Married To Darkness-Chapter 504: A lovely stroll in the market

Ten minutes passed. Then more.

Stalls blurred into one another: spices, cloth, trinkets, the same shouting voices, the same turn taken twice. Salviana slowed, then stopped entirely.

"Alaric."

He turned.

She lifted a brow beneath her shawl. "You said you knew the place."

"I do."

"We’ve been walking for over ten minutes."

He opened his mouth.

"And," she added sweetly, pointing over his shoulder, "I’ve seen that same stall more than twice now."

Behind them, Sebastian coughed—very badly—clearly choking back laughter. Simon stared very intently at the ground. Heappal’s lips twitched despite himself.

Alaric followed her pointing finger, recognized the stall instantly... and stiffened.

Slowly, he turned and glared at the knights.

They straightened at once, expressions painfully innocent.

"You," Alaric said quietly, "have been enjoying this."

Sebastian grinned. "Just admiring the... scenery, my lord."

Salviana crossed her arms, eyes sparkling. "So," she said, amused, "do you still know the place?"

Alaric exhaled through his nose. "Yes."

"Good," she replied, taking his hand and gently tugging him in the opposite direction. "Then let us try not walking in circles this time."

The knights finally broke—snickers and laughter spilling out behind them as the couple moved on, Alaric muttering under his breath and Salviana smiling beneath her shawl, quietly triumphant.

The market boy finally stopped in front of a narrow little shop tucked between a spice seller and a crooked bookstall.

Its wooden sign hung by one chain, tilted, the paint long faded. Dust clung to the doorway like it had decided to settle there for life. Inside, shelves crowded with jars, tools, inks, charms, and strange scraps gave the place a cluttered, half-forgotten look.

"This is it," the boy said, pointing.

Salviana smiled and dipped her head politely. "Thank you."

He stared at her.

Just... stared. Blankly. As if she’d spoken nonsense.

Alaric frowned slightly, then reached into his pouch and pressed a few wyfins into the boy’s palm. The boy’s eyes widened instantly.

"Thank you, my lady! Thank you, my lord!" he blurted, grinning now, and took off down the street like the ground was on fire.

Salviana blinked. "Was it something I said?"

Alaric huffed softly. "No. Gratitude simply sounds better when it jingles."

Behind them, Sebastian leaned closer to Simon and muttered, barely audible, "I don’t like this place."

Alaric’s step slowed. His sharp hearing caught every word.

"I can feel something," Sebastian continued under his breath. "Like the dark nights are stirring again."

Alaric’s jaw tightened. He glanced back—but Sebastian had already straightened, his usual lazy grin sliding back into place. Whatever he’d sensed, he clearly didn’t want to sour the moment.

Alaric turned forward again and gently placed a hand at Salviana’s back. Later, he decided. She enjoys this first.

They stepped inside.

A bell chimed weakly above the door.

The shop smelled of ink, oil, metal, and old paper. A hunched man sat behind the counter, his hair grey and wild, one eye sharper than the other. He looked up slowly, gaze lingering on Salviana before flicking to Alaric.

"Hmm," the man said. "Nobles."

Salviana smiled brightly. "Artists," she corrected.

That earned a crooked grin.

"Well then," the man said, standing. "You’ve come to the right rot-hole."

Sebastian snorted. Heappal elbowed him immediately.

The man waved them closer. "Body art, yes? Ink-work? Skin stories?"

Salviana’s eyes lit up. "Yes! I want to paint him."

Alaric choked slightly. "With—ink," she added quickly, patting his arm.

The man laughed. "Good. Love leaves better marks than knives."

Sebastian leaned in. "Depends on the lover."

Heappal growled. "Shut. Up."

The shopkeeper reached beneath the counter and brought out a wooden tray filled with tools. "Now," he said, "there are ways and there are ways."

He pointed to the first set. "Bone needles. Oldest kind. Used by mountain clans. Painful, slow, but the ink lasts generations."

Salviana winced. "Generations?"

Alaric crossed his arms. "Absolutely not."

The man chuckled and slid the tray aside. "Steel pins. Cleaner. Faster. Common among sailors and soldiers."

Sebastian perked up. "Ah yes. Regret ink."

Simon muttered, "You have three."

Sebastian grinned. "Four. One is hidden."

Salviana gasped. "You didn’t tell me that."

"Some secrets keep marriages alive," Sebastian said solemnly.

Heappal pinched the bridge of his nose. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

The shopkeeper pulled out another box. "Fine needles. Artisan-crafted. Used for detailed linework—flowers, sigils, script. Expensive, but elegant."

Salviana leaned closer, fascinated. "These... they’re beautiful."

"They are," the man agreed. "Used by royal courtesans once. Tattoos hidden beneath silk."

Alaric’s ears warmed. "We’ll take those."

Salviana laughed. "I haven’t even decided what I’ll draw."

The man spread out ink jars next. "Blackroot ink—traditional. Blue ash—used for protection symbols. Redthorn—rare, fades slow."

"No red," Salviana said immediately. "I have enough of that already."

Sebastian whispered, "Tragic."

Ideas started flying.

"A vine," Salviana said thoughtfully. "Something living."

"A sigil," Alaric suggested. "Protective."

"A dragon," Sebastian said. "Huge. Across the back."

"No," everyone said at once.

The shopkeeper smiled, clearly enjoying himself. "Many lovers choose symbols they share. A mark that means nothing to the world—but everything to them."

Salviana looked at Alaric then, softer now. "Maybe... a small star. Where only I’ll see it."

Alaric met her gaze. "Then let it be placed by your hand."

The man nodded approvingly. "Ink remembers intention."

Coins exchanged hands. Tools were wrapped carefully.

As they stepped back into the daylight, Salviana clutched the bundle like treasure.

"This," she said happily, "will be fun."

Alaric smiled, though his eyes briefly flicked to Sebastian.

The day was bright—but night was already thinking.

They decided to walk a little more through the marketplace, unhurried now, letting the noise and warmth of the crowd wrap around them. Snow clouds hung low in the sky, heavy and grey, promising their arrival soon.

"That settles it," Alaric said, glancing upward. "You need a proper coat."

Salviana smiled. "I already have—"

"No," he cut in gently, already steering her toward a row of hanging cloaks and furs. "You need several."

She laughed as they stopped at the coat section, where thick fabrics swayed in the cold breeze. The merchant bowed slightly, eyes gleaming at the sight of Alaric’s coin pouch.

Alaric lifted the first coat—a deep forest green, trimmed with soft fur. "Try this."

Salviana slipped it on.