Married To Darkness
Chapter 321: Anger & Threats

Chapter 321: Anger & Threats

Alaric’s voice was ice. "We search both. The dungeons and the towers. Every last stone in this cursed castle will be overturned until I find my wife."

Lady Ferys swallowed her anger, and Manni simply gave a small, knowing smile.

The prince’s fury was a dangerous thing — but his love for Salviana was even more so.

With a wave of his hand, Alaric stormed from the room. "Move."

The search had only just begun.

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Salviana blinked awake, the first sliver of dawn bleeding through the small window, casting a faint glow across her face.

Shit.

Her head throbbed, and for a moment, she was disoriented — the cold floor beneath her, the stale air, the distant echo of footsteps. Footsteps.

Her heart lurched. Someone was coming.

Panic struck her like a bolt of lightning. She scrambled to the window, fingers trembling as she hurriedly pushed it closed. The iron bars were still there — unyielding, unforgiving — but at least the window could still open. She couldn’t risk her captor realizing she’d managed to unlatch it. If he locked it, that would be the end of her only hope for escape.

The footsteps drew closer, louder, each step a cruel reminder of how helpless she was.

Salviana spun around, flattening her hair, tucking stray red strands back into her bun, and wiped the panic off her face. She sat back down, straightening her posture, forcing her breathing to slow — but the pounding in her chest was another matter.

The lock jangled, the key scraping inside, and the door groaned open.

He stepped in.

Still cloaked from head to toe, but there was something darker about him now — an air of violence that hadn’t been so bold before. His presence seemed to leech the small room of whatever warmth the morning had tried to offer.

Salviana shivered despite herself.

"I hope you slept," he said, his voice gruff and dry, like gravel grinding together.

She held his gaze, her chin tilting upward just enough to look defiant. "Like a baby," she replied, voice flat.

A low chuckle rasped from beneath his hood — humorless and cruel.

The figure’s laugh was a low, grating sound, filling the small room with a sickening sense of superiority. Salviana’s skin prickled. His presence was like a dark cloud, thick and suffocating.

"You know," he said softly, almost mockingly, "I finally understand why your husband likes you."

Salviana’s eyes narrowed. "Likes me?" she scoffed, the bitterness in her voice like a blade. "My husband loves me — and so do I."

The figure tilted his head, the hood shifting slightly, but his face remained hidden. "Love?" He let the word roll off his tongue like it was a vile thing. "You’re a fool. And so is your husband."

Her jaw tightened, but she stayed silent, watching him carefully.

"You think he’s going to stop? That he’s just going to give up now that you’re gone?" He chuckled darkly. "He’s using witches to look for you. Witches — filthy, treacherous things. They should all be burned to the ground."

Salviana’s heart thudded, but her voice was steady. "I think you should calm down," she said slowly, each word deliberate, "so you don’t die before my husband comes here to kill you."

The air in the room thickened. For a heartbeat, there was only silence.

Then the figure stepped forward, his boot scraping against the stone floor, and Salviana tensed.

He didn’t speak — but the tension, the fury simmering beneath that hooded cloak, was almost a living thing.

The figure’s silence was louder than his words. Salviana kept her chin high, but her heart pounded in her chest like a drum, every beat echoing in the small, suffocating room.

She could feel his gaze burning through the shadows of his hood, the air between them growing heavier with every passing second.

Then, a slow, mirthless chuckle broke the silence.

"You think I’m afraid of your husband?" His voice was quiet, too calm — the kind of calm that felt more dangerous than shouting. "Let him come. Let him rage and tear through this castle like a mad dog. It only makes his downfall more satisfying."

Salviana’s fists clenched at her sides. She wanted to scream, to claw at him, to tear off that damn hood and see the face of the coward tormenting her. But she forced herself to stay still, to stay sharp.

"He’s not a mad dog," she said softly, her voice laced with venom. "He’s a demon prince. And the only downfall you’ll see is your own."

The figure took another step closer, his presence suffocating. "Brave words from a caged bird."

She refused to flinch, though every muscle in her body begged her to recoil. "And cowardly actions from a faceless fool."

For a moment, she thought she’d pushed him too far. His hand twitched at his side, fingers curling into a fist.

But then — that laugh again. Low. Unhinged.

"You’ll die in here if you keep that pretty mouth running," he sneered. "But if you stay quiet..." He leaned in just enough for her to feel his breath, "maybe I’ll let you starve a little slower."

Salviana’s stomach churned, but she didn’t break. She kept her stare locked on him, daring him to act, daring him to show his face — anything but this sick game of shadows and threats.

And then, just as abruptly as he’d come, he turned on his heel and stormed toward the door.

The key scraped against the lock, and before stepping out, he muttered one last thing:

"Enjoy the silence, princess. It’s the only company you’ll have."

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

And Salviana was alone again — but this time, she wasn’t just scared.

She was furious.

Salviana rushed back to the window the moment the door slammed shut, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her fingers, still trembling from the confrontation, clawed at the frame as she shoved the window open once more. The cold morning air hit her face like a slap, but she welcomed it—anything was better than the suffocating darkness of that room.

Just then, movement in the sky caught her eye—a bird, small and swift, darting straight toward the open window.

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