Chapter 457: A Heated arguments
The door shut behind him with a dull, final thud.
Alaric barely had time to take in the familiar chamber—the way the servants had laid fresh linens on the bed, the fire crackling low in the hearth—before Salviana’s voice cut through the quiet.
"So you killed him," she said.
It wasn’t a question.
He froze where he stood, halfway out of his leather armor, and turned to face her. Her red hair was unbound, tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes bright with something between sorrow and fury.
"Salviana..."
She took a step closer, voice shaking. "I want you to tell me plainly, Alaric. Did you kill Prince Jaron?"
A long silence bloomed between them, heavy as stone.
He exhaled slowly, meeting her gaze without flinching. "Yes."
The word landed in the room like a blade.
Her lips parted, her breath hitching as she searched his face, desperate for something—remorse, justification, an apology she could understand. "Why?" she whispered, her throat tight. "Why would you do that when you knew I’d left the decision to me?"
He ran a hand over his face, jaw flexing. "Because I knew what you’d decide."