Married To Darkness
Chapter 261: Heappal & Thalia Bud

Chapter 261: Heappal & Thalia Bud

Meanwhile,

The couples chambers was dim, illuminated only by the soft flicker of a single candle on the table.

Emma paced restlessly, her shadow dancing across the cold stone walls.

The hour was late, and yet the silence in the manor felt heavier than usual.

Her thoughts raced, her nerves taut as a bowstring.

She had much to report—too much, perhaps—but it all boiled down to the ominous sight of the veil she had spotted tied to Jaefel’s horsepack earlier that day.

A veil unmistakably belonging to Mire, the missing maid.

Emma sat on the edge of the chaise, wringing her hands as dread coiled around her like a serpent.

She knew Mire had been taken by Jaefel that day, and now there was no denying what had happened.

Her stomach churned at the thought. The veil, frayed and dirtied, had been a chilling confirmation of the maid’s fate.

"He must’ve killed her," Emma muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. "How much of a despicable man is he now?."

It hurts so much. Her hand tightened into a fist, her nails biting into her palms.

Every fiber of her being screamed to confront Jaefel, to march to his quarters and demand answers.

But reason pulled her back.

She was just a maid herself, with neither power nor position.

To confront him directly would be suicide.

Jaefel now appeared to be cunning, and she had seen firsthand what men like him did to those who challenged them.

"I need to wait for someone stronger," Emma said aloud, her voice steadying as she formulated her plan. "Someone with power. Someone with justice in their heart."

Her mind turned to Alaric, the third prince. He was stern but fair—a man known for his unwavering sense of duty.

If anyone could handle this, it was him. But where was he?

And where was Salviana, the princess? The manor was too quiet, and the absence of the couple gnawed at her growing unease.

Emma moved to the window, pushing the heavy curtains aside to peer into the night.

The gardens stretched out beneath her, bathed in the pale glow of the moonlight.

The horses in the stables shuffled restlessly, and the faint sound of the wind rustled through the trees. No sign of them.

Her thoughts spiraled.

What if something has happened to them too?

The idea made her heart skip a beat. She turned away from the window, pacing again, her mind weighed down by a thousand possibilities.

The creak of the chamber door suddenly startled her. Emma froze, her breath caught in her throat as her gaze shot to the entrance.

But it was only a gust of wind slipping through the cracks, causing the candlelight to flicker wildly.

She let out a shaky exhale and sat down again, burying her face in her hands. "Come back soon," she whispered, as if willing the couple to return would make it so.

Time dragged on. Emma could hear the faint tick of the clock in the corridor, marking each passing moment.

Her patience thinned, but her resolve did not waver. She had to wait.

She would wait. And when Alaric returned, she would tell him everything—the veil, the suspicion, the truth she feared might be too late to act upon.

Her fists clenched again as she steeled herself. She would not let Mire’s death go unanswered. Not if she could help it.

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As all these happen in the the garden outside the servants’ quarters that was bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, a serene contrast to the hushed tension inside the castle takes place.

Thalia crouched by the flowerbeds, her delicate hands carefully plucking blossoms one by one.

She had chosen the brightest flowers—pale yellows, soft pinks, and creamy whites, their petals glowing faintly in the evening light.

A small basket hung from her arm, already half-filled with her carefully chosen collection.

Behind her, the gravel path crunched softly under booted feet.

She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was; she could recognize Heappal’s footsteps anywhere. Its been a week now.

The knight’s presence always carried an inexplicable warmth that sent a flustered heat rising to her cheeks.

"Out here again, Thalia?" Heappal’s deep, gentle voice broke the silence.

He leaned casually against the low garden wall, his armor catching the faintest hint of moonlight. "You’re going to make the rest of the flowers jealous with how much attention you’re giving these."

Thalia glanced over her shoulder, her cheeks flushing as she saw him standing there with that ever-present lopsided grin. "They’re for the dining table," she murmured, her voice shy and soft. "Princess Salviana loves fresh flowers, and I thought... I thought it’d be nice."

"You’re always thinking of others," Heappal said, stepping closer.

He knelt beside her, his presence so close it made her heart flutter. "You deserve to have someone thinking of you for a change."

Thalia’s fingers faltered over a bloom, and she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. "I don’t need that," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Heappal tilted his head, studying her with a smirk that softened into something more earnest. "What if I want to?" he said, his tone quiet but filled with sincerity.

She didn’t respond, instead focusing intently on the flowers as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

Her bashful silence only encouraged him.

"You know," Heappal continued, leaning slightly closer, "I’ve never seen anyone so dedicated to picking flowers. You’d think you were choosing diamonds."

"They deserve care," Thalia said, almost defensively. "Every flower is different. Some bloom only for a short time, and if you don’t handle them gently, they’ll wither before you can enjoy them."

He smiled at her answer, but his eyes lingered on her as she spoke. "You’re like that, you know."

"Like what?" Thalia asked, daring to look up at him, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"A flower," Heappal said simply. "Delicate, rare, and beautiful. But strong enough to grow even in the harshest places."