The healer, who had been watching her in silence, spoke with quiet hesitation.
“His Grace remained by Your Highness’s side the entire time. He only departed in haste after receiving word that raiders had been sighted outside the fortress walls.”
Talia froze at the unexpected news.
She had no time to feel mortified that her thoughts had been laid bare. Talia bolted upright, catching the hem of the healer’s robe in her fist. The sudden movement sent a sharp, tearing ache through her solar plexus, but she paid it no heed.
“R-raiders? Since when?”
“Roughly four hours ago.”
The healer’s voice remained calm.
Talia pressed harder, panic coloring her tone.
“How many? Is it dangerous? How many men did he take with him…?”
The rapid barrage of questions cut short as the world suddenly bleached to blinding white, and she bit her lip against the spinning dark.
Her upper body tilted before she even realized she was falling. Had a steady, sun-browned hand not caught her shoulder in time, she would have pitched headlong off the edge of the mattress.
With cold sweat prickling across her forehead, she met the healer’s gaze. The woman’s grip was unyielding as she guided her firmly back down onto the pillows.
“I will weave a recovery spell. For now, please lie still and rest.”
“Varkas…”
“His Grace will come to no harm. It is a rabble of a few dozen at most, and he rides with the finest cavalry in the East.”
The measured answer finally punctured Talia’s haze, drawing her back to her senses.
Steadily wrestling her ragged breath under control, Talia turned her eyes toward the pale, blinding light in the window.
If he rode out four hours ago, the fighting would likely be over by now.
That was right. Even during the massive campaign before, had he not returned within half a day as if nothing of note had happened? There was no reason to tie herself in knots.
As she repeated the thought to stave off the knot of dread, a slender, calloused hand came to rest over the back of hers. Moments later, a tepid surge of warmth seeped into her skin.
“I have cast a healing spell as well, but magic is of limited aid to internal wounds. You must avoid any sudden exertion for the time being.”
Talia clamped her eyes shut instead of replying. The healer lingered only long enough to observe her before quietly slipping from the chamber.
Some time later, the Nanny returned carrying a tray of food.
Worn down by her fretful pleading, Talia managed to force down several spoonfuls of thin vegetable porridge. The broth felt like a swallow of needles as it traveled down her raw throat. She spent hours tossing and turning in the stifling quiet, finally succumbing to fitful sleep as dusk bled into night.
When she opened her eyes again, a heavy darkness had settled across the room.
Waking to a throat parched with thirst, Talia started at the sight of a broad silhouette cast before the hearth.
Varkas had returned unnoticed, standing by the narrow sill clad only in a loose linen shirt.
At a glance, he appeared unharmed.
A long, shuddering breath of relief left Talia’s chest, only to catch in her throat an instant later.
His eyes, still and gray as a frozen pond, were fixed intently upon her.
She could not fathom why her stomach plummeted at a look that was no different from his usual cold stare.
After standing motionless a beat longer, he crossed the floor with slow, measured strides. Talia swallowed down a dry lump despite herself.
He kept his unnervingly quiet gaze on her as he turned toward the side table, picked up the ceramic pitcher, and poured a cup of water.
“How is your body?”
“Fine.”
Talia forced an air of indifference into her voice as she tentatively took the cup from his hand.
She had intended to tear into him the moment she woke. ‘See? What did I tell you? I told you I refused to take that medicine. This happened because you shoved it down my throat.’ Yet the venom she had nursed all day dissolved uselessly on her tongue.
Noticing how his brow hung heavier and darker than usual, Talia added with cautious restraint,
“It is nothing serious. The healer said my stomach is only slightly irritated.”
Something sharp flashed across Varkas’s face. He glared at her, snapping with sudden harshness.
“‘Slightly irritated’? You were choking on your own blood.”
Talia stared, taken aback by the sudden fury in his tone. Varkas caught both of her shoulders in his grip, his voice bearing down on her.
“Had I arrived a moment later, the blood would have blocked your windpipe and choked you to death. Why did you not speak up sooner if your body was ailing?”
“Because… I always hurt somewhere anyway. How was I supposed to know it would turn into this?”
At her defensive excuse, the set of his jaw turned to stone.
Clenching his teeth as if swallowing down a bitter retort, Varkas turned away toward the window and inhaled the biting air. When he finally broke the silence, his voice had settled into a quiet, low murmur.
“We will remain in this fortress for the present until you recover.”
“And what of the tour?”
“The major settlements have already been inspected.”
He pressed a thumb to his temple, answering bluntly,
“Your Highness need only think of mending your body.”
Talia nodded, a sour twist to her mouth.
His commanding tone grated against her nerves, but seeing the deep exhaustion etched beneath his eyes, she had no heart to pick a fight. She muttered sullenly,
“I understand, so stop glowering. It is miserable enough as it is.”
Varkas’s lips parted slightly, but he swallowed whatever words hung on his tongue and said nothing.
The amber light from the hearth washed across the worn contours of his face. He rubbed the nape of his neck with one large hand before settling onto the edge of the mattress.
“Do not just sit there holding it. Drink. You lost far too much blood; even if it turns your stomach, you must take in fluid.”
Disarmed by the sudden softening in his tone, Talia tipped the cup and drank down the water.
The cold shock made her gut cramp with a sharp throb, but she kept her face carefully blank as she slipped back beneath the furs.
A moment later, a wall of steady warmth pressed against her back. Talia went rigid.
Varkas had stretched out beside her, drawing her small frame against his chest without hesitation. One broad palm rested over her knotted stomach, rubbing slow, gentle circles against the ache.
The unexpected tenderness pricked hot behind her eyelids. Was this mere pity? Her mind instinctively sought to unpick the calculations behind his touch, but she reined it in before it could spiral.
She was too tired to flay herself with self-loathing tonight. Just for this hour, she wanted to take this warmth as it was.
Her eyelashes fluttered against the dark, and Talia turned in the bed, burying her face into the curve of his chest.
Varkas’s arm came around her back, firm and heavy. Through the thin weave of his shirt, the steady, muted cadence of his heartbeat struck against her cheek.
Anchored by that slow, powerful thudding, Talia cautiously brought her arms around his waist.
The fortress, previously as quiet as a tomb, had dissolved into sheer chaos by morning.
Stepping into the hall, Lucas scowled at the sight of the kitchens overrun with hawkers and supply wagons. Amidst the unfamiliar merchants bartering over crates of foreign produce, a familiar profile stood out.
Lucas pushed his way through the bustling crowd.
“What in the world are you doing down here?”
“Ah, Master Lucas.”
Daren, deep in negotiation with an old trader, offered a cheerful wave.
“Have you finished the tasks His Grace left for you?”
“Done and done,” Lucas scoffed, crossing his arms.
“Did not miss a single round of morning drills, saw to the horses, and scrubbed every piece of Brother’s armor and weaponry until it reflects the sun.”
“A fine effort.”
Daren reached out, ruffling his hair with fond condescension.
Lucas batted the hand away with a sharp glare, his tone souring.
“So what is all this nonsense?”
“Provisions tailored for the Grand Duchess. The Eastern fare is too coarse for her constitution, it seems. We had no choice but to purchase stores brought up by the Central caravans.”
Lucas grimaced as he took in the sheer mountain of crates and sacks lining the hallway.
How much could that scrawny little wretch possibly consume to warrant this much cargo?
Did they intend to stay holed up here until the change of seasons?
The irritation drained from his face, replaced by a darker edge as he looked at Daren.
“Is she truly that unwell?”
“If the healer is to be believed, her insides are entirely torn to ribbons,” Daren replied, his expression falling into a heavy frown.
END