CHAPTER 468: THE GARDEN BENCH

Alaric eased back onto the wide, stone bench tucked beneath the blossoming vines of Salviana’s garden, pulling her gently with him until she settled across his lap.

The flowers swayed lightly in the evening breeze, the faint hum of the sound barrier still surrounding them, keeping the world locked out.

"Come here, fiery wife," he murmured, voice still gravelly from earlier, his hands already sliding to her waist as if she belonged there—because to him, she did.

Salviana, still flushed and trying to compose herself, shot him a soft glare as she adjusted on his lap, but her body betrayed her, melting into him with ease. "You’re insatiable," she whispered, though the corner of her lips lifted slightly.

"Only with you," Alaric replied simply, his thumb brushing over her hip in slow, possessive circles.

She sighed, leaning into his chest, and for a moment they just sat there, breathing each other in.

The cool stone beneath them, the warm press of his body, the faint smell of flowers—all of it felt strangely peaceful despite the fact that minutes ago, his mouth had been between her thighs, worshiping her like she was something holy.

Alaric tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips against her temple. "Are you angry at me?"

Salviana glanced up, her face still soft with post-pleasure haze. "Why would I be?"

"Because I want you like a starving man wants his last meal," he said, his voice low, confessional, his hands slowly sliding up her sides as if memorizing her shape all over again. "Because I can’t seem to stop touching you when I should."

She placed a hand against his chest, feeling the steady, unnatural rhythm of his heartbeat—faint but there. "Alaric, you’re my husband. You’re allowed to want me."

His lips curled into a half-smile, though his eyes darkened with something more vulnerable. "I’ve wanted you since the first day Fiery wife. You were the only thing in that cursed castle that felt... alive. yet I’ve always been afraid."

She draws a breath, "Afraid of what?"

His thumb caressed the underside of her chin before lifting it gently so she would look at him. "Afraid that one day I’ll take too much from you. That I’ll give in too far, and you’ll be left broken because of me. I want you all and whole"

Her heart squeezed at his words, and she shook her head firmly, cupping his face now, forcing him to hold her gaze. "Alaric Velthorne, you didn’t break me when you saved me. You didn’t break me when you took me from my people and made me your wife. And you won’t break me by loving me."

His breath caught, his fingers digging slightly into her waist as if anchoring himself with her words.

"You sound so sure" he murmured.

Salviana smiled, soft and full of something that made his chest ache. "I’m yours, aren’t I? Entirely yours."

For a long moment, Alaric just stared at her, as if committing every detail of her face to memory.

Then he shifted slightly, his hand sliding up her back until it rested at the nape of her neck, gently pulling her toward him.

"Then let me be selfish just a little longer," he whispered before pressing his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow, almost reverent at first—soft brushes of lips, the kind that tasted like whispered promises and unspoken words.

But Alaric, being who he was, couldn’t keep it soft for long. His hand slid lower, gripping her thigh possessively as he deepened the kiss, angling her slightly on his lap so she pressed flush against him.

Salviana let out a soft sound against his mouth, her fingers curling into his tunic as his other hand traced up her spine, memorizing every curve.

"Gods, you feel perfect," he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing to her jaw, then her neck.

She gasped softly when his fangs brushed lightly against her skin—not piercing, just teasing. "Alaric..."

"Don’t worry," he whispered against her pulse, his warm breath making her shiver. "I wouldn’t dare—not yet. But, fiery wife, do you know how hard it is not to taste you here?" His lips grazed over her neck again, slow and lingering.

Salviana shivered, her hands tightening against his chest, but instead of pulling away, she tilted her head slightly, exposing more of her neck to him.

Alaric froze for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching, before letting out a low, reverent groan. "You’ll undo me someday, Salviana. Completely."

"Good," she whispered, smiling against his hair. "Because you’ve already undone me."

They stayed like that for a while, curled into each other on the garden bench, stealing kisses and soft touches as the night wrapped around them. For once, there was no court, no politics, no danger. Just them.

And today—all of it was theirs.

Moments later

Emma arrived in her usual quiet way, head bowed respectfully as she stepped into the garden where Salviana and Alaric were still nestled together on the bench.

"My lord, my lady," she said carefully, keeping her eyes downcast. "The kitchen sent me to invite you for an early dinner."

Alaric didn’t even glance at her. His hand was still tracing lazy circles on Salviana’s thigh, and his dark eyes remained fixed on his wife’s flushed face.

"No," he said simply, his voice low and commanding.

Emma blinked, hesitating. "No, my lord? Shall I inform the kitchen that—"

"Tell them I’m taking my wife out," Alaric interrupted, his tone softening slightly when he finally shifted his gaze to Salviana, who looked at him with mild surprise.

Salviana tilted her head. "You are? Where are we going?"

A hint of mischief flickered in his eyes, and a rare smile tugged at his lips. "It’s a surprise, fiery wife. Do you trust me?"

She exhaled, trying not to smile too brightly. "That’s a ridiculous question. You know I do."

"Good," he murmured, standing and pulling her to her feet with him. "Then come with me. You’re about to taste something you’ll never forget."