But Alaric wasn’t convinced. His brow furrowed as he studied Salviana. "What just happened?" he asked, his tone low and probing. "You scread as if—"
"I told you, it’s nothing," Salviana replied, avoiding his gaze.
"You scread in agony," he pressed, his hand instinctively reaching for her arm. "I didn’t pull you that hard, did I?"
Salviana sighed, her lips tightening into a faint smile ant to dismiss his concern. "No, Alaric. It’s not you." She rubbed her shoulder absentmindedly. "It’s from the night I was poisoned... I hit my arm when I fell."
His jaw clenched at the mory of that night. "You injured yourself and didn’t tell ?" His voice softened, but his eyes remained sharp. "How bad is it?"
"It’s nothing serious," she said, waving a hand as if to brush it aside. "When I collapsed, I think I hit my arm on the edge of the bedside table. I didn’t even think about it after."
Alaric stepped in front of her, halting her mid-stride. His gaze was intense, his hand resting gently on her upper arm. "You’ve been carrying an injury for days, Salviana? That’s unacceptable. I’ll examine it when we return ho."
She rolled her eyes playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "You’re exaggerating, Alaric. I heal fast, you know that."
"Maybe, but you also neglect yourself," he retorted, his tone sharp but laced with concern. "I’ve told you before—just because you heal doesn’t an you should ignore your pain."
She blinked at him, surprised by his sudden fervor. For a mont, she didn’t know how to respond. Then her voice softened. "My pains... they remain in mory sotis. And they haunt ."
Alaric’s expression shifted, his sternness lting into tenderness. "I’m sorry," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Co on. Let’s find you so sweets. That’ll cheer you up."
"I’m not a baby," Salviana replied with a small laugh, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks.
"Maybe not," he said, grinning mischievously. "But you’re my baby."
Her blush deepened, and she smiled despite herself. "You’re impossible."
"Yet you adore ," he teased, wrapping an arm around her waist as they moved toward a stall selling brightly colored candies and confections.
At the sweets stall, an older woman greeted them with a warm smile. "Ah, my lord and lady! You’ve co to the right place. What can I tempt you with today? Honeyed almonds? Rosewater taffies? Or perhaps sothing a bit more decadent?"
Salviana’s eyes sparkled as she scanned the treats. Alaric leaned closer, his voice low. "Pick whatever you like. You deserve it."
"Fine," she said with a smirk. "Is this to makes up for you overreacting earlier?."
"It’s to cheer you up," He chuckled. "I’ll keep bribing you with sweets until it does."
The vendor laughed at their playful banter, quickly assembling a box of assorted delicacies for them.
The sun shone brightly overhead, but Alaric’s warmth by her side made the day feel even brighter.
They resud their walk.
As they paused at a stall selling intricately carved wooden boxes, Salviana turned to him with a thoughtful expression.
"Do you think the king would like one of these?" she asked, holding up a box inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Alaric considered it for a mont before shaking his head. "Too modest for his tastes."
She sighed. "You’re right. Maybe we’ll have better luck at the next shop."
And so they continued, their laughter and conversation blending with the vibrant sounds of the market, their bond growing stronger with each passing mont.
The liquor shop was a cozy little establishnt tucked into the corner of the bustling market square, its weathered sign swinging gently in the afternoon breeze.
The scent of aged oak barrels and fernted fruit wafted through the air as Salviana and Alaric stepped inside, the sound of a small bell announcing their entrance.
Behind the counter stood an old man, his silver beard cascading down to his chest, eyes sharp and gleaming with a knowledge that seed older than the shop itself.
He straightened at the sight of them, his weathered hands resting on the counter.
"Ah, a fine couple," he greeted, his voice deep and rich. "I know why you’ve co."
Salviana raised a brow, exchanging a curious glance with Alaric. "Oh? Do you now?"
The man chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "You seek a gift worthy of royalty. A drink that whispers of legends and sings of ancient truths."
Alaric folded his arms, leaning casually against the counter. "And you happen to have such a thing, do you?"
The old man’s eyes twinkled as he disappeared into the back room, the sound of clinking glass and the shuffle of crates echoing faintly. When he returned, he carried a cruet like no other.
The glass was dark, almost black, etched with delicate runes that shimred faintly under the light.
The stopper was carved from a single piece of obsidian, a polished gemstone embedded in its center. He set it down with care, as though it were a treasure.
"This," he said, his voice reverent, "is the Liquor of Truth, crafted by the grand witches and witchers of Egasrae.
They brewed it centuries ago, distilling the essence of the Port of Eternal Winds. The waters there are said to carry the whispers of forgotten gods."
Salviana’s green eyes widened, the faint shimr of the runes reflected in their depths. "The Liquor of Truth?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
The man nodded solemnly. "It is said that one sip reveals the soul’s purest desires and most guarded secrets. It is both a blessing and a test of courage. Kings have sought it, poets have sung of it, and yet few have had the privilege to taste it."
Alaric, his curiosity piqued, gestured toward the cruet. "What makes it so rare?"
"The witches brewed only a few barrels, intending them for the rulers of nations and the bravest of hearts," the man explained. "When Egasrae fell, most of the barrels were lost to ti. This cruet... this is one of the last."
Salviana glanced at Alaric, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "I think this is perfect. Don’t you?"
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