Married To Darkness

"I will take his tongue," Alaric hissed, his hand moving toward the dagger at his thigh.

"Sit. Down. Alaric." The voice was quiet, rhythmic, and entirely out of place in the chaos. Prince Embrez hadn’t moved from his seat. He was casually wiping a stray drop of wine from his silver sleeve, his expression one of bored amusement, as if he were watching a poorly rehearsed play rather than a bloodbath.

"Brother," Embrez said, finally looking up at Alaric, his gaze cool and steady. "If you kill him now, the servants will have to spend all afternoon scrubbing the floor, and I’m quite certain we have a hunt planned for the afternoon. It’s terribly inefficient."

Embrez turned his gaze toward the King, his Reddington-esque tilt of the head perfectly executed. "Father, surely we can attribute Benjamin’s... colorful vocabulary to the vintage he’s been drowning in since dawn. And Alaric’s ’enthusiasm’ to the protective instincts of a new husband. Both are tedious, but neither is worth a funeral before the wedding."

He flicked his hand at the servants. "Take the Crown Prince to his chambers. He’s clearly forgotten how to sit in a chair without gravity’s assistance."

Alaric was fuming, his chest heaving as he fought the urge to vault over the table. The "fire" in him was roaring, a literal heat radiating from his body that made the air shimmer. He wanted to reach Benjamin. He wanted to prove that the "Monster" his father spoke of was exactly what they deserved.

Salviana felt the heat of him, a searing wall of rage. She knew that if Alaric moved again, the King would call the guards, and the fragile peace they had built in the North would go up in flames.

She reached out, her fingers catching Alaric’s sleeve. She didn’t pull him back; she simply held on, her emerald eyes fixed on his, offering him the only anchor in the room that wasn’t trying to pull him under.

"Alaric," she whispered, her voice a sharp, cool blade of sanity. "Look at me. Not them. Me."

The King’s eyes snapped to her, his lip curling. "And you, Divine Lady. See how useless you are in this house? You were supposed to be a leash for this demon but you are a leash that doesn’t hold."

The words hit like a physical lash, intended to strip Salviana of her dignity and Alaric of his humanity in one stroke. Gideon stood at the head of the table, his crown glinting like a jagged halo in the morning sun, his presence radiating the absolute, crushing authority of a man who believed he owned everything his light touched.

Alaric’s reaction was no longer human. A low, guttural growl began in the back of his throat, a sound that vibrated the very silverware on the table. His eyes had gone entirely black, the "darkness" he feared so much surging to the surface as his father’s words scraped against the raw wounds of his past.

"A leash?" Alaric’s voice was a tectonic shift, deep and terrifying. "You think she is here to restrain me for your benefit? You think she is a tool you can use to manage the ’rot’ you created?"

He took a step toward the King, and the floor beneath his boot cracked. The shadows in the corners of the great hall seemed to stretch and lean inward, drawn to the Prince’s fury.

"Alaric, please stop," Salviana said, her voice steady despite the chaos. She didn’t let go of his sleeve. Instead, she stepped into his space, her body a small but unyielding barrier between the two Velthorne men. She turned her gaze to the King, her emerald eyes flashing with a "divine" fire that rivaled his own.

"Your Majesty," she said, her tone dripping with a frigid, regal poison that shocked even the concubines. "Do not mistake my love for a leash. And do not mistake my husband’s restraint for weakness. He did not miss that throw. He chose to let your heir live. If he were the ’demon’ you claim he is, there would be no one left at this table to argue with."

Benjamin, finally back in a chair but trembling so hard he sloshed wine onto his lap, let out a choked sound of indignation. But one look from Alaric silenced him.

King Gideon’s lip curled further. "You defend the beast that killed its own mother? The one who drank the blood of his own caregiver? Yes. I shall stay quite no more"

The room went deathly silent. This was the forbidden history, the jagged glass Alaric had spent a lifetime trying not to step on.

Embrez, still the calm center of the storm, set his apple down. The benevolent mask didn’t slip, but his eyes went cold. "Father, you’re becoming repetitive. We’ve all heard the ghost stories. Perhaps we should focus on the fact that your former Crown Prince just called the Seventh Princess a whore in front of the entire lineage. That is a diplomatic incident, not a family spat."

Embrez looked at Salviana, a faint, respectful tilt of his head acknowledging her spine. "Unless, of course, the King wishes to explain to the Divine Council why their representative was insulted by a man who can’t even sit in a chair properly."

Gideon’s eyes flickered. He hated Embrez’s logic almost as much as he hated Alaric’s power. He looked at Benjamin with pure, unadulterated disgust. "Get out, Benjamin. Before I let Alaric finish what he started."

As the former Crown Prince was scurried out by his terrified retinue, the King sat back down, his chest heaving. He looked at Alaric and Salviana as if they were a disease he couldn’t quite cure.

"Breakfast is over," the King snapped. "The wedding hunt begins at noon. Alaric—try to keep your knives for the prey, not your brothers. And you, Lady Salviana... pray that your ’fire’ doesn’t burn the house down before the wedding."

He stood and walked out, his cape snapping behind him like a whip.

Alaric remained standing, his chest heaving, his hands still clenched into white-knuckled fists. The "heat" radiating from him was intense, a physical wall of rage.

Salviana didn’t wait for him to calm down. She moved in front of him, sliding her hands up his chest to cup his face, ignoring the way his skin felt like it was ready to ignite.

"Look at me," she commanded softly.

Slowly, the blackness in his eyes ebbed away, replaced by the deep, haunted brown she knew. He looked at her with a mixture of shame and shattering devotion.

"I almost did it," he whispered, his voice wrecked. "I almost proved him right."

"He’s wrong," Salviana replied, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "You didn’t do it for the blood. You did it for me. Now, let’s leave this place. We have a hunt to prepare for, and I think it’s time we use our said ’Monster’ to be superior"