Married To Darkness
Chapter 324: Dine With Us Cousin

Chapter 324: Dine With Us Cousin

Samion didn’t trust him.

Yet Alaric did — or at least tolerated him — which only deepened Samion’s unease.

Before he could think further, they reached the doors of the grand dining hall.

The guard stationed there stiffened at the sight of Alaric, his expression caught between a bow and a wince.

They all knew — the third prince and his wife had been banned from the hall for more than a month now, a silent punishment wrapped in royal pretense.

And now, the prince stood there again, his presence a storm waiting to break.

With a hesitant glance at Alaric, the guard cleared his throat and announced, "The Third Prince of Wyfn-Guard."

The room fell into a sudden, uneasy silence.

Soft whispers cut off mid-sentence.

Forks paused halfway to mouths.

All eyes — or at least most of them — shifted toward the doorway.

Some noblemen stared openly, their curiosity barely hidden behind forced indifference.

Others averted their gazes quickly, pretending to study their goblets or the elaborate spread of morning dishes — though their ears were clearly tuned to every sound.

And then—

"Uncle Third Prince!"

A few young voices whispered excitedly from the far end of the table.

Children. The only ones untouched by the thick tension choking the air.

Their smiles were wide, their eyes bright with giggles they struggled to contain.

To them, Alaric was still their bold, mysterious uncle — the Demon Prince whispered about in the halls — but with none of the fear the adults felt.

One little boy cupped a hand to his sister’s ear and whispered a little too loudly, "I heard he fought a nature once!"

"What’s a nature?"

"I don’t know, something dangerous and exorbitant I’m sure,"

The sister, barely six, gasped, her gaze locking on Alaric with awe.

Alaric didn’t flinch. His dark eyes, cold as a frozen sea, barely registered the children’s excitement.

He was too busy scanning the table — faces blending into one another — for a king who had the nerve to summon him while his wife was still missing.

Lucius, as quiet as ever, simply stepped in behind him.

Samion, however, took one last glance at Lucius from the corner of his eye, his fingers still twitching near his sword.

The dining hall however hung in a precarious silence.

The air was thick — not with the warmth of morning or the scent of honeyed bread, but with unspoken tension, like a thread pulled too tight.

Jennifer, the first princess, broke the quiet with a smile so sweet it felt like poison.

"Dearest cousin," she purred, her voice a soft melody with a sharp edge. "Why don’t you sit here? Beside me?" She tapped the empty seat next to her, her gaze languid and sultry, as if this were some casual breakfast and not a silent war masked by silverware and fine silks.

Alaric spared her a single glance — a flicker of icy blue that lingered just long enough to make her smile falter — then turned away as though she’d never spoken.

His gaze locked onto the king, who sat at the head of the table, back stiff against the ornate chair.

The room was still, everyone watching the storm build behind Alaric’s calm facade.

"How," Alaric’s voice, deep and cutting, broke the silence, "do you dare summon me here... to dine—" his lip curled at the word, "—when you know my wife is missing?"

A ripple of discomfort spread across the table.

A nobleman cleared his throat. A lady adjusted her necklace, suddenly finding it too tight.

The children — so blissfully unaware moments ago — now sensed the shift in the room, shrinking back into their chairs.

The king’s jaw tightened. "Alaric, mind your—"

"Mind my tone?" Alaric interrupted, his voice rising just enough to make the flames in the chandeliers flicker. "My wife — your seventh daughter — is gone. And you sit here, calling for breakfast and false pleasantries, like this is a normal morning?"

The king’s face darkened. He opened his mouth, perhaps to reassert his authority, but Alaric took a slow step forward.

"Let me be clear," Alaric said softly, dangerously. "If Salviana is not found soon... there will be no kingdom left to host your pathetic breakfasts."

A collective gasp.

The threat wasn’t just against the king — it was against the crown, the court, the very foundation of their rule.

Jennifer who barely said anything if Salviana was around laughed — a light, taunting sound — breaking the stunned silence.

"Oh, Alaric," she crooned. "Maybe Salviana left with another man." She toyed with the stem of her goblet, swirling the wine inside like it was all just a jest. "Besides, so many men were always looking at her... Perhaps she’s perfectly content with someone else."

Her words slithered through the air like venom.

Alaric’s jaw clenched. His knuckles went white against the hilt of the dagger strapped to his side.

Then he scoffed — a cold, humorless sound.

"Amongst all those gazes," he said, his voice a quiet, simmering rage, "did you not notice mine was on her too?" His blue eyes burned now, a storm on the verge of breaking. "She would never leave me. Not willingly."

He took a step closer to the table. "And now... I have reason to suspect that one of you took her."

Silence.

The king’s concubines, Audrey and Lucille, exchanged uneasy glances before attempting to speak.

"Oh?" Lucille gasped.

"Perhaps we should all—" Audrey began.

"Enough," the king snapped, cutting both women off with a sharp wave of his hand.

They fell silent immediately.

The weight of Alaric’s accusation settled over the room like a heavy fog— suffocating, inescapable.

No one dared move.

No one dared breathe.

And Alaric...

He just stood there, waiting—daring—for someone to challenge him.

The tension cracked like a thin sheet of ice as Benjamin, the crown prince, cleared his throat—a deliberate sound meant to steady the storm swirling through the room.

"Brother," he said, his voice smooth but firm, "sit down. Eat something. Let’s think this through— together."

Oh, the audacity.