Married To Darkness-Chapter 433: Dinner With Everyone

"How is Heappal?"

Thalia sobered slightly.

"He’s with the physician. They’re tending to him. I think it’s best we let him rest and recover there a bit before moving him again."

Salviana nodded. "That’s wise. For now, this mansion is safe. We were meant to go out today but—" she gestured vaguely, "now we stay. And we celebrate your return."

Jean threw her hands up. "Dress her up! Dinner it is!"

The mood brightened again. Excitement buzzed in the room like stardust. Despite the bloodshed outside, despite the dark woods, the hunters, and the shadows of war, for now—just for now—they had each other.

And there was laughter, perfume, and the soft rustle of silks.

Evening.

The dining hall of Moor Mansion shimmered in golden light, the chandeliers overhead swaying ever so slightly with the late evening breeze that passed through the open arched windows.

The long oak table gleamed under layers of polished finish, adorned with freshly gathered flowers and gleaming silverware.

Servants moved quietly, setting warm platters of roasted meats, fruits soaked in spiced wine, and loaves of bread so soft they tore apart like clouds.

Thalia entered, dressed in one of the flowing gowns Salviana had gifted her — soft lavender silk with silver threads like stardust dancing in the seams.

Her hair, now clean and brushed back into soft waves, caught the candlelight like moonlight. She looked hesitant at first but relaxed quickly when the women clapped and whistled, laughing.

"Look at you!" Jean called. "Our forest fairy turned moon queen!"

Thalia giggled and curtsied playfully, but her eyes searched the room, and they caught on him.

Sebastian strolled in a beat later, his dark hunter clothes replaced by a deep navy ensemble that clung to him too well to have been tailored honestly.

His golden-brown hair was tousled, his smirk firmly in place, and his amber eyes found Thalia like a compass. 9

"How is it that even when I clean up, you still outshine me?" he murmured as he took the seat beside her.

He didn’t sit too close, but close enough that his fingers brushed hers as he reached for the wine jug.

Alaric snorted from across the table, an arm flung possessively around Salviana, who sat glowing with contentment in her pearl gown. "You’re not here to outshine anyone, hunter."

"Not a hunter anymore," Sebastian grinned, topping off Thalia’s goblet. "I’m a reformed lover now."

"Oh stars, someone gag him," Lucius said dryly, lounging on the far end, spinning his fork like a blade. His silver eyes narrowed whenever Sebastian so much as breathed.

"Don’t be jealous, Old man," Sebastian quipped, "There’s room for more than one dangerously charming man at the table."

"Debatable," muttered Prince Embrez, who was currently leaning a little too close to Jean, whispering something that made her giggle and nudge him away.

Lucius did not appreciate the gesture.

"Are you okay?" Jean asked him teasingly, noticing his tight jaw.

"I’m perfect," Lucius replied coldly. "Just trying to enjoy my food without choking on the smell of arrogance."

"Stop it, boys," Salviana said, shaking her head, though she looked secretly amused.

She leaned into Alaric, who kissed her temple openly. "Let’s have one peaceful evening without a duel."

Meanwhile, Sarah was busy evading Samion’s flirty comments again, her eyes rolling like a seasoned veteran of romantic deflections.

After her initial resistance to his confession to her she had slowly grown closer during the journey but now she’s relaxed and back to being a diva.

"You know," Samion said, smirking as he sliced into his meat. "You’d look even better in my shirt than in that gown."

"Your shirt looks like it’s losing a fight with soap," Sarah deadpanned.

The table exploded with laughter, and even Jaedel chuckled, elbowing Emma, who had gone slightly pink.

"You look lovely tonight," he whispered to her, and Emma nearly dropped her spoon.

"Th-thank you... you do too," she mumbled, brushing imaginary dust from her gown.

Thalia noticed the exchange with a smile. It warmed her heart to see everyone at peace — even if temporarily.

The trauma of the past week, the danger, the blood, the uncertainty — it hadn’t vanished, but here, amidst roasted duck, sweet spiced wine, and flickering light, it all felt a little further away.

Sebastian reached under the table and squeezed her hand gently.

"You’re home now," he murmured.

She glanced at him, surprised at how soft his voice could be when he wasn’t being smug. Her heart skipped, but before she could reply, Jean’s voice cut through the haze.

"I miss your lips," Sebastian whispered, forgetting Alaric and Lucius, who had super hearing, were here.

"Thalia...Thalia, your woodsman kissed you under firelight. Did it sweep you off your feet?"

"We were not under firelight," Thalia huffed. "We were under duress and I was cold and tired!"

"He still kissed her!" Emma sang.

"You kissed me first," Sebastian added helpfully, raising a hand like a schoolboy.

"I did not!" Thalia cried.

"You leaned," he teased. "That counts."

"She was probably delirious!" Lucius muttered, but he was ignored.

Thalia turned to the ladies with a mock glare. "This is harassment."

"We’ve earned the right," Jean said, raising her goblet. "To survival, to sisterhood, and to mildly inappropriate questions!"

"To friendship," Salviana added.

"To love," Emma said quietly, glancing once again at Jaedel.

Sebastian grinned and raised his glass. "To being the lucky bastard who gets kissed first."

"TO LUCKY BASTARDS!" the whole table echoed — minus Lucius and Embrez, who only sighed in unison.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere lightened more. Conversations weaved around and over one another, gentle teasing, shared plans, and hopeful wondering about what came next.

Beneath it all, though, the tension still whispered through glances — Alaric watching Sebastian closely, Lucius barely hiding his contempt, Sarah keeping Samion at arm’s length, and Embrez’s quiet gaze flicking often to Jean.

But for now, they all pretended.

Because for one perfect evening, they were not hunted, not running, not wounded.

They were friends. Survivors.

And hearts — some guarded, some open, some teasing — beat loudly at the same table.