Married To Darkness-Chapter 358: Moody Day Painting.

Salviana could feel his presence—his piercing gaze burning into her—but she ignored him. She didn’t turn to him, didn’t acknowledge him.

Her usual morning routine, once filled with laughter and soft conversation, now felt hollow. She should have been enjoying this, but how could she?

Salviana sat stiffly before the mirror, her expression composed, but inside, she was seething.

How could he be so selfish?

First, he deprived her of her womanly rights—her husbandly rights!—and then he had the audacity to scold her as if she were a child who had misbehaved.

The maids sensed the tension thick in the air, an invisible battle waging between their lord and lady. Sarah and Thalia exchanged wary glances as they adjusted Salviana’s sleeves, neither daring to comment.

And then there was him.

Alaric sat in the corner, barely visible in the dimly lit part of the chamber, his broad figure blending into the shadows. He hadn’t said a word since entering. He simply watched.

His presence burned against her skin, his gaze heavy—dark, unreadable, assessing.

Salviana refused to acknowledge him. She kept her back straight, her expression poised, her eyes fixed on her reflection. Yet, her body betrayed her. She was too aware of him. Every breath she took felt measured, every movement calculated.

She wasn’t even enjoying this.

Her favorite part of the morning—getting ready, drinking tea, sharing quiet moments with Alaric—felt hollow without him truly beside her. And yet, her anger wouldn’t let her soften.

She took a deep breath.

At the same moment, Alaric sighed.

Their gazes met briefly in the mirror before Salviana quickly looked away, her lips pressing into a firm line.

She wanted to tell him to leave.

She wanted to ignore him entirely.

She wanted to yell at him.

But most of all, she wanted him to come to her, to pull her close, to whisper that he was done holding back.

Instead, she said nothing.

And the silence between them stretched—tense, unspoken, unbearable.

After a while,

A sharp knock on the door resounded through the room, shattering the heavy silence that had settled between them.

Salviana barely flinched. She remained seated, back straight, chin high, while the maids continued dressing her. She had been ignoring Alaric since morning, refusing to acknowledge his presence. If he wanted to be stubborn and deny her, then she would deny him in return—deny him her words, her affection, her attention.

Alaric, on the other hand, sat in the shadows of the room, brooding. He had no words to defend himself, no explanations that would make Salviana understand why he had stopped last night. She was angry, and he could feel it like a storm pressing against his chest. He sighed but didn’t dare speak.

Another knock.

Alaric rose immediately, almost grateful for the distraction. Without sparing Salviana another glance, he strode toward the door and pulled it open.

Samion stood waiting.

"Good morning, Your Highness," the knight greeted with a respectful bow. "As it has been confirmed that Lord Lucius will be unavailable today, you have a scheduled meeting, and I will be escorting you."

Alaric gave a small nod, seizing the opportunity. "Understood."

Without hesitation, he stepped out of the room, his strides steady, his presence commanding as he followed Samion down the hall toward his office.

Behind him, Salviana clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her gown.

So, he could leave so easily?

Fine. Let him.

Let him sit in his grand office, let him work while she fumed in silence. If he wanted distance, she would give him distance.

She refused to be the only one fighting.

Salviana was not in a lovely mood, but it worsened as the morning went on.

She had woken up irritated, but when she sat down to breakfast alone, the irritation solidified into something heavier—disappointment.

Alaric had left.

He had left without a word, without even trying to make things right. She stabbed at her food with her fork, barely tasting it. Eating alone felt like a punishment, and it only made her anger fester.

By the time she finished, she needed an outlet—something to focus on, something to drown in.

So, she retreated to her art room.

The space smelled of fresh paint and parchment, the soft morning light spilling in from the tall windows. Canvases lined the walls, most unfinished, some forgotten. But her gaze landed on the one she had started before the king’s birthday.

A masterpiece.

Just like the others.

Her fingers itched as she picked up her brush, resuming the careful strokes she had abandoned days ago. She wasn’t sure why, but this particular painting called to her. The face on the canvas was hauntingly familiar—an elegant woman, older, chic, with eyes that held wisdom and sorrow in equal measure.

Salviana frowned.

Why did she feel so drawn to this face?

Who was she?

With a frustrated sigh, she set her brush down and leaned back. At least she had gotten the image out of her head, transferred onto canvas.

But the lingering unease in her chest told her this wasn’t over.

"Where is Jean?"

Salviana had asked countless times, but the answer remained the same—Jean had not returned to duty.

That was it. She snapped.

She wasn’t going to sit here and wait for answers that no one seemed willing to give. She was going straight to her husband.

As she stood up and made her way toward the door, Emma rushed to her side, concern written all over her face.

"My lady, where are you going?" she asked breathlessly. "With your lady-in-waiting absent, I should attend to you today."

"I’m going to Alaric," Salviana said briskly, not breaking her stride.

Emma hesitated for a second before quickly falling into step beside her.

Salviana stormed down the corridors, her heels clicking against the polished floor with a sharp, unwavering rhythm. The guards stationed outside Alaric’s office straightened at the sight of her, exchanging wary glances, but they didn’t stop her. They knew better than to interfere when the queen was like this.

She pushed open the heavy doors without hesitation.