Ch#100
Lucas immediately turned and fled.
Daren, who had been watching the scene from nearby, clicked his tongue with a worried expression.
“Wasn’t that a bit much? What if he starts holding a grudge against you, Your Grace?”
“Currently, Lucas is the sole heir to the Grand Duchy. Should anything happen to me, he is the one who must lead the family,” Varkas said flatly.
“In fact, I’d like to ask what you were thinking, leaving him in such a state until now.”
“When Your Grace is so young and robust, why on earth should we be preparing the second young master as the heir?”
Daren shrugged nonchalantly.
“Besides, now that you’re married, won’t you be having a direct heir of your own before long?”
Varkas didn’t offer a reply. Instead, he uncorked the canteen at his waist and moistened his throat.
Through the busy movement of soldiers, fourteen wagons and a large four-wheeled carriage designed for travel were visible.
A Quarter Dwarf carrying a large basin approached the carriage. It seemed he intended to assist his wife with her grooming.
Suddenly, an astringent taste, like chewing on old metal, spread through Varkas’s mouth.
Ever since her leg injury, Thalia had been pathologically sensitive about exposing her body. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her leg except for her own maid and the healer his mother had sent.
The memory of her convulsing every time he tried to inspect the wound himself made the metallic taste in his mouth grow even stronger.
He forced another swallow of strong liquor down his scratchy throat, which felt as if it were filled with sand, and consciously changed the subject.
“Was there anything unusual within Dorcaen Castle?”
“Nothing particularly suspicious was found. It seems they invited us merely with the intention of establishing a connection with the Grand Ducal family.”
Daren, stroking his beard, continued calmly.
“While Your Grace was in a private audience with the Lord, I took a look around the training grounds. It appears the claim that they are short on soldiers is also true.”
“Is there a specific reason for the decline in their military strength?”
“I suspect it’s financial difficulties.”
Daren let out a deep sigh.
“It seems the Lord of Dorcaen simply lacks talent for managing a territory. He failed to pay stipends properly, causing many warriors to leave Dorcaen, and on top of that, raiders have been rampant, leading to serious losses. I don’t believe he is the type to rebel against the Grand Duchy.”
Varkas gazed at the grassy fields stained by the sunset, lost in thought.
His judgment wasn’t much different from Daren’s. While his father was bedridden, the local lords had been increasing their power by bolstering their own forces.
To a lord who couldn’t maintain a proper military, the presence of neighboring lords growing stronger by the day would have felt like a threat.
For his own safety, the man likely felt it better to support the new Grand Duke.
The question was whether such a man would be of any use to him.
“Are you planning to support Dorcaen to keep the other vassals in check?”
As Varkas was weighing the options in his head, Daren posed the question.
Varkas slowly shook his head.
“I’ll decide after meeting the rest of the lords first.”
“A wise decision.”
Ending his conversation with Daren, Varkas moved toward the center of the camp.
The soldiers were already gathered near the campfires, eating their meals. After surveying the campsite, he turned his steps toward his own tent.
As he entered the dim interior, the heavy scent of rose oil and a sticky sweetness pricked his nose.
Stopping at the entrance, Varkas turned his gaze toward the bed, which was illuminated by candlelight. He saw a woman loosely clad in blue linen pajamas, slumped over the blankets.
In an instant, a chill seeped between his ribs.
He strode to the side of the bed and pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. A faint cold sweat coated her skin, which was as smooth as glazed porcelain.
Was she suffering from pain again?
Knitting his brows, Varkas stood up and rummaged through the cabinet. If she was suffering even in her sleep, it seemed best to burn some medicinal herbs for her.
He pushed a bundle of dried herbs into a small incense burner that the healer had prepared in advance.
Just as he was about to light it, a thin voice reached him from close by.
“……Varkas.”
Turning his head, he met a pair of hazy eyes, still heavy with sleep.
He narrowed his eyes at her dazed appearance.
Had she already burned some sleeping grass?
He leaned his upper body toward her and sniffed her collar, but he couldn’t smell any smoke. Instead, a scent of skin so sweet it felt thick in his throat filled his lungs.
The overly heady stimulation momentarily blurred his mind. It felt as if senses that had rotted away long ago were all waking up at once.
Struggling to shake off that strange sensation, he carefully lifted his head. He noticed her shoulders hunched as if the sudden proximity made her uncomfortable. Ignoring this, he asked in a deliberately calm tone.
“Do you have a fever?”
She pulled the blanket up to her chest and replied crossly.
“I’m fine. I just fell asleep for a moment.”
“Did you eat properly?”
“I ate a while ago.”
She gestured with her chin toward the tray placed next to the bed.
He narrowed his eyes as he looked down at the bowls filled with food.
There were hardly any signs that she had eaten. Again, she must have only had some honey wine or a few pieces of fruit.
Feeling the strange sensation that had been rattling his nerves turn into irritation in an instant, he ran a hand roughly through his hair.
Thalia watched his reaction. Her restless demeanor made his nerves even sharper. It seemed better for him to stay outside until she fell back asleep.
He turned toward the tent entrance.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Var…… Varkas!”
At that moment, a hurried hand reached out from behind him.
He turned back with startled eyes. Thalia, clutching his coat sleeve tightly while her eyes darted around, let out a cracked voice.
“My…… my leg hurts.”
When he didn’t respond, Thalia swallowed hard and forced herself to continue.
“Give me the medicine.”
Varkas blinked blankly, his gaze dropping to her lips. The swollen red flesh looked exactly like crushed pomegranate seeds.
He remembered the sensation of taking them into his mouth and sucking on them. The feeling of the moist flesh wrapping softly around his tongue came back vividly.
A burning thirst suddenly rose deep in his throat. He walked slowly to the shelf and picked up a small glass bottle. As he sat on the edge of the bed with it in his hand, a deep sense of anxiety appeared on her face.
He held out the medicine bottle as if testing her.
“This?”
A pink flush spread over her skin, which was so translucent that it seemed see-through.
With her ears and the nape of her neck stained red and her eyes darting here and there, the woman gave a slight nod.
He immediately opened the cap and took the viscous liquid into his mouth.
As he cupped the nape of her neck, which felt fragile enough to break, he felt a fast, strong pulse.
It reminded him of the time he had held a small bird in his hand. Just as he had felt the heart pounding vigorously beneath the soft, delicate skin, a sense of restlessness washed over him.
Cradling her jaw, which was as delicate as a sculpture, he pressed his lips against the plump flesh that looked as if it had been fashioned from drops of blood.
As he slid his tongue into the minutely opened gap, a moan like a cat’s whimper tickled his throat.
