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Every nerve in his body grew acutely sensitive.
As he slowly trickled the raw-smelling liquid into that damp, narrow space, her flushed face pinched. She seemed to genuinely loathe the taste of the medicine.
Yet he could not share in what she felt. He could smell the pungent grass and taste the sharp bitterness seizing his tongue, but none of it registered as disgust or distress to him.
Varkas repeatedly thrust his tongue into her cowering mouth and withdrew, pulling her squirming frame closer still.
A faint tremor ran through her as she swallowed the draught pooling in her mouth. Her panting breath turned warm and damp against his throat.
He tried to wrap his tongue around her tightly drawn-back one, but when it would not yield, he lifted his head.
Her face, unraveled and breathless from an act she did not know how to bear, came into view.
All at once, something razor-sharp raked down his spine.
He pressed his thumb down on her swollen lower lip, forcing her mouth open. Breathing in the ragged gasps spilling from that humid hollow, he urged her roughly.
“Stick out your tongue.”
Her wet eyes wavered, thick with dread.
He slid his finger past her teeth and pressed lightly upon her slick tongue.
A trace of impatience slipped into his voice.
“Hurry.”
Looking up at him with unsettled eyes, the woman slowly pushed her tongue out.
The moment he took it into his mouth and sucked gently, her thin, frail body seized with shock.
Cupping the rigid curve of her neck, he tilted his head further.
Her small tongue twitched, maddeningly soft. He caught it before it could retreat, wrapping an arm around her supple waist.
Beneath the thin fabric of her dress, he felt every contour of her delicate bones and soft curves.
Over the past two seasons, her body had thinned so severely it felt as though she might break if he used any real force. Uneasy at the thought, he let her tongue go.
A clear strand of saliva hung between her bruised, crimson lips. As he licked it away, a sound like a broken sob slipped from her.
“Why…?”
She looked up at him, her gaze wild and fevered.
“Why are you going this far?”
He furrowed his brow.
The truth was, he wanted to ask her the exact same thing.
Why shouldn’t he?
They were husband and wife.
In a marriage like theirs, far more than this would not have been out of place. He had simply refrained because he knew she would never welcome it.
‘Yet you were the one who reached out first.’
Swallowing back the rebuke, he stared into her unsteady, unfathomable eyes.
Something twisted in his gut at the tangle of bewilderment, caution, and distrust in her gaze.
Slowly, he loosened his arm.
“If you hate it so much, don’t provoke me again.”
The woman bit her lip and looked down.
The miserable curve of her mouth snagged his gaze once more. Contemptuous of his own reaction, he rose from the bed, but her raw, trembling voice cut him short.
“Wh-who said I hated it?”
Varkas looked down at her coldly.
She demanded it of him as though reclaiming something she had left in his keeping.
“I won’t cry anymore, so just keep going. There’s still… medicine left.”
A sudden, blinding heat tore through his chest.
He scowled at the sensation, which bordered on pure disgust.
What on earth did this woman want from him?
‘I want you to hurt. Terribly, terribly bad.’
The words she had once slurred while dazed with smoke drifted back to him.
At the time, he had dismissed them as meaningless babble. Even now, over ten years later, he had not recovered the ability to feel pain. He could no longer even remember what it was like.
Yet perhaps, he thought, what was gnawing at him now was the closest thing to pain.
“I-if you don’t want to, then fine. Just go.”
Unable to bear the stretching silence, Talia pushed against his chest.
He seized her wrist and pulled her startlingly light frame into his lap. Her body, taut with nervous tension, soon melted pliable against him.
Twining a strand of her frighteningly silken hair around his finger, he bit down on her wet lips.
She was the kind of woman who was never satisfied until she had dragged everyone around her into ruin—and ruined herself in the process.
From the moment he chose to take responsibility for her, he had known his orderly world would come undone.
Varkas closed his eyes against the scorch that felt as though his very entrails were rotting away.
It was like swallowing venom.
The journey proceeded without further incident.
After touring the principal estates of the Northeast, they headed south to visit several major trading districts.
For several days, grand cityscapes of staggering scale stretched on one after another, accompanied by lavish welcomes from wealthy merchants and high nobles.
Yet none of it caught her interest. Her mind was choked with confusion.
Talia touched her stinging lips and gazed out the carriage window.
Between the ranks of marching knights, she caught periodic glimpses of Varkas.
Clad in black plate and sitting tall in the saddle, he looked every bit the stern, unapproachable commander. It was impossible to reconcile him with the feral man who consumed her mouth each night.
Her stomach twisted tight, and she yanked the curtains shut. But cutting off the view did nothing to quiet the thoughts churning in her head.
Obsessively, she replayed what they had been doing night after night.
Varkas never kissed her first unless she asked for it. Yet he never seemed to be doing it out of mere obligation either. He would pursue her mouth relentlessly until she was pushed past her limit and began to fight back. At times, it felt as though he were the desperate one.
Yet the moment she frightened herself at how unmanageably deep it became and pushed him away, he would withdraw obediently, his face returning to that impassive mask. It always left her feeling as though she were making a fool of herself over nothing.
Talia habitually bit down on her lip, then flinched at the sharp sting. When she grazed it with her fingertip, a trace of blood came away.
She could not tell if she had bitten it herself or if Varkas had torn it. Lately, his mouth had been especially cruel against hers.
Tracing her swollen lips, Talia shut her eyes. She leaned back, trying to nap and clear her cluttered thoughts, when the carriage that had run ceaselessly came to a halt.
“We have arrived. Please step out.”
A blunt voice came through the window.
Talia smoothed her rumpled dress and stepped outside.
Scattered across the wide plain were conical tents and weathered wooden huts. A wave of bewilderment overtook her at the threadbare settlement. Unlike the North, where wealth and poverty were starkly divided, the South was largely prosperous; it had been a very long time since she had seen a place so poor.
“We will make camp here tonight.”
A young horseman Varkas had assigned as her escort approached to explain.
“It will be rough, but please bear with it for just one night.”
Talia walked forward without answering.
Varkas was speaking with a man who appeared to be the village headman. As she stood watching him blankly, he made a brief gesture toward her.
Talia walked over to his side with cautious steps. Placing a hand on her shoulder, Varkas addressed the headman in a dry, matter-of-fact tone.
“We will pitch our own tents, so you only need to prepare quarters for my wife.”
Talia looked up at him in surprise.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Tonight, there will be a minor subjugation.”
END