"What is that?" she asked.
"Dried apricots and honey cakes," he said with a wink. "The royal lunch is usually cold and tedious. I thought you might prefer something sweet while we wait for the dogs to find the trail."
The sheer level of care was staggering. He was treating her like a treasure he had spent a lifetime searching for, a stark contrast to the way the other princes treated their wives—as accessories or political burdens.
As the final horn sounded, Alaric mounted his own horse, the massive, coal-black Obsidian. He drew his longbow from its sheath, the dark wood polished to a mirror finish, and slung his quiver of black-fletched arrows over his shoulder. He looked every bit the Dark Prince now—lethal, focused, and terrifying—but when he looked at Salviana, that shadow vanished.
He reached out, his gloved hand catching hers one last time.
"Just watch, Salviana," he repeated, his gaze burning with a fierce, protective light. "Watch how a monster protects his heart."
