Married To Darkness
Chapter 312: Power Ajd Conceding

Chapter 312: Power Ajd Conceding

Alaric didn’t answer immediately. His mind was working too fast, his body too tense. Then, slowly, his gaze snapped to Samion.

His eyes were tight, cold, deadly.

"Tell them to lock down the castle."

Samion stiffened. "Your Grace—"

"No one leaves."

Lucius inhaled sharply. Jean’s eyes widened.

The guards shifted uneasily.

Alaric barely noticed any of it. His heartbeat was too loud, thudding violently in his ears, his mind already racing through the worst possibilities.

Where was she?

Where had she gone?

Who had taken her?

A new kind of rage burned in his chest. He had been a fool to let her go alone. A fool to trust that she’d be safe in his own castle.

His castle.

And yet—

She was gone.

Or she’s been taken and that cannot happen.

Meanwhile,

No one leaves until she is found.

The command had left his lips like iron, leaving no room for disobedience.

His voice carried across the courtyard, and the guards snapped to attention, their faces paling at the sheer force of his words.

Alaric didn’t wait for hesitation—he vanished.

A blink, a breath, and suddenly he was at the castle gates. The cold night air hit him like a slap, but he barely noticed.

His mind was a storm, a violent, raging thing that refused to settle.

He turned to the entrance guards, his presence a looming shadow of authority.

"Has anyone left?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the night.

The guards flinched but quickly straightened. One stepped forward, bowing hastily. "No, Your Grace. No one has left the grounds."

Another chimed in, "Everyone is still inside, celebrating the prince’s birthday. There have been no departures."

No departures.

Then where was she?

His jaw clenched, frustration clawing at his insides. He was running out of patience. His hands twitched at his sides, and his fangs itched to pierce something—someone.

But fear—real, gnawing fear—coiled in his gut.

He threw his head back and shouted, "SALVIANA!"

His voice echoed, bouncing off the stone walls, swallowed by the wind. He called again, louder this time, the desperation lacing his tone undeniable.

Nothing.

No answer.

His chest rose and fell rapidly. This wasn’t just a simple case of wandering off.

For a brief, dangerous moment, he felt the urge to slump, to give in to the overwhelming dread threatening to consume him.

But another part of him—the part that loved her, the part that knew she needed him—screamed louder.

What if she was in danger?

What if she was waiting for him, trapped somewhere, calling his name, needing him?

His teeth gritted. No. He wouldn’t let that thought win. He wouldn’t let that be reality.

He took a deep breath, dragging air into his lungs before exhaling sharply.

"Find her," he ordered himself, mentally shaking off the weakness. "Think, damn it. If she was heading back to the chambers, where could she have been delayed?"

Maybe someone saw her.

Maybe a maid, a guard, someone—

He spun around and stormed back toward the main castle. The entrance guards watched him with tense, worried expressions, but he ignored them.

"Search the castle," he growled to the nearest knights. "Question the maids. Ask if they saw her last. She might have spoken to someone before she disappeared."

One of the knights, Sir Galren, nodded stiffly. "Right away, Your Grace."

Another knight hesitated before speaking. "Should we alert the king?"

Alaric’s eyes snapped toward him. "No."

The knight swallowed hard. "But—"

"I said no." His tone was sharp, final. The last thing he needed was his father meddling in this.

He didn’t trust him.

Not with her.

She was his to find. His to protect.

With that, he turned on his heel, stalking through the castle halls, his thoughts a frantic storm.

He would find her.

Even if he had to tear this entire place apart.

Despite Alaric’s direct orders, some guards hesitated—one of them, unsure of where his true loyalty lay, turned and ran toward the grand hall, closely followed by two knights.

The celebration was still ongoing, the music lively, the guests oblivious to the storm brewing beyond the golden-lit halls.

The king sat on his elevated throne-like chair, watching the revelry with a neutral expression, though his mind was never at rest.

When the guards finally reached him, they knelt hastily.

"Your Majesty," one of them spoke, trying to keep his voice even. "His Highness, the Third Prince, has ordered the castle gates locked. No one is to leave."

The king’s goblet froze halfway to his lips.

The hall was far too loud for anyone else to notice the shift in the king’s aura, but the guards felt it immediately—the weight of his displeasure pressing upon them like an iron grip around their throats.

Slowly, he set the goblet down. "And why," he said, his voice measured, "would he think he has the authority to issue such an order?"

The guards exchanged uneasy glances before the bravest among them answered.

"The Seventh Princess is missing, Your Majesty."

A muscle in the king’s jaw ticked.

So that was it.

Of course, it was about her.

That woman. That foreign wife of the already strange prince they couldn’t get rid of. The one who should never have been here in the first place.

The one who was making Alaric soft.

And now, because of her, he was disrupting the castle’s order? Locking down Wyfkeep as if he were king?

The king exhaled sharply, his fingers curling into a fist on the armrest of his chair.

He should have expected this.

Alaric had always been reckless, acting on emotion rather than reason. But this? This was open defiance.

First, the bard’s song.

Now, an unsanctioned lockdown.

And where is his gift?!

It was beginning to look a lot like Alaric believed himself ruler here.

The knights remained kneeling, sweat beading their brows as they awaited his response.

Finally, the king leaned forward slightly, his eyes dark with restrained fury. "Send word to the Third Prince."

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