Married To Darkness
Chapter 309: The Frantic Search

Chapter 309: The Frantic Search

Jean blinked, then darted a glance toward Lucius, as if hoping for help. When none came, she swallowed.

"I—I believe she just stepped out for some air, Your Highness," she said quickly. "She didn’t wish to disturb your evening."

Alaric’s lips curled into something dangerously close to a snarl.

"She should know better than to disappear on me."

Lucius smirked, leaning back in his chair as he studied Alaric’s reaction with thinly veiled amusement.

"Careful, Alaric. You sound like an obsessive husband," he mused.

Alaric ignored him. His entire focus had already shifted elsewhere.

His fingers twitched, his instincts screaming.

If Salviana wasn’t in the banquet hall, where had she gone? And why did his gut tell him something wasn’t right?

With a sharp breath, Alaric turned on his heel and strode out of the hall, not bothering to excuse himself.

If Salviana was in danger, nothing else mattered.

Without another thought, Alaric turned and moved.

He strode through the hall, swift and silent, pushing past dancers without apology, his presence commanding enough that no one dared complain.

The nobles exchanged glances, whispering behind their fans, but he didn’t care.

He yanked open curtains, peered behind decorative screens, even checked the balcony overlooking the garden—nothing.

The feeling in his gut twisted into something worse.

His search became frantic.

"Did you see the princess?" he asked a passing butler, his voice low but urgent.

The man bowed immediately. "N-no, my lord. Not recently."

Alaric exhaled sharply through his nose, his irritation mounting.

Where the hell did she go?

His pace quickened, his frustration barely held in check.

Then, something cold and sharp slid down his spine.

A feeling. A warning.

Alaric stopped dead in his tracks.

Something wasn’t right.

His breath came slow and steady, but inside, he was anything but calm.

Salviana—wherever she was—she needed him.

And he wasn’t going to waste another damn second.

Alaric exhaled sharply, forcing himself to think. She wouldn’t have gone alone.

Her guards—where are her guards?

Jaefel. Samion. Heappal. They should be with her.

His frustration only deepened as he stepped into the corridor, his boots hitting the polished marble with quiet but determined force. The chill of the night air seeped through the open archways, but he barely noticed.

Behind him, Lucius followed at a more leisurely pace, his sharp gaze flickering between Alaric and Jean.

"Calm down, woman," Lucius murmured when Jean fretted beside him, wringing her hands. "You’ll make it worse if you panic."

"I—" Jean started, but Alaric was already moving.

He swept through the corridors, passing guards who stiffened and bowed as he passed.

The festivities inside the hall continued, the sounds of music, laughter, and clinking goblets trailing behind him—mocking him.

How could they all be enjoying the night when Salviana was missing?

A guard stationed at the main entrance straightened when he saw him approach.

"Where is Samion?" Alaric demanded, his voice cold and cutting.

The guard hesitated for half a second before answering. "He left not long ago, my lord. He was sent to inform you that the princess—"

"—was returning to her chambers," a voice interrupted.

Alaric turned sharply.

Samion.

The knight stood just beyond the torchlight, his expression tight as he bowed deeply.

Alaric’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You left her alone?"

Samion hesitated—a second too long.

"No, my lord," he answered swiftly, but there was something in his voice—something uneasy. "There were other guards stationed nearby. She assured me she was safe."

Alaric’s patience snapped.

"You let her dismiss you?" His voice was low, furious. "Tell me, Samion, what will her assurance do if something happens to her?"

Samion swallowed hard but held his ground. "I take full responsibility, my lord. But I believe she only wished to clear her mind. There was—" He stopped himself, hesitating again.

Alaric caught it immediately.

"There was what?" His voice was steel, his blue eyes burning.

Samion clenched his jaw. "She seemed... uneasy. As if something was on her mind."

Something sharp curled in Alaric’s chest.

That feeling—the one gnawing at him all night—wasn’t wrong.

"Find Jaefel and Heappal. Now."

He turned to Lucius, his voice tight. "We have to find her,"

Lucius’s usual teasing demeanor faded. He nodded and disappeared down the hall, leaving Alaric standing in the dim corridor, his patience gone, his heart pounding.

Salviana was out there. Alone.

And someone—or something—was watching her.

Samion straightened and quickly added, "She said she’d be returning to your chambers, my lord."

Alaric exhaled, barely restraining his impatience. She should already be there. Safe. But something gnawed at him, an unease that wouldn’t let go.

He nodded sharply. "Fine." Without another word, he turned and moved quickly.

To their chambers from here was far—too far. Normally, they’d take a cart through the palace grounds, but he couldn’t wait.

His strides were long and relentless, boots hitting the stone floor with purpose. The corridors stretched endlessly ahead, the flickering torches casting shifting shadows along the walls. Too slow.

By the time he reached one of the darker, more secluded corners of the palace, frustration clawed at his chest.

Enough.

With a sharp inhale, Alaric let his body still for a brief moment—then vanished.

The darkness swallowed him whole.

—

A second later, he reappeared inside their shared chambers.

His office.

The familiar scent of lavender and sandalwood filled the air, mingling with the faint traces of candle wax and cool night air.

The room was dimly lit, golden light flickering from the sconces.

His eyes immediately swept across the space—searching.

Was she here?

Alaric stepped out of his office, his movements sharp and purposeful.

He had teleported in there on instinct, avoiding the risk of startling the maids who might still be tidying their bedroom. But now, there was no time to waste.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door and strode into the dimly lit hallway, his sharp gaze sweeping through the corridors. His body felt coiled, tense—he needed to find her.

That was when he spotted Sarah, one of the chambermaids.

The young woman startled at the sight of him, pausing mid-step as she clutched a folded cloth to her chest. Her eyes widened before she quickly dipped into a curtsy.

"Oh—Your Grace! You’re back."