Married To Darkness-Chapter 362: Cooking, Eating With Love and Laughter

After their planning,

"We’ll have to make dinner by ourselves, My Lady," Jean announced as they stepped into the kitchen.

Salviana hesitated. Cooking wasn’t exactly her forte, and she was fairly certain the last time she attempted anything close to it, a servant had nearly cried. "Ehh, yes. Food. Of course," she said awkwardly.

Alaric tried to catch her gaze, but she pointedly avoided it. He sighed, but Jean, ever the savior, grabbed Salviana’s wrist and tugged her along. "Come on, it’ll be fun."

Lucius, watching from the doorway, narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

The kitchen was warm and inviting, with the lingering scent of fresh bread and herbs. Jean immediately rolled up her sleeves and turned to Salviana. "Alright, My Lady, first lesson—do you know how to cook anything?"

Salviana shifted uncomfortably. "No."

Jean paused. "Like, nothing at all?"

"Nothing."

Jean gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. "Not even an egg?"

"I’m royalty, Jean. I have people for that."

Jean shook her head. "Not anymore. Tonight, you are the people."

Salviana groaned. "Fine. Where do we start?"

Jean clapped her hands together, eyes twinkling with mischief. "First, we appreciate the ingredients." She grabbed a tomato, held it up to the light, and sighed. "Look at this. This is a sexy tomato."

Salviana’s eyes widened. "Jean, that is a vegetable."

"It’s actually a fruit," Jean corrected.

"I don’t care. You can’t call it sexy."

Jean scoffed, turning the tomato in her hands. "Excuse me? Look at this shape—plump, round, firm but soft—tell me this tomato isn’t attractive."

Salviana pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am not objectifying produce with you."

Jean picked up a bell pepper next. "Okay, what about this one? This one’s cute."

"Jean—"

"Oh, and this potato? Absolutely handsome."

Salviana burst out laughing. "What is wrong with you?"

Jean grinned. "You just don’t see food the way I do. They have personalities. Some dishes are flirty, some are dramatic, and some are just downright comforting. Like a grandmother’s hug."

Salviana chuckled. "Fine, then what does this onion make you feel?"

Jean picked it up thoughtfully. "Mm. Moody artist. Definitely emotional."

Salviana snorted. "Because it makes you cry?"

"Exactly."

Salviana shook her head, still laughing. "Alright, what next, oh Great Food Whisperer?"

Jean grinned. "Chopping. Do you know how to hold a knife?"

"I know how to wield one."

Jean blinked. "...Right. Let’s just stick to slicing vegetables for now, not threatening people."

They worked together, chopping, stirring, and tasting as they went. Salviana learned that cutting onions wasn’t nearly as easy as it looked, that garlic had a way of making everything smell better, and that Jean had a rather concerning amount of love for seasoning.

"More salt," Jean muttered, tossing in another pinch.

Salviana raised a brow. "Are we cooking or performing an exorcism?"

Jean shushed her. "Trust the process."

Eventually, the aroma of their hard work filled the kitchen. The stew bubbled gently, bread was warming in the oven, and a fresh salad sat prettily in a wooden bowl.

Salviana wiped her hands on a cloth and surveyed their work. "I can’t believe I actually helped make this."

Jean beamed. "See? Cooking is just like life. A little messy, sometimes overwhelming, but always rewarding."

Salviana hummed in thought. "And apparently, food can be sexy."

Jean nodded sagely. "Some food simply demands admiration."

As they set the table, Salviana realized that, for the first time in days, she felt lighthearted. She glanced at Jean, who was humming happily to herself. Maybe cooking wasn’t just about making meals. Maybe it was also about connection, laughter, and, in Jean’s case, flirting with tomatoes.

Smiling to herself, Salviana sat down, ready to share the meal they had created—not just with their hands, but with love and friendship.

Meanwhile,

The rain poured in steady sheets, drumming against the rooftop, cascading down the carved stone railings of the mansion’s grand balcony. Lightning split the sky in the distance, illuminating the dark sea of trees that stretched beyond the estate. The wind carried the scent of wet earth and damp leaves, filling the air with a crisp coolness.

Lucius and Alaric stood side by side, silent, watching the storm unfold before them. The only sounds were the occasional roll of thunder and the distant laughter of the women inside the kitchen.

A crack of thunder rumbled through the sky.

Lucius finally broke the silence. "I noticed a strained atmosphere between you and the princess." His voice was calm, measured.

Alaric let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am a poor man when it comes to my wife, Lucius."

Lucius turned slightly, one brow lifting. "A poor man? That’s absurd. You’re one of the wealthiest men I know."

Alaric chuckled, but there was no humor in it. His fingers tightened on the balcony railing. "Salviana wants something I cannot provide for her, and that makes me poor."

