"Alaric! I love you! Why don't you love me back?!" she yelled, shocking him.
Alaric froze. The warmth that had been radiating from him seemed to crystallize into a shocked, brittle stillness. His hand, which had been tracing tender patterns on her spine, went limp, his fingers curling slightly against the silk of her gown.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sharp, rhythmic snap of the dying fire. Salviana's chest heaved, her outburst still echoing off the stone walls, the raw desperation of her voice hanging in the air like smoke.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes wide and searching. For a long moment, he didn't speak. He looked like a man who had been struck, the vibrant glow he'd carried just moments ago replaced by a haunted, hollow intensity.
"Salviana," he whispered, his voice cracking—a sound so rare it made her heart ache even through her anger. "What are you saying?"
