CHAPTER 185: THE DARKNESS BEHIND HIS BRIGHT CLOTHES

"Please forgive me for my rudeness, Your Majesty," Salem said as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm his tangled thoughts and emotions. "I’m just ... angry about what those kids had to go through. That’s all."

"I understand, Sir Vesper," Primrose replied softly. "There’s nothing wrong with being angry after hearing something that awful."

[They just remind me of the past,] Salem thought bitterly. [Raven might have killed that bastard ... but his face still haunts me every night.]

[What an asshole.]

Who was he thinking about?

Honestly, there were still so many things Primrose didn’t know about Salem.

She didn’t even know what names he had used in the past and most importantly, she knew absolutely nothing about the life he had lived before they met.

Even when she asked Solene about it, Solene didn’t know much either, since Salem always kept his past tightly guarded.

If he truly was a young master from a noble or wealthy family, surely someone would have recognized him by now.

But no, no one had ever recognized Salem’s face.

"I hope His Majesty will take good care of those children," Salem said. "They deserve a second chance."

[Even I’m still here, aren’t I?] he thought. [It was hell at first... but somehow, I survived, but ... well, life itself is a punishment anyway.]

Did he go through the same kind of pain as those children?

But what kind of experience did he mean?

Being promised a bright future by someone, only to be thrown into hell?

Had he been hurt? Used? Treated like he didn’t matter?

Or ... had it been all of that?

No. That couldn’t be.

He didn’t look like someone who had experienced something that awful.

But then again, what did Primrose really know about him?

Appearances weren’t the only way to understand someone’s true nature or story.

What if his past wasn’t as bright as the colors he wore?

Primrose wanted to ask more, but unfortunately, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

It didn’t feel right to pry into something he clearly wanted to keep buried. Besides, Salem also didn’t say all of those things out loud.

"We’ll do our best to help them heal, Sir Vesper," Primrose said, offering a soft, hopeful smile. "Once they’re safe ... would you like to meet them?"

Salem looked like he was about to open his mouth, and for a second, he seemed ready to agree.

But then, he changed his answer almost instantly.

"No," he said flatly. "Just tell me about their progress. I don’t feel the need to meet them."

It was bold of him to ask the Queen to report back to him, but since Primrose knew he didn’t mean any harm, she let it slide.

"Mhm," she nodded. "Maybe you’ll want to visit once they’re doing better."

Salem didn’t respond out loud, but he said something in his mind, [I doubt they’ll get better anytime soon. Who knows ... maybe it’ll take them years just to feel safe around people again.]

Whatever bad things Salem had experienced in the past, Primrose was sure they were so terrible that even his bright clothes couldn’t hide the darkness in his eyes.

• • •

Once Edmund returned to the inn, Primrose finally left Salem alone in the backyard to meet her husband.

"What happened to you?" Primrose’s eyes widened the moment she saw Edmund getting off his horse. "Is that blood?!"

She pointed to his shirt, which was slightly damp and stained with something red. His hair was also wet, dripping with the same red liquid.

Had he slaughtered the entire journalists?!

"No! This is wine!" Edmund quickly replied in a panic. "I’m not lying this time, it really is wine!"

Primrose still remembered the time Edmund returned to the palace with blood on his clothes. Back then, he insisted it was red paint instead of blood.

She narrowed her eyes, carefully examining the stains on his shirt.

Edmund looked even more anxious. He hurried over to his wife and lowered his head so Primrose could sniff his hair.

"It smells like wine, right?" he said. "It’s not blood! I didn’t kill anyone today!"

He said it like killing someone was as casual as throwing rocks at birds.

Primrose leaned in slowly and took a sniff of the scent coming from his hair and shirt.

It really was wine, no trace of blood.

Primrose let out a sigh of relief. "You scared me for a second." She called for the maids to prepare a warm bath for him, then turned back to Edmund. "What happened? Did someone pour wine on your head?"

That sounded incredibly disrespectful, especially since Edmund was the king. Then again, after thinking about it, pouring wine on the king’s head might be better than throwing a table at him.

"No, it wasn’t like that," Edmund murmured, lowering his head even more like he was afraid she’d scold him for telling the truth. "They threw wine bottles at me."

That didn’t sound much better than throwing a table at him!

"Did you get hurt?" Primrose asked worriedly.

She gently pushed back his hair, checking his forehead for wounds. But then she remembered her husband could heal himself within seconds.

"It wasn’t that bad," Edmund muttered.

Primrose softly caressed his forehead, like how she would comfort a child who’d just gotten hurt. "Still, I’m sure it must have hurt."

Edmund froze for a second when he felt her gentle touch. Then, as if something clicked inside him, he spoke again. "It actually hurt a lot ... and my forehead was bleeding so much."

[It feels so nice when my wife caresses the spot where I wasn’t even hurt,] Edmund thought. [If I complain about my injuries, will she keep caressing me more?]

Primrose was honestly impressed by how fast her husband could switch moods.

Just a moment ago, he was scared to tell her about the wine incident and the next, he was already playing the part of a little boy who’d fallen off his bike, just to get her attention.

Primrose let out a soft sigh, smiling warmly at him. "Where else does it hurt?"

Well ... that was fine.

There was nothing wrong with pampering her husband as well.