Married To Darkness
Chapter 264: The Restless Morning

Chapter 264: The Restless Morning

Alaric paced the length of his chambers, his mind tangled in conflicting thoughts.

Richard... Jaefel... could it be both of them? Emma’s revelations unsettled him. He had suspected Richard for weeks, his once-loyal knight behaving strangely—too many absences, too many excuses. But now, with Emma’s claims about Jaefel, it felt as though the web of suspicion had tightened around someone entirely unexpected. If Jaefel was the one he had been searching for, then his every move mattered now more than ever. Alaric knew he had to act, and swiftly. The king’s birthday was just days away, and it seemed the perfect opportunity for someone to strike again.

He frowned, his jaw tightening as he reached for his wardrobe. Dressing for the day felt almost tedious, but appearances mattered. As a prince, he couldn’t afford to appear disheveled, not even in the privacy of his own castle.

He selected an ensemble worthy of his status yet practical enough for the tasks ahead. A finely tailored doublet in deep burgundy, embroidered with subtle silver threading that caught the light like shards of frost. The sleeves were trimmed with soft black velvet, a stark contrast to the crisp white shirt beneath. He fastened a wide leather belt around his waist, adorned with a silver buckle shaped like the royal crest. His black trousers were slim-fitting but not restrictive, and his polished leather boots reached just below the knee, their dark sheen reflecting the faint morning light streaming through the window.

From a polished box on his dresser, he retrieved a silver brooch in the shape of a wolf—his family’s sigil—and pinned it to his chest. The final touch was a black cloak lined with fur, draped over his shoulders with an effortless grace. He glanced at himself in the tall mirror, his expression stern, his dark eyes clouded with determination.

I have to think of a plan, he told himself. If I fail, the king’s birthday will not only be a celebration—it will be the day the culprit strikes again.

The quiet sound of soft footfalls pulled him from his thoughts. Salviana entered the room, still in her pale silk robe, her fiery red hair tumbling over her shoulders. She paused, her green eyes searching his face.

"You’re troubled," she said softly, crossing the room toward him.

Alaric hesitated. "It’s nothing to worry about."

Her gaze lingered on him, unconvinced. "You’ve been restless since last night. Does it have to do with the investigation?"

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "It does, but I’ll handle it."

"You always say that," she replied with a small frown, her fingers brushing his arm. "But you don’t have to carry everything alone."

Alaric smiled faintly, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift. "I’ll be fine, Salviana. You have enough on your mind as it is."

Her lips parted, as though she wanted to argue, but instead, she nodded. "If you’re sure."

He pulled her close, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before stepping back. "I’ll be at work most of the day. Don’t wait for me."

"And you won’t forget to eat, will you?" she asked, a small smile playing at her lips despite her concern.

He chuckled softly. "Only if you promise the same."

Her smile grew, and with a quick wave, he left the room, his boots echoing against the stone floor as he disappeared down the hall.

Salviana lingered for a moment, staring at the empty doorway. She could sense his unease, the way he avoided meeting her eyes for too long, as though his thoughts were already elsewhere. He’s hiding something, she thought, her fingers brushing against the silk of her robe. But Alaric was stubborn, and she knew better than to press him when he wasn’t ready to share.

With a soft sigh, she turned back to her own morning routine. Dressing quickly, she chose a flowing gown in a soft shade of green, its delicate lace sleeves brushing against her wrists as she moved. She tied her hair back loosely, leaving a few strands to frame her face, and slipped on a pair of comfortable slippers.

Her mind felt restless as well, but instead of dwelling on it, she stepped into her painting room. The space was quiet, bathed in the pale morning light filtering through the arched windows. Canvases and paints lay scattered around the room, a testament to her creative chaos.

Salviana ran her fingers over the edge of one of the canvases, her thoughts briefly flickering to Alaric again. She sighed, picking up a brush and dipping it into a palette of soft blues. If he won’t tell me what’s on his mind, I’ll wait. But I hope he knows he doesn’t have to face everything alone.

As the bristles of her brush met the canvas, the world outside her worries began to fade, if only for a little while.

Alaric sat in his office, surrounded by towering stacks of scrolls and parchment. Applications for knighthood littered his desk, many scrawled with bold handwriting pledging loyalty and strength to the crown. Yet, his mind wandered far from the ink and paper.

As he tapped the edge of a quill against his thumb, an idea suddenly sparked in his head—a cunning solution to an unresolved issue. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned back in his chair. The princesses and Margaretha had been sentenced to the dungeons, deemed useless for now. But perhaps, they’ve just found a purpose.

Alaric’s fingers danced across his desk as he pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. Carefully, he began drafting a letter to the king. His words were precise, his tone respectful but firm, his intent clear yet cloaked in subtlety. A chance to turn them into assets instead of liabilities, he mused.

As he finished, he sat back and admired his handiwork. He chuckled softly to himself. "The king probably won’t approve this," he murmured, folding the letter neatly. "But I’ll send it anyway. At the very least, it will spark some conversation."

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