Married To Darkness
Chapter 267: The Paint

Chapter 267: The Paint

For his kingdom, for Salviana’s safety, and for Emma’s peace of mind, he would see this through.

Alaric stood in his office, the memory of the encounter in the streets of Wyfellon playing vividly in his mind.

He had been walking with Salviana that day, enjoying a rare moment of peace amidst their busy lives, when a voice called out to him.

"Your Grace!"

He had turned to see the woman who managed Wyfhaven, the sanctuary where he and Lucius had helped rescue girls in need.

Her face was pale with worry, her movements rushed as though she couldn’t get her words out fast enough.

"Good afternoon," Alaric had said, his tone calm yet laced with concern.

"Good afternoon, Your Grace," she greeted, bowing slightly before acknowledging Salviana. "Her Grace."

Salviana inclined her head, her curiosity piqued by the tension in the woman’s demeanor.

"What’s going on? You don’t look too great," Alaric asked, his brow furrowing.

"It’s Serenity, Your Grace," the woman began, her voice cracking. "She’s missing."

Alaric’s eyes widened. Serenity. He remembered her vividly—the frightened young girl he and Lucius had rescued months ago.

"What? What happened?" he demanded, his voice sharper now.

"She disappeared into the night and hasn’t returned since," the woman explained, her shoulders trembling.

"How many days has it been?" Alaric asked, his tone urgent.

"It’s been a week, Your Grace," she replied. "We’ve searched everywhere, but there’s no sign of her. This... this is not like her."

Salviana frowned, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Alaric nodded firmly. "Not to worry. I will look for Serenity myself."

"Thank you, Your Grace," the woman said, her relief palpable. "Serenity has been through so much already. She deserves peace."

"I know," Alaric replied, his voice softening. "I’ll take care of it."

The woman and her companion bowed deeply before taking their leave.

Salviana, standing quietly by his side, watched him intently, curiosity dancing in her emerald eyes.

Yet Alaric, lost in thought, didn’t notice her gaze.

Back in his office, the memory dissolved as he refocused on the present. His jaw tightened as he recalled the letter from Wyfhaven that had arrived the following day, informing him that Serenity’s belongings had been found discarded in the woods. It was unmistakable—she had been kidnapped.

Alaric’s hands balled into fists. Whoever was behind this had to be stopped. Serenity wasn’t the only victim; there had been other disappearances, other lives shattered by this shadowy figure.

"Today," he murmured to himself, his resolve hardening. "I’ll catch them today."

He glanced at the plans spread across his desk, detailing every step of his operation.

His network of spies and knights had been briefed, and the castle was prepared for any contingencies. Tonight, there would be no escape for the culprit.

Not this time.

Alaric rose, straightened his attire, and prepared to set his plan in motion. Serenity, and every other life touched by this darkness, deserved justice—and he would ensure they got it.

Alaric entered Salviana’s painting room quietly, his gaze immediately drawn to her as she worked. Her emerald green eyes sparkled with focus, her fingers smudged with paint.

She didn’t notice him at first, absorbed in her art, until a small smile crept onto her lips, and she turned toward him.

"What are you painting?" he asked, his deep voice curious. His black eyes narrowed slightly, studying the canvas.

"A beauty," Salviana replied, tilting her head as she admired her own work.

"Who is she?" Alaric asked, stepping closer, his tone both intrigued and uncertain. There was something familiar about the half-finished portrait that he couldn’t quite place.

"I don’t know," she admitted, her voice soft.

Alaric frowned slightly, his interest deepening. "Do you think she’s someone real? Not just a figment of your imagination?"

"I never paint from imagination, dearest husband," Salviana replied, a hint of pride in her tone. "Anything I paint is tied to reality—either it has existed or it will exist."

"The divine painter, my wife is," Alaric teased, a rare smirk tugging at his thin lips as he rested his palm gently on her arm, standing behind her.

She glanced up at him with a playful look. "Should I let you work, fiery?" he asked after a moment, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her head.

Salviana turned fully toward him, abandoning the painting for the first time since he’d arrived. "No," she said with a small pout, opening her arms. "Carry me."

He raised a brow but chuckled, scooping her up with ease. "As you wish."

In his arms, she kissed him softly, her lips brushing against his like whispers. Before she could pull away, she felt a sudden shift. The air around them changed, and in the blink of an eye, they were no longer in the painting room.

"Alaric!" she exclaimed, her arms tightening around his neck as she realized he had teleported them straight into their bedroom.

"Surprised?" he asked, amusement evident in his tone.

She gasped but smiled, pressing her lips to his again, this time more passionately. For a brief moment, the world outside their shared embrace ceased to exist.

When they finally pulled apart, Salviana slipped from his arms to change for dinner. Alaric leaned casually against the bedpost, watching her with an appreciative gaze.

"I saw the dressmaker earlier," he remarked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," she replied nonchalantly, adjusting her gown.

"He’s a fine man," Alaric said, his tone light but thoughtful. His eyes remained fixed on her, though she caught a flicker of something more in his expression.

Salviana turned toward him, catching the subtle shift. "You’ve seen him before, haven’t you?"

Alaric shrugged, his lips curving slightly. "So what if I have?"

She smirked knowingly. "Are you feeling threatened?"

He straightened, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I don’t know what that feels like," he replied dramatically, glancing at the nearby mirror where his reflection refused to appear.

"Jealous, then?" she prompted, walking toward him with an amused grin.

Alaric scoffed, his voice dripping with mock disdain. "Jealous? Of a dressmaker?"