Chapter 2: Gloves and Silent Rejection.

They reached the rich, elegant dining hall, and two guards threw the intricately designed double doors open with a flourish. Salviana's heart skipped as she realized she was supposed to hook her palm with her husband's arm—an act of courtesy that she had forgotten to do. Flustered, she quickly reached out to grab his arm, but in a swift, instinctive motion, he drew back. His cold, empty eyes flickered toward her for a brief second.

Her frown deepened, completely thrown off by the silent rejection. And that's when she noticed it—he was wearing gloves. Why? Did he hate being touched?

She was his wife, after all. Maybe she had surprised him. Perhaps he simply wasn't used to it. A forced smile tugged at her lips, uneasy as she turned her attention to the now silent crowd gathered in the hall. Their entrance had been announced, and every gaze was fixed upon them. She felt the weight of it, pressing down on her chest.

"Follow me," the demon prince invited, his voice low and emotionless as he walked ahead.

Salviana followed silently, her steps trailing behind him. As they neared the center of the hall, her eyes caught on one of the princes—a man with golden hair and a dimpled smile. For a fleeting moment, she almost returned the smile, but the sudden pressure of her husband's gloved palm on her lower back pushed her forward, cutting the moment short.

She blinked, startled by the touch, and obediently moved ahead, her thoughts swirling.

'Why did he touch me?' she wondered, he'd seemed appaled by her attempted touch just now but now he was initiating it and she didn't know what she thought about that.

At the head of the room sat the king and queen, watching with indifference as they approached. Salviana curtsied gracefully, addressing them with a polite nod. "Your Majesties," she greeted, trying to steady the nervous tremble in her voice.

She felt her husband's palm push her a bit forward as though he wanted her to ignore the royalties but she couldn't.

They were the king and the Queen.

The king, regal but detached, barely glanced at her. "Welcome," he muttered, his voice as uncaring as his expression.

The queen, even colder than her husband, gave a dismissive nod, her eyes lingering only briefly on Salviana before turning away without a word.

Before Salviana could process the interaction, the king spoke again, addressing the room. "Let us proceed to the dining hall for dinner, We can have our meeting afterwards" he announced, his tone commanding, yet bored.

A groan came from one of the princesses. "Finally," she muttered under her breath, clearly impatient.

Salviana turned to the source of the voice and noticed another princess glaring openly at her. Her gold hair glinted under the chandeliers, and her tall, too-skinny frame made her appear almost statuesque. Brown eyes, sharp and unforgiving, bore into Salviana with thinly veiled contempt.

The glaring princess was Genevieve, she had always had her eyes on the third prince despite him being her cousin, and seeing as he has married another woman now, she instantly hates Salviana and isn't doing anything to hide that.

The demon prince suspected she would become vicious and that was why he had ordered his shadow, 'Lucius' to watch Genevieve and she just proved him right by already marking Salviana with her glares.

The royals continued to walk towards the dining hall, the demon prince was still by his wife's side, his expression emotionless, cold as ever. He guided her, a silent shadow beside her, as they followed the other royals toward the dining hall. Salviana couldn't help but feel the tension thickening in the air between them.

Everyone around them wore expensive, luxurious attire, their clothes shimmering with elegance and wealth. Salviana glanced at the women, at the fine fabrics and jewels adorning their necks, and wondered if she should feel inferior. Or perhaps, should she be trying to make friends among them?

They all appeared so noble, so royal—worlds apart from the life she had known despite being governed. And now, somehow, she was one of them. The thought made her stomach twist.

As her thoughts spiraled, her husband glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She turned just in time to see him, but before she could catch his gaze, he looked away, his face as unreadable as ever.

They finally reached the dining hall and the royal dining table stretched long and grand beneath the glow of chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling like glowing stars. Ornately carved from dark mahogany, the table gleamed with a polished sheen, reflecting the flickering candlelight from golden candelabras. At least twenty people sat around it, each seated with precision as though their positions were dictated by an invisible hand.

At the head of the table sat the king, his regal presence towering even in silence. His stern, weathered face remained focused on the meal before him, an aura of authority radiating from his every gesture. Six men, including the king, were scattered down the length of the table, each dressed in the finest of royal attire. Their faces were carved with an air of aristocratic indifference, their postures straight, hands moving in calculated motions as they ate in silence. Among them, golden-haired princes with sharp gazes and cold expressions all remained carefully composed, their thoughts unreadable.

Each lady's face was a portrait of grace and beauty, though their eyes darted carefully, silently judging one another beneath their serene expressions.

Then they began to eat after the maids served meticuloulsy.

Salviana sat beside her husband, the demon prince, whose icy gaze lingered on her as she ate. His dark, cold eyes followed her every movement, though his face remained impassive. She ate with a hearty appetite, entirely focused on her food, her discomfort slowly easing as hunger took precedence over the heavy tension in the room.

He found himself watching her with an interest he couldn't quite explain. The way she moved, so at ease with herself, so unbothered by the cold stares from across the table, intrigued him. His wife, who didn't seem to care for the rigid royal decorum that stifled everyone else, was a breath of life in the midst of their stagnant world.

He had expected her to be at least demure but she was rather more alive than fancy.

A few of the women exchanged glances, and one cautiously tried to bring up a conversation, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "Did you hear about─"

"Silence!" the king's barked command tore through the air, startling everyone. His voice, deep and menacing, echoed off the walls, immediately stifling the attempt at conversation. The entire room fell into a suffocating quiet.

You could hear a pin drop.

Every breath was held, every hand frozen in place. The only sound that broke the stillness was the faint clink of silverware against plates. Even that, now, seemed to die down as everyone adjusted to the king's unspoken rule.

No conversations at the dining table.

The demon prince, however, was tuned to something else. Amidst the oppressive silence, he could hear his wife's breathing—soft, steady, though slightly nervous. It was a sound that cut through the stillness like a subtle rhythm, an unwelcome reminder that there were living, feeling souls in this stifling hall of conniving royalty. His heightened senses picked up the quietest details, the rise and fall of her chest, the delicate way her fingers gripped her utensils.

In this royal family, no one spoke a word while eating dinner. Conversation was a privilege saved for after the meal—an ancient, unspoken rule enforced with iron authority. There was no such thing as casual chatter during dinner. Even the simplest words were forbidden.

Salviana swallowed, suddenly more aware of the weight of the silence. She cast a quick glance at her husband, but his eyes were still on her, unmoved, his face betraying no emotion. This was a world of rigid order, a kingdom where power dictated every breath, every movement, even at the dining table.

They ate, in silence. And Salviana wondered if this was how it would always be.

She was not going to be the next victim of the king's yell, but she didn't know her husband would touch her the next second.

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