Lucius studied his friend carefully. The prince looked composed, as always, but there was something heavy in his stance, a weariness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. "What could it be that you are unable to provide, dearest friend?"

Alaric exhaled, his blue eyes dark and stormy as he watched the rain fall. "It is something that money cannot buy."

Lucius was silent for a moment, letting the words settle between them. Then, with an almost lazy curiosity, he asked, "Love?"

Alaric’s jaw tightened. His fingers tapped against the railing, a restless movement. "No. I love her."

"Then what?"

Alaric clenched his fist. "Peace."

Lucius tilted his head. "Peace?"

Alaric’s gaze flickered toward the window, where the warm glow of candlelight illuminated Salviana and Jean, their figures moving animatedly as they laughed over some culinary disaster. His chest ached.

"She wants something simple. A life where I am just her husband, not a prince, not a warrior, not someone constantly preparing for the next battle. She wants a home, a place where she can feel safe and loved without the weight of the world pressing down on her."

Another flash of lightning cut through the sky.

"And you cannot give that to her?" Lucius asked quietly.

Alaric’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I am not a man who gets to rest, Lucius. I am a man of duty, responsibility, and war. No matter how much I love her, I will always have blood on my hands, always have enemies watching from the shadows. Salviana deserves better than that."

Lucius huffed. "Sounds to me like she deserves you—not some perfect, peaceful fantasy that does not exist. You think love is built in quiet days and sunlit mornings? Love is forged in storms, in battles, in the moments where you choose each other despite the chaos."

Alaric stared at him.

Lucius gave a half-smirk, looking back at the rain. "But then again, what do I know? I’m just a man standing on a balcony, enjoying the weather."

A moment of silence stretched between them. Then, from inside the house, Jean’s voice rang out cheerfully—

"Food is ready!"

The laughter from inside swelled, warm and unburdened. The storm raged on, but for a brief moment, as Alaric turned to follow the sound of his wife’s voice, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—Lucius was right.

The dining hall flickered with the golden glow of candlelight, casting soft shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, herbs, and fresh bread. The rain outside continued to fall in a steady rhythm, a comforting backdrop to the warmth that had settled inside the mansion.

Everyone ate heartily, laughter punctuating their conversation. Salviana, despite her earlier reluctance, proudly took credit for the meal, much to Jean’s dramatic horror.

"You did not cook this," Jean protested, narrowing her eyes as she pointed a fork at Salviana.

"I stirred the soup," Salviana argued.

"For a second!"

"That still counts," Salviana declared with a regal wave of her hand.

Lucius snorted, lazily cutting his meat. "I hate to agree, but she does have a point, Jean."

Jean gasped in betrayal, placing a hand over her chest. "How dare you betray me like this, my lord?!"

Lucius chuckled, but instead of answering, he reached over and added another serving of food onto Jean’s plate. Again.

Jean paused, looking down at her already full plate. "Lucius," she warned.

"Eat," he said, completely unbothered.

"I swear you’re fattening me up for some wicked scheme."

Lucius merely smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Pumpkin, if I wanted to fatten you up, I would’ve fed you by hand."

Jean turned bright red, sputtering. "L-Lord Lucius!"

Salviana burst into laughter, nearly choking on her wine, while Alaric merely shook his head.

Meanwhile, Alaric wasn’t even focused on his food. He spent most of the meal watching his wife, captivated by the way her lips curved when she laughed, the soft glow of the candlelight catching in her hair. He had spent so much time in his own guilt that he had forgotten how much he missed this—just watching her exist.

Salviana caught his gaze at one point and arched a brow. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Alaric smirked, leaning his chin on his hand. "Just enjoying the view."

She huffed, but the blush that spread across her cheeks betrayed her.

They lingered at the table even after their plates were empty, the conversation flowing easily.

Then came the games.

Jean insisted they play a simple card game, but that quickly escalated into a drinking game. It was pure chaos.

Lucius, ever the instigator, made up ridiculous rules, which resulted in Salviana taking more shots than necessary. At one point, she pointed an accusatory finger at her husband.

"Alaric cheats," she declared dramatically.

Alaric raised his hands in mock innocence. "I do not."

"She’s just bad at this," Lucius added, smirking.

Salviana gasped. "Jean, did you hear them?"

Jean, already tipsy, waved her hand. "I did, I did. But I agree with them."

Salviana groaned while the men chuckled.

They played well into the night before finally retreating to their rooms, warmth and laughter still lingering in the air.

As Alaric followed Salviana to their chambers, he found himself staring at her again.

He didn’t know what the future held. But for tonight, he allowed himself to believe that they were okay.

For tonight, they were just two people who loved each other, falling asleep under the sound of rain.