Married To Darkness-Chapter 342: She’s Awake

The bedroom was steeped in silence, save for the soft rustle of curtains and the distant murmur of the castle waking with the morning sun.

The grand chamber, draped in silken sheets and adorned with gold accents, felt heavier than it should — as though the air itself mourned for the princess lying motionless in the bed.

By her side, Jean sat, her shoulders trembling, her tear-streaked face buried in the back of Salviana’s delicate hand. The lady-in-waiting’s sobs were broken, scattered like glass shards against the hush of the room.

"Oh, Salviana, sweetheart..." Jean’s voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. "I’m so sorry... so sorry I wasn’t there with you. I should have been. I should have never let you out of my sight." She squeezed the princess’s hand, her thumb stroking it softly as if to will her awake. "If I had been there, maybe—maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe that wretched man wouldn’t have—" Her voice broke again, and she covered her mouth, trying to stifle the sound.

Her heart ached with guilt, raw and relentless.

"He deserves to be punished," Jean whispered fiercely, a spark of anger flickering behind her tears. "Whoever did this to you — they deserve to suffer. I won’t rest until they do. I swear it." Her voice wavered, but the promise was steel.

She kept talking — about vengeance, about how much Salviana meant to her, about the sleepless nights she’d spent waiting by the door for news — until a soft, ragged breath broke the rhythm of her words.

Jean froze.

Her heart leapt to her throat.

Then—

"Did you send the man to abduct me?"

The voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it was unmistakably Salviana’s.

Jean’s head snapped up so quickly it hurt her neck, her wide, tear-glazed eyes locking onto the princess’s. Salviana’s eyelids were heavy, her red hair a fiery halo splayed across the white pillows. She looked fragile, like a glass doll on the verge of shattering — but her gaze was sharp. A question wrapped in thorns.

"Your Grace!" Jean cried, her voice breaking into a sob as she lurched forward, clutching Salviana’s hand with both of hers now. "Oh, by the heavens, you’re awake! You’re awake!"

Her cries grew louder, uncontrollable, echoing against the stone walls.

Salviana’s lips tugged into a weak smile, her body too drained to move, but her fingers gave the smallest squeeze.

"I missed you so much," Jean wept, her forehead brushing Salviana’s knuckles as though in silent prayer.

"I missed you too, Jeanie," Salviana rasped, her throat burning, the words tasting like sandpaper. "But... I feel so parched."

Jean jerked upright. "Oh!" She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress in her haste. "Water — I’ll get water!"

At that moment, the door creaked open, and the royal physician, a stern woman with silver hair tied back into a neat bun, entered the room. She offered Salviana a professional smile, the kind meant to soothe, though there was a flicker of relief behind her eyes.

"Your Highness," the physician said softly. "You need rest — lots of it. And hydration. Fruits, vegetables. Everything to restore your strength." She placed a hand on Salviana’s wrist, counting the faint pulse there. "But more importantly," she added, her voice gentle, "you need peace of mind. Your body can recover, but the mind — the mind must be nurtured too."

Salviana blinked, her thoughts a haze of distant memories — the fall, the wind roaring in her ears, Alaric’s arms breaking her descent, the look of fury on his face — but she felt fine. Tired, yes. Sore, absolutely. But her mind? It wasn’t in tatters.

Not yet.

She only needed one thing.

Her husband.

"Where’s Alaric?" Salviana rasped, her voice soft but steady.

Jean, still wiping away her tears, smiled at the question.

"Jaefel has gone to inform him of your awakening."

Salviana gave a slow nod, her body too heavy to move, but the mere thought of Alaric — his strong arms, his fierce gaze, the way his lips brushed her forehead as if she were a fragile secret — was enough to bring a weak smile to her face.

"Okay," she whispered, her heart already racing in anticipation.

Because no matter how broken her body felt, Alaric’s presence would mend the rest.

The dungeon was a cold, merciless place — all stone walls and iron bars, thick with the scent of dampness and decay. Torches lined the corridors, their flames flickering like dying stars, casting long, restless shadows across the cracked floors.

Alaric didn’t pause at the entrance. He didn’t knock or announce himself. He simply pushed the heavy iron door open, the hinges groaning in protest.

And there he was.

Jaron.

Bound to a chair, his wrists and ankles shackled with chains enchanted to hold even the strongest of creatures. Blood smeared his mouth, a dark trickle running down his chin, but his pale face was stretched into a twisted smile. Even under the weak torchlight, Alaric recognized the smirk — the smugness of a man who had already calculated his own survival.

Alaric’s jaw tightened, his fangs threatening to slip past his lips. His cousin. The king’s concubine son. A man of royal blood — and yet a traitor.

He blinked once, twice. Then a slow, bitter smile crept onto his face.

"Wow," Alaric said, his voice a low rumble. "Jaron."

Jaron tilted his head, unbothered by the venom in Alaric’s tone.

"I should’ve known it would be you."

There was no more talking. freёnovelkiss.com

In the blink of an eye, Alaric was on him.

He grabbed Jaron by the collar of his torn shirt, yanking him upright so fast the chair clattered to the floor. The sound echoed through the dungeon, but the only thing louder was the sickening crack of Alaric’s fist colliding with Jaron’s jaw.

One blow.

Then another.

And another.

Lucius stood at the corner simply watching while Jarons head fell around like a rag doll.