He ran a hand through his midnight hair, exhaling heavily. "Gods, Salviana… if only you knew how much I wanted you. If only you knew how much I love you."
His thoughts replayed her smile, her flushed cheeks as she knelt between his legs, the way she had whispered "My fire prince" like it was both a prayer and a promise.
He closed his eyes, almost cursing at himself.
But he couldn't risk it.
Not yet.
Alaric finally turned from the mirror, fastening his belt, his long coat falling behind him as he moved to the door.
He had wasted enough time.
His wife was somewhere in the castle—probably with the maids, probably laughing, probably pretending her heart wasn't just a little bruised because of him.
And that thought alone made his chest tighten.
"Where is my wife?" he muttered to himself as he stepped into the corridor, his boots echoing against the marble floors. "I need to find her… before I lose her trust for good."
