Married To Darkness
Chapter 231: Survival Together.

Chapter 231: Survival Together.

"You’re stronger than you look," Alaric admitted, landing a sharp kick to Heappal’s side.

"And you’re angrier than you think," Heappal shot back, countering with an uppercut that made Alaric’s teeth clack together.

The prince stumbled but quickly regained his footing. He lunged at Heappal, tackling him to the ground. They rolled in the dirt, each trying to gain the upper hand.

"Is this about last night?" Heappal asked, grunting as he pushed Alaric off him.

Alaric froze for a split second, caught off guard by the question.

"I heard about what happened to the princess," Heappal continued, getting to his feet. "You’re not going to fix it by breaking your knuckles on me."

Alaric’s eyes darkened. "You don’t know anything about it."

"I know enough," Heappal said, brushing the dirt off his tunic. "You’re angry. You’re scared. And you think if you hit something hard enough, it’ll make the fear go away."

Alaric clenched his fists, his breath ragged. "What do you know about fear?"

"More than you think," Heappal said, his voice steady. He stepped closer, meeting Alaric’s gaze head-on. "But you’re not alone in this. You’ve got people who care about you. About her. Lean on them."

For a moment, the prince said nothing. The tension in his shoulders slowly eased, and he let out a heavy sigh.

"Maybe I just needed someone to knock some sense into me," Alaric admitted, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

Heappal chuckled. "Glad to be of service."

The crowd dispersed as the two men left the ring, both battered and bruised but strangely lighter. As they walked back toward the palace, Alaric glanced at Heappal and said, "Thanks."

"Anytime, Your Highness," Heappal replied with a grin. "But next time, try not to take out all your frustration on my face."

Alaric laughed—a deep, genuine sound that surprised even himself. For the first time since last night, he felt like he could breathe again.

~~~{───────

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

The morning was damp, the air still heavy with the scent of wet earth. The rain had done its job, washing away every trace of the fuel that had been spilled around Jean’s quarters the night before.

She stood by the window, pulling her gloves over delicate fingers, her reflection in the glass pale but determined.

Dressed in a light lavender gown that clung to her form gracefully, she felt a renewed sense of strength.

Today, she would go to Salviana. It was time.

With one final glance, she turned toward Lucius, who lounged on his favorite couch. His arms were folded under his head, feigning sleep, though she was certain he was alert.

His presence, though silent, felt comforting.

She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps even a thank-you for his help the night before, but she decided against it.

Instead, she gave him a soft nod before stepping out.

The palace seemed to hum with activity this morning, whispers of the previous night’s events carried through corridors like ghosts.

Maids paused in their work to bow as Jean passed, their eyes flicking up with admiration. The guards, standing stoically at their posts, allowed sly smiles to break through their disciplined expressions, their gazes lingering a little too long.

She could feel it—the way they noticed her.

Hot for someone who was sick for days and nearly died yesterday.

The thought sent an embarrassed flush to her cheeks, but she pressed on, her heels clicking softly against the polished floors until she reached the seventh princess’s chambers.

The guards at the doors stepped aside, their expressions respectful but curious. She was ushered in by a pair of maids who greeted her warmly, offering her a seat in the receiving room.

She accepted, folding her hands neatly in her lap, her thoughts straying to Salviana.

How was she this morning? Strong, surely, but the events of the night must have left a scar, even if unseen.

A murmur of activity upstairs told her the princess was being prepared, and moments later, Salviana descended the grand staircase.

Jean rose to her feet, her breath catching for a moment as their eyes met.

"Jean," Salviana said softly, her voice holding a tremor of relief.

Jean stepped forward, a tentative smile breaking across her lips. "Salviana."

Without another word, they embraced. It wasn’t the light, polite hug of courtly women, but the desperate, bone-deep kind shared by those who had survived something unthinkable.

"I’m so glad you’re okay," Jean said, her voice thick with emotion.

"And you," Salviana replied, pulling back to look her in the eyes. "What a day we’ve survived."

The absurdity of it struck them both at the same time, and they laughed—a sound that rang brighter than the dull morning light.

For a moment, the weight of the previous night lifted, and they were just two women, alive and grateful.

The maids interrupted gently, inviting them to the breakfast table.

As they walked toward the dining area, Jean looked around for any sign of Alaric. His absence felt oddly pronounced.

"Will your husband be joining us?" Jean asked as they sat down, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Salviana shook her head, picking up her tea with a small sigh. "No, he’s out at the training field. He needed to blow off steam."

Jean tilted her head. "I can’t imagine how scared he must have been. If it were the other way around—if I was the one vomiting blood like that..." She trailed off, shuddering at the thought.

Salviana gave her a knowing look. "It was hard to see him like that. He doesn’t show fear easily, but last night..." She shook her head. "He didn’t sleep. He just watched me the entire time, like I’d disappear if he blinked."

Jean sighed. "He loves you. I’m sure he realized that yesterday if he doesn’t know before,"

Salviana found out yesterday too.

Salviana’s smile was faint but warm. "And I’m lucky for it. Come, let’s eat. We both need to recover."

They settled into their meal, the tension in their hearts slowly dissolving into the quiet companionship of shared survival.

Outside, the morning stretched on, and though the palace buzzed with gossip, for now, they had found a fragile pocket of peace.