The new princess had much more to say about her favorite flower and Alaric dated not interrupt her, he absorbed every information like dry earth finally receiving water.
"Salvia’s incredibly diverse, you know—over a thousand species from all over the world. Each unique, each with its own story. There are culinary sages, dicinal sages, and so that bloom purely for beauty. It’s a plant with its own lore."
He raised a brow. "A thousand species? Impressive. Let guess—this Salvia attracts all sorts of admirers?"
"Oh, absolutely." She grinned. "Bees, butterflies, hummingbirds—they all flock to it. But only the boldest of pollinators can reach its nectar. Just like how only the daring find their way to ."
Alaric loved the way she found a way to complint herself in every sense while talking about the flower and he couldn’t agree more. His gaze was admiring as he replied. "Even the Salvia is selective. I can respect that."
"And it’s resilient," she continued, all her knowledge about it spilling endlessly but if she was a teacher she’d have been a great one, Alaric thought.
"Salvia grows in rocky soil and dry places—hardly needs any water. It’s built for survival, thriving in the harshest conditions and still blooming beautifully."
Alaric watched her, a hint of pride in his eyes. "You and the plant are practically indistinguishable."
She laughed, the sound soft and light. "Perhaps! But it goes deeper. So varieties are so potent they’ve been used in spiritual rituals. The Mazatec people believed Salvia could open glimpses into hidden realms."
He tilted his head, taking in her words with newfound appreciation. "Mystical and resilient. There’s a strength to that which I admire. And the colors?" His mind was reeling with the flower now that she ntioned it’s ability to let one glimpse hidden realms.
His wife was really the solution to whatever question or problem he’d ever had.
"Oh, the colors are stunning. Rich purples, reds, blues. They bloom long into the season, like they’re ant to be seen and cherished."
He leaned in slightly, his voice soft. "Just like you." he added while the whole place blurred in their vision.
Salviana’s cheeks flushed at his words. "Maybe. I suppose I have a lot to live up to, don’t I?" She looked down, fingers grazing the petals. "But that’s my secret, Alaric. Salvia was always more than just a flower to ."
The woman, who had been silently watching them from the side, hid a smile, gathering her remaining seeds with a new glint in her eye.
But Salviana must’ve seen sothing in Alaric’s gaze because next she whines, "You just told I can be weird,"
"Yes, Fiery, You can," he whispered, drawing her into his arms, "You can be anything you want,"
"Lovely," Salviana grinned as she joined the owner of the flower shop.
Salviana watched the woman collect more and more, hardly able to refuse any suggestion. She realized she had almost a full basket but couldn’t resist reaching for a few more.
Her husband told her she could be anything after all.
anwhile, Alaric observed the exchange with an amused smile, silently enjoying her excitent and the ease with which she was engaging with the seller.
Salviana’s voice, eager and warm, and the elder woman’s spirited advice filled the cozy shop with life.
The woman finally packed their purchases into a woven basket, which she handed to Salviana with a wink.
Salviana took the basket eagerly, her eyes bright with the promise of planting and tending to each of these beautiful flowers.
Looking over at Alaric, she breathed in deeply and smiled, her mind spinning with ideas. "All these colors make feel... alive," she murmured. "I can already see it—a painting filled with all the flowers we’ll grow. This makes want to capture every single shade on a canvas."
He chuckled softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You paint?"
Salviana paled, despite having slipped and told Rose about her painting hobby, she wasn’t ready to tell Alaric about that talent. She’d been keeping it a secret since no one seed to know in the castle but now she has exposed herself.
"Not exactly," She muttered.
Alaric noticed the way her heart skipped a beat and she tried to regulate how fast it continued to beat.
She was lying to him, this made him frown slightly, he didn’t know why she must feel the urge to tell a lie but he wouldn’t pressure her on it.
"When you feel comfortable you can paint all you want," he whispered.
Salviana t his gaze and after a few seconds she nodded.
Alaric paid for every seed and flower she picked, and as they stepped out, the light scent of lavender and marigold lingered in Salviana’s senses.
She clutched the basket close, feeling a surge of warmth in her chest and a sudden inspiration bubbling up within her.
But before they would walk away from the flower shop, Alaric felt a stirring deep within his chest.
His vampiric senses caught the hushed words drifting from the shopkeeper’s lips as she spoke to her husband in the shadows behind the curtains: "He looks so much like Queen Reannon."
For a brief mont, his heart did a sorsault. The ntion of his mother’s na brought a flash of pain and a wonder of mories he never had.
What else did they know about her?
What could he learn from them?
But no. Now wasn’t the ti.
He took a deep breath, his thoughts lingering on Reannon’s mory before he focused back on Salviana, who looked up at him, sensing sothing had shifted.
With a reassuring smile, he offered his arm to her once more, and together they strolled back into the bustling heart of Wyfellon.
Just as they stepped out onto the main street, a boy about fifteen or sixteen ca rushing toward them, his clothes modest but neat, and his eyes full of quiet determination.
Alaric glared at him, wondering if this was how young boys would always rush to his wife whenever he brought her out.
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