Married To Darkness-Chapter 348: Jarons Punishment For His Atrocious Act

Alaric shut his eyes for a long, agonizing moment.

Lucius was right. Damn him.

He couldn’t keep Salviana safe by blindfolding her. If anything, that made her an easier target.

He opened his eyes slowly, the icy blue of his gaze darkening. "We open the lockbox tonight."

Lucius gave a firm nod, a hint of satisfaction in his expression.

"But," Alaric added, his voice like steel, "we tell Salviana after we know what’s inside."

Lucius’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk. "Of course."

Alaric wasn’t fooled.

Lucius would find a way to involve Salviana, whether he liked it or not.

But for now...

He had bigger demons to face—both the ones in the basement and the ones buried deep within his own blood.

The candle on the desk flickered violently, a sudden draft whispering through the room.

And somewhere, in the quiet corners of that former ruined mansion, a lockbox carved with ancient symbols waited—sealed with secrets older than the demon prince himself.

The soft knock on his office door barely registered at first. Alaric was still reeling from the conversation with Lucius, his thoughts tangled between the lockbox, his bloodline, and Salviana’s safety.

But then the knock came again—firm, urgent.

The door creaked open, and Sarah, one of Salviana’s maids, stepped inside. She wrung her hands, her gaze darting to Lucius before settling on Alaric. "Your Highness..." she swallowed. "The King is outside your chambers."

Alaric’s head snapped up, his brows knitting together. "King Gideon?"

Sarah nodded quickly. "Yes, my lord."

Lucius let out a low whistle, adjusting the cuff of his dark coat. "The King doesn’t pay social calls, does he?"

Alaric ignored the jab, his mind already racing. What the hell was Gideon doing here? Was this about Jaron? The Tackeros deal? Or worse—was it about Salviana?

Without another word, Alaric pushed past Sarah, his boots striking the stone floor with hard, unrelenting steps.

His hand was halfway to the door when he felt it—a faint pull, a familiar warmth—

"Alaric."

He turned sharply.

Salviana stood at the top of the stairs, dressed simply—too simply for the fiery princess she was.

A soft lavender gown hung loosely on her frame, and though her hair was neatly braided, there was a certain fragility in the way she clutched the railing.

His throat tightened.

"You should be resting, fiery wife," he said softly, his usual edge smoothed by the sight of her.

She shook her head. "I want to come."

"Salviana—"

"I’m not a delicate flower, Alaric." Her voice was firm, but her fingers were still curled tightly around the banister. "I’m your wife. I’ll stand with you."

Lucius, ever the observer, chuckled lightly from the side. "She’s tougher than you, Demon Prince."

Alaric shot him a glare before climbing the stairs in two long strides, his hand coming to rest lightly on Salviana’s waist. "You’re still recovering."

"I’m standing, aren’t I?" She tilted her chin, her emerald eyes stubborn and unyielding.

Damn it. He should’ve known.

With a sigh, Alaric brushed a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. "Fine," he muttered. "But stay close."

Lucius, clearly enjoying the exchange, smirked. "Shall we go greet the king before he decides to storm the castle himself?"

Salviana glanced at Lucius. "I’m fine, Lucius. Thank you for asking."

Lucius inclined his head. "A pleasure, Princess."

Alaric resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he guided Salviana down the stairs, keeping his hand at the small of her back, firm and protective.

When they reached the courtyard outside their chambers, the air was thick with tension.

Guards stood at attention along the stone walls, and at the center of it all—King Gideon.

His royal cloak swept the floor, his crown a dull gold in the fading evening light.

His face was a mask of indifference, but Alaric knew better—he could see the slight twitch in the king’s jaw, the calculating flicker in his gaze as it shifted between him and Salviana.

"Your Majesty," Alaric said coolly, giving a brief nod.

Gideon’s lips thinned. "I heard the princess has...recovered."

Salviana stiffened beside Alaric at the king’s lackluster acknowledgment of her near-death experience.

She said nothing, though, and Alaric was proud of her restraint—even as his own blood simmered beneath the surface.

"Is there a reason for this unexpected visit, Your Majesty?" Alaric asked, his voice edged with steel.

Gideon’s gaze didn’t waver. "I want to see the man who dared to lay a hand on my niece-by-law," he said, his words as much a command as a declaration. "The one you claim is rotting in your dungeons."

Alaric’s jaw ticked. "He’s no man," he muttered. "Just a fool."

"Nevertheless," the king replied, "I will see him. Now."

Alaric didn’t move. His mind spun.

He didn’t trust Gideon—not when it came to matters of punishment.

This wasn’t about justice. It was about control. The king wanted to assert his power, even over a situation Alaric had already handled.

But refusing the king outright... that would spark a whole new war.

After a long, stony silence, Alaric finally said, "Very well."

Salviana’s hand grazed his fingers, a quiet show of support.

Lucius arched a brow. "Shall we head to the dungeons then?"

Without another word, Alaric turned sharply and led the way down the winding halls of the castle—toward the cold, dark place where Jaron waited.

If the king was going to pretend he hadn’t heard about the captor being his son, Alaric wouldn’t be the one to tell him.

The air in the dungeon was damp, heavy with the scent of blood and rust. Torches along the stone walls flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the cells.

Behind the iron bars, Jaron sat slumped against the wall, his face a mess of bruises and dried blood — the aftermath of Alaric’s unrelenting fury. His split lip twisted into a smirk when he saw the small procession enter.

The king. Prince Spencer. Alaric. Salviana. Lucius.

Jaron’s gaze lingered a little too long on Salviana, and Alaric’s jaw tightened.