Married To Darkness
Chapter 304: The Difference

Chapter 304: The Difference

As the celebrations roared on, Alaric noticed a small figure slipping away from the lively crowds.

Benedict, shoulders slumped, was making his way down the stone path toward the stables.

The young boy’s sadness was clear—the way his hands were stuffed into his coat, his red hair slightly disheveled from the wind, his green eyes cast downward in deep thought.

Alaric sighed. He knew that kind of look.

Without hesitation, he stood up from his seat and followed after him.

Inside the stable, the scent of fresh hay, leather, and horses filled the air. The soft snorts and shuffling of hooves echoed in the dim space.

Benedict stood near one of the empty stalls, running a hand along the wooden post. He didn’t turn around, but Alaric knew he’d heard him enter.

"You planning to sulk here all day?" Alaric’s deep voice broke the quiet.

Benedict stiffened, then scowled. "I’m not sulking."

Alaric raised a brow. "You sure about that? Because I’m seeing a boy dragging his feet with a look like he’s lost a war."

The boy huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he kicked at a loose piece of hay.

Alaric leaned against the stable door. "You remind me a little of my wife, you know."

That caught Benedict’s attention. His green eyes flickered up with curiosity. "Salviana?"

Alaric nodded, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Red hair, green eyes, and a whole lot of rumors surrounding you."

Benedict scoffed. "Rumors?"

"Of course," Alaric shrugged. "People always have things to say about those who stand out. Your hair, your eyes—they set you apart. Just like Salviana. People whisper about things they don’t understand."

Benedict bit his lip, considering. "...Like what?"

Alaric crossed his arms. "Like how you’re wanted."

The boy blinked, his expression shifting. "Wanted?"

Alaric gave a slow nod. "More than you know. You think you’re just another boy walking around the castle, but you’re not. People notice you. They watch you. You carry a name, a history. And whether you believe it or not, you matter. More than you think."

Benedict stared at him for a long moment.

The weight of those words seemed to settle over his shoulders, but rather than pressing him down, they lifted him.

For the first time that day, the sadness in his eyes seemed to ease just a little.

Alaric clapped him lightly on the back. "Now, enough brooding. Come with me."

Benedict frowned. "Where?"

"To meet my horse," Alaric said simply.

He led Benedict toward a stall near the end of the stable. Inside stood a magnificent black horse, its coat gleaming in the dim light.

The horse lifted its head, ears twitching as it acknowledged Alaric’s presence.

"This is Soar." Alaric ran a hand along the horse’s sleek neck. "Fast as the wind, stubborn as hell. You’d like him."

Benedict hesitated, then slowly reached out, letting his fingers brush against the horse’s mane. Soar gave a soft huff but didn’t shy away.

Alaric smirked. "One day, when you’re ready, we’ll take him out for a ride. How’s that sound?"

Benedict’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles. "That sounds... good."

"Good," Alaric said. "Then let’s get back before someone starts thinking we ran away."

Benedict nodded, following after him. The weight he’d been carrying seemed a little lighter now.

And for the first time in a while, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he did belong.

As Alaric and Benedict made their way back to the grand seating area, the cheerful noise of the festivities embraced them once more.

The sound of laughter, clinking goblets, and lively chatter filled the air.

The nobles were still reveling in the excitement of the jousting tournament, but now their attention was shifting toward the next performance.

Alaric guided the boy toward his seat, keeping him close. Though Benedict was still young, he had the makings of someone great—he just needed to know he wasn’t alone.

As soon as they reached their seats, Salviana turned with a soft smile.

"Welcome back," she greeted, her emerald eyes gleaming under the sunlight. She dipped her head slightly toward Benedict. "Did my husband give you one of his long-winded lectures?"

Benedict, a little hesitant, smirked. "Something like that."

Alaric scoffed. "You two act as if I talk that much."

Salviana let out a soft chuckle, but before Benedict could say anything else, a tiny foot kicked out at him.

"Go ’way!" Little Rose huffed, her little face scrunched in displeasure.

The toddler had wedged herself comfortably between Salviana and Alaric, her chubby hands clutching onto her father’s sleeve possessively.

Her small golden curls bounced as she made a very determined attempt to push Benedict away with her foot.

"Rose," Salviana chided gently, though she bit back a laugh. "That’s not nice."

Benedict blinked, caught between shock and amusement.

Alaric raised a brow at his daughter. "What’s this, little one? You don’t want to share?"

Little Rose pouted, crossing her arms dramatically. "No."

Salviana shook her head, while Emma, Sarah, and Thalia—who were standing nearby—giggled softly at the toddler’s possessiveness.

"She’s going to be trouble," Alaric mused, brushing a hand over his daughter’s soft curls.

"She already is," Salviana agreed.

Benedict, despite the little kick, only chuckled. "She’s strong. She’ll probably make a great knight one day."

Little Rose stared up at him suspiciously. Then, without a word, she leaned her head against her father’s arm, refusing to acknowledge Benedict any further.

Before they could continue teasing the toddler, a new sound echoed through the air—the deep strumming of a lute.

All eyes turned toward the center of the courtyard, where a bard, dressed in vibrant blue and gold attire, took the stage.

He wore a plumed hat, a feather curling at the tip, and a confident smirk spread across his lips.

The crowd shifted excitedly, murmuring in anticipation. Some nobles adjusted their seats, while children clapped their hands, eager for the next form of entertainment.

A royal announcer stepped forward, raising his voice above the chatter.

"Honored guests, esteemed nobles, and our most beloved King Gideon Velthorne! It is with great pleasure that we welcome the master of tales, the spinner of songs, the voice of legends—the Bard of Eldenbrook!"

The crowd erupted into applause.

The bard gave a flourishing bow, sweeping off his hat and pressing it to his chest.

"Your Majesty," he called out boldly, his voice smooth and practiced. "On this most glorious day, I shall weave a tale so grand, so full of wonder, that even the stars themselves shall lean closer to listen!"

The crowd cheered in response, raising goblets and voices alike.

Benedict, despite himself, leaned forward in interest. Salviana, too, settled in, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Even Alaric, though more reserved, was intrigued—after all, a good bard could make or break an evening.

The bard strummed his lute once more, a slow, suspenseful tune filling the air.

And so, the next act of the grand birthday celebration began.

Bard.

The hall had been filled with music all evening, but when the bard stepped forward, lute in hand, a hush fell over the crowd.

He was not just any musician—his presence commanded attention, his reputation preceding him as one of the most gifted storytellers in the land.

He let his fingers dance over the strings, testing the tension, before lifting his head with a confident smile.

The silence he immediately commanded was beautiful and with a final pluck of his lute, he began.

His voice was rich, velvety, and arresting, wrapping around the words like a spell woven in melody.

The first few notes were soft, a whisper of admiration, but soon his song swelled, filling the grand hall with something more than mere entertainment—it was poetry, it was memory, it was power.

"The Queen of Legends"

"Upon the throne, where wisdom shone,

A sovereign stood, her heart a stone.

Not cold nor cruel, but fierce and bright,

A warrior queen, bathed in light."

Murmurs rippled through the guests, but the bard continued, his gaze sweeping the hall. He had named no one outright, but everyone knew.

Queen Reannon.

Alaric sat still, his goblet untouched, his lips parting slightly as the bard’s voice rang out like a solemn hymn.

The women swooned, their silk-clad bodies leaning forward in anticipation, eyes gleaming with admiration.

But not all were pleased. The queen consort’s back went rigid, her fingers tightening over the stem of her untouched wine glass.

And the king... Gideon Velthorne’s expression darkened, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth might crack.

Yet the bard was not finished.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.