CHAPTER 474: OUR WEDDING INVITE

She lunged for the paper, fingers brushing his knuckles. "Alaric!"

"Yes, my bride?" He was infuriatingly calm... right until she dug her fingers into his ribs.

"Haa—!" His pen skidded across the page. "Woman—don’t—"

She was laughing now, eyes sparkling. "Oh, I think I will. Consider it punishment for being an antisocial vampire."

"Stop—tickling—me—Salviana—ahh" he half-growled, half-laughed, trying to keep his grip on the parchment as she stole it.

"You’re adorable," she said between giggles, tossing the quill aside.

He caught her wrist, tugging her closer until she was practically in his lap, their laughter still warm in the air. "Fine," he murmured against her ear, voice rich with mock defeat, "we’ll go. But you’re making the small talk."

"Or do you not want to get married to me?"

Alaric froze, his dark eyes widening, and then narrowing with a kind of wounded fire. His voice dropped, low and reverent.

"Salviana... I have faced blades, fangs, and centuries of solitude without flinching, but never have I been struck as cruelly as by that question. Do you truly think I would ever hesitate to bind myself to you? If I have made you doubt my devotion, then I have wronged you more than any sin I could imagine. You are the marrow in my bones, the fire that drags a vampire prince into the light. To call you mine is not duty, nor ritual, nor politics—it is salvation. If the heavens themselves demanded my joy in exchange for you, I would choose you still. You are my joy. I love you, Salviana, with a hunger that eclipses kingdoms. And I would be the happiest cursed man the world has ever known, if only I have the right to stand at your side."

He said in a breath, he was a vampire, perhaps he could do that, Salvina thought as she blinked fast, trying to steady the sudden sting in her eyes, but her throat still tightened.

Her hand reached for him instinctively, curling into the fabric of his shirt as though she could anchor herself in the solidity of him.

"Alaric..." she whispered, his name breaking on her lips like a prayer.

Her chest heaved, and a trembling laugh escaped her, caught between disbelief and a surge of aching love. "You can’t just say things like that and expect me not to fall apart in your arms. I thought I knew what love was before, but then you—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, meeting his gaze, those impossible black eyes, and she could barely breathe.

"You undo me, every time. And I don’t want a crown, or rituals, or kingdoms... I just want you. Always you."

For a long heartbeat, neither of them moved. Their foreheads nearly touched, breaths mingling, the weight of his confession still thrumming in the air like the echo of a struck bell.

Salviana’s eyes shimmered, crystalline with emotion, and she searched his face as if she could carve this moment into her soul—his dark eyes, smoldering and soft all at once, his sharp cheekbones, the way his lips parted like he, too, was on the edge of breaking.

Then she whispered, "Always you," and in that second, something inside her gave way.

Alaric’s hand cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing away a tear that never got the chance to fall.

The intensity of his gaze pinned her in place, black eyes blazing with devotion and hunger. She didn’t resist when he leaned in; her lashes fluttered closed as his lips claimed hers.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was deep, consuming, filled with the ache of longing and the desperate joy of finally being seen, wanted, chosen.

His mouth moved against hers with a hunger that bordered on reverence, like he could worship her simply by kissing her.

Her hands slid up to his broad shoulders, clutching the fabric there, then winding around his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

She could feel the steady press of his chest, the sharp inhale he took through his nose as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

The curtains stirred in the breeze from the open window, candlelight flickered golden against their entwined silhouettes, and the whole world seemed to still around them.

When they finally broke apart, her lips tingled, swollen from his kiss. Salviana rested her forehead against his, smiling through the tears she couldn’t hold back anymore.

Her heart felt light—overflowing, bursting—because in that moment, she knew she was happy. Not just as a Divine Lady, not as someone chosen by myth or duty, but as herself. With him.

And Alaric’s grin, wicked and tender at once, told her he felt exactly the same.

Alaric was still lounging back on the chaise, one arm draped lazily over its edge, the other idly twirling the quill he had abandoned after Salviana’s tickle-attack.

His gaze hadn’t left her since their kiss, as though he was memorizing her every shift of breath.

Salviana, cheeks still warm, smoothed her gown and rose. "I should go find Jean," she said softly.

His brow arched, lips curving. "The archeologist? The one who keeps you from getting lost in your own thoughts?"

She laughed, he finally got her profession right. "My best friend. My lady. My sister in everything except blood. I’ve been meaning to tell her...about us. About the wedding."

Alaric leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, his eyes glinting with that mix of pride and wickedness. "Then go, tell her. I would have her know that the sharpest tongue in the palace is now my rival for your affection."

Salviana rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. "She’ll say I’m insane for agreeing to marry you again."

"She better not dare but then she’d be right," he drawled, rising to his feet with a lazy elegance that still carried the weight of a prince.

He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and held her there for a lingering second. "But only because she has not yet seen how well you and I burn together."

Her lips curved, tender now. "Don’t be late for your council, my prince. The kingdom still needs you."