Married To Darkness
Chapter 318: Not A Tame Prisoner

Chapter 318: Not A Tame Prisoner

The man chuckled, slow and deep. "And? What do you want me to do about it?" he asked, turning back slightly. "I’m the one who did it, after all."

Salviana flinched at his sheer indifference.

"Why are you doing this?" she couldn’t help but ask again, pushing past her fear. "Who are you?"

The hooded man tilted his head as if amused. "You ask too many questions, princess." His tone darkened. "But fine. Since you seem so eager to know—"

He stepped closer, and for the first time, Salviana could see the glint of his eyes under the hood. Cold. Unforgiving.

"I hate your husband," he said plainly. "I hate his mother. I hate the king. I hate you."

Salviana’s throat tightened.

"Why?" she whispered.

The man let out a bitter laugh. "Why?" he echoed mockingly. "Why does the weak envy the strong? Why does the overlooked despise the privileged? Why does a starving man hate the one with a feast before him?"

Salviana remained silent.

"I suppose you wouldn’t understand," he mused. "You’ve been handed power on a silver platter. But don’t worry... this is just practice. The real show comes later."

"What do you mean?"

"You’ll see soon enough."

The weight of his words sent chills down her spine.

He turned again, but before stepping out, he added, "Cry all you want, princess. It won’t change a damn thing."

Then, without another word, he turned and strode back toward the door.

Salviana lunged forward on instinct, but before she could reach him, the door slammed shut in her face.

She caught only a brief glimpse of the dim candlelight outside before she was plunged into darkness once more.

The moment he left, Salviana’s mind raced with regret.

Why hadn’t she run? Or at least tried?

She blinked, stunned by the realization that she hadn’t even attempted to escape.

What level of stupidity was that? Or was it something else—some unconscious trust that Alaric would find her?

No, that was foolish.

At the very least, she could have fought, done something, tried to touch him, to feel his face, his clothes—anything that could give her a clue about who he was.

But the room had been too dark, and her head still throbbed, leaving her sluggish and dizzy. If she had fought back, would he have hit her again?

Salviana exhaled sharply and stood, ignoring the wave of nausea that followed. She needed to do something now.

Her gaze darted to the small window. It was her only chance.

With careful steps, she approached it, placing her foot on the small wooden step beneath. She climbed up, pressing her hands against the wooden boards covering the glass. A heavy burglary grille stood behind it, preventing escape, but when she pushed against the boards, she felt them shift—just barely.

Her heart pounded.

There was a chance.

Determination flared in her chest as she tied her hair back, bracing herself. Then, with all her might, she slammed her fists against the wood, ignoring the sharp sting of pain.

Bang.

Again.

Bang.

She grit her teeth, pushing through the dizziness. She didn’t care if she hurt herself or get the abductor angry. She would keep hitting until someone heard her. Until Alaric found her.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The door burst open with a loud bang, and Salviana barely had time to turn before a furious voice roared through the small room.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?"

Her abductor stormed inside, his cloak billowing behind him as he marched straight for her.

The candle in the hallway behind him cast long, eerie shadows on the walls, making him look more monstrous than human.

Salviana didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, breath heaving, fists still clenched from her relentless pounding on the window.

"Trying to leave, obviously," she spat, her voice sharp despite her fear. "Or should I wait here like a good little prisoner?"

His hand struck her before she could react.

The slap sent her reeling, her cheek stinging, her head snapping to the side. A sharp, metallic taste filled her mouth. She had bitten her tongue.

But she refused to let him see her falter.

Slowly, deliberately, Salviana turned back to him, golden eyes burning with defiance. "Is that’s all you have?" she sneered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with rage. "You—"

But before he could finish, she lunged.

Her fingers grasped the edge of his hood, yanking hard.

The man gasped—stumbling back so violently he nearly lost his footing.

He was fast, pulling the hood down before she could see his face, but the panic in his reaction was enough.

Salviana smirked, her chest rising and falling heavily. "What’s wrong? Afraid I might recognize you?"

For a moment, he was silent. Then, he started to laugh.

Low at first, then louder, wilder—a maniacal, grating sound that sent shivers down her spine.

"You’re an amusing little witch," he chuckled darkly. "But you don’t seem to understand where you are."

His voice turned ice-cold.

"You’re going to die here."

Salviana stiffened, fingers curling into her skirts.

"But if you want to last a little longer," he continued, stepping back toward the door, "you’ll stay. Fucking. Silent."

He turned, reaching for the handle.

"If you make me come back because of your noise again," he warned, "I’ll tie you up like the weak, pathetic thing you are."

Then he was gone.

The door slammed shut.

The lock clicked.

And Salviana stood there, trembling, heart racing, her breath coming fast and uneven.

He thought she was weak.

He thought she was powerless.

He was wrong.

Salviana inhaled sharply, steadying herself. Since she couldn’t break down the door or fight him—not yet—she needed to focus on something she could do. She needed fresh air. She needed moonlight.

She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t pathetic.

She was a divine lady of the myth, a woman whispered about in legends. She was the labeled witch, the seventh princess of Wyfn-Garde. And, above all, she was the wife of the third prince—the feared demon prince, a vampire no one knew about.

She could survive this.

At the very least, she would open that window.

With renewed determination, Salviana exhaled and turned back toward the small opening she had been banging against earlier. There was a tiny ledge beneath it, just big enough for her to balance on. She stepped onto it carefully, pressing her palms against the wooden frame.

The boards were old, weathered. She could feel the slightest give when she pushed.

Good.

Her fingers gripped the edges tighter as she gathered her strength. If she couldn’t escape yet, she could at least breathe in the night air.

She shoved against the wood with all her might.