began to wane. Her mind drifted to her husband—how he would insist she eat with him and how she hadn’t been able to eat properly since he left. Her fingers absently toyed with the edge of her tea cup as she felt a pang of longing.

Unbeknownst to her, she began to pout. Agatha noticed and smiled knowingly. The elder princess understood the quiet yearning of a young wife missing her husband.

Salviana straightened, trying to compose herself, but her thoughts remained on him. She couldn’t wait to tell him everything that had happened today, from the dramatic fan debacle to Florence’s announcement.

More than that, she just wanted to hug him. To feel his arms around her, to sleep well again.

The hours dragged on, but her heart was already elsewhere—waiting for his return.

~~~{────────

Afternoon.

Queen Garden, Wyfkeep Castle

Wyfellon, Wynn-Garde

~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~

The garden in Queen Sansa’s chambers was serene, a small haven of fragrant blooms and dappled sunlight.

But today, its peace did little to soothe the queen, who sat slumped on a cushioned bench, her eyes puffy and rimmed with red.

She clutched a lace handkerchief in her hand, twisting it nervously. Across from her, Diana, her elder sister, watched her with a mix of sternness and pity.

"You need to stop this, Sansa," Diana said sharply, breaking the silence. She leaned forward, her voice steady but tinged with frustration. "Crying over that man is a waste of your strength. You deserve so much better than this—better than him."

Sansa sniffled, her lips trembling as she whispered, "But he’s my husband, Diana. What am I supposed to do? Ignore him?"

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