Married To Darkness
Chapter 326: Hungry, Thirst but Determined

Chapter 326: Hungry, Thirst but Determined

Salviana’s hair that she’d tried and pinned back was now clung to the sides of her face in wild red strands, sticking to her sweat-slicked skin.

Stray locks fell into her eyes, but she didn’t bother pushing them away—her focus was on the bars, on the wall, on the faint tremor she felt when she shook the window hard enough.

A cloud of dust burst from the cracks where the iron met stone, swirling around her like a choking fog.

She coughed, chest heaving, the air dry and stale as if the room itself had long been forgotten.

Her throat burned—not just from the dust, but from the growing realization that she was getting thirsty. Too thirsty.

Panic crept into her bones, making her more reckless.

She planted her bare foot against the wall, bracing herself, and pulled again—harder.

The muscles in her arms burned, and a deep red flush crept up her chest, spreading to her neck and cheeks. She gritted her teeth so tightly it hurt, her jaw aching from the strain.

The bars barely moved.

The faintest shudder.

A useless creak.

Her knee buckled, sending her stumbling back with a sharp thud.

"Damn it," she hissed, a tear of frustration slipping down her cheek before she wiped it away furiously.

The room fell back into silence—except for her breathing.

That’s when she noticed.

The glass bird was gone.

She blinked at the empty space where it had once fluttered, tapping its beak against the invisible barrier like it was playing some twisted game.

Gone.

Just like that.

Her heart lurched.

Had it flown away? Had it disappeared the moment she wasn’t looking?

Was it even real?

Her mouth felt dry—too dry—and the sight of the empty sky beyond the window suddenly seemed cruel. Bright, cloudless, and unreachable.

Her captor’s voice echoed in her mind.

"While you’re at it, maybe you’ll fall seriously ill."

Her stomach twisted.

She wasn’t just scared of being trapped—she was scared of withering here. Alone. Hungry. Thirsty.

Her lips were already beginning to crack.

But Salviana shook her head—shaking off the fear, shaking off the panic.

She wouldn’t die here. She couldn’t.

Her husband would find her.

And if he didn’t—

She would tear this prison apart with her bare hands.

Her gaze hardened.

Salviana wiped the sweat from her brow, smearing dust across her temple, but she didn’t care. She pushed back the sting of thirst clawing at her throat, the dryness scraping her words before they could even form. Her lips burned, already cracking at the edges, but she bit down on the discomfort. It was nothing compared to the storm brewing inside her chest.

She stepped closer to the window again, her bare feet sliding against the cold stone floor, and gripped the iron bars once more.

The wall trembled when she shook them—not much, but enough to ignite a spark of hope.

Her arms ached, the skin on her palms raw and angry from the jagged metal edges. Blood beaded at her fingertips, a cruel kiss from the bars she fought against, but still, she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

She was the Divine Lady of the Myth. She had purity.

And she had magic—magic she hadn’t dared to summon yet, but it was there, running through her veins like liquid fire. It was faint, maybe suppressed by whatever curse coated this room, but it existed.

She just had to reach for it.

Salviana’s breath came in harsh pants as she pressed her forehead against the bars, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She thought of Alaric—his stormy gaze, the way his jaw clenched when he was furious, the way his touch, both rough and gentle, reminded her she wasn’t just a caged princess. She wished she had Alaric’s superhuman strength.

He would be looking for her.

He would be tearing the kingdom apart by now.

But what if the magic in this place kept her hidden from him too?

Her stomach twisted again—not with fear, but with a raw, unrelenting fury.

No.

She wouldn’t wait like a helpless girl.

If Alaric couldn’t find her, then she would break this cursed prison open.

One way or another.

Fingers curling tighter around the bars, Salviana leaned her weight into them once more. The wall groaned—softly, faintly—but enough to let her know she wasn’t fighting a losing battle.

She wasn’t going to die here.

She was going to survive.

And when she got out—

The man who put her here would beg for mercy and she won’t ask her darling husband to forgive him.

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The dining hall was a storm of unspoken words.

Spoons clinked against plates, the last of the morning meal being dragged around by those too nervous to eat, but no one truly tasted their food. Every movement was sharp, every glance heavy with suspicion.

Alaric’s chair scraped against the marble floor as he stood, the sound splitting the air like a blade.

"After you," he said, his voice smooth but firm, his gaze pinned on Irene.

The Third Prince’s command was simple—but the weight it carried made the room shrink.

Irene’s hand trembled as she placed her napkin on the table. Her face, painted with practiced calm, betrayed itself in the subtle twitch of her jaw. "Alaric," she began softly, too softly, like a whisper might soothe a beast. "There’s no need for this. Jaron—he’s in his chambers, resting. He couldn’t have possibly—"

"Then let’s see him," Alaric cut in, his smile thin and humorless. "If he’s truly resting, I’m sure he won’t mind a courtesy call from his dear brother."

Silence.

All eyes darted between them.

Benjamin, the crown prince, kept his fingers steepled, his jaw set but his expression neutral—though the slight flicker in his gaze suggested something more calculating beneath the surface. Princess Lilian, seated beside him, pressed her lips into a thin line, casting a worried glance at the king.

Jennifer, however, was less subtle. "You really think Jaron would be involved in something this desperate?" she scoffed, swirling the wine in her glass. "Please. If Salviana ran off, it’s hardly his fault. Why would he want anything to do with your charming wife?"