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“Isn’t it stunning? My brother said he hunted it himself to cheer me up.”
Talia turned toward the voice. Across the landing, she caught sight of Raina with a silver pelt draped over her shoulders.
The girl twirled before her maids, boasting for all to hear.
“If I have winter clothes tailored from this fur, I can ride my Saika as much as I want, even in the bitterest cold, can’t I?”
“Of course, my lady! Drakar make their lairs deep inside glaciers, after all. A coat made from that will turn away the worst frost with ease.”
“The Grand Duke must hold you dear indeed to bestow such a splendid prize.”
Raina beamed under the chorus of praise.
“Do you truly think so?”
“Why else would His Grace part with such a treasure?”
The girl’s face, which had remained somber ever since the funeral, was now flushed with bright color.
Watching the scene from the top of the stairs, Talia turned quietly away.
To think she had believed, even for an instant, that he had risked his life for her. How shamelessly vain had she grown in only a few months? She had nearly made a fool of herself.
She dragged her steps back toward her bedchamber.
Yet the sour taste in her mouth—like cold ash on her tongue—began to settle as twilight drew near.
She had vowed a thousand times over never to expect a single thing from him. Being wounded by something this trivial was absurd.
Even if she had merely received an afterthought, the fact remained that he had given her a precious pelt.
‘Decency requires a simple word of thanks, at least.’
To say nothing would look odd. Brooding like an aggrieved child would only reveal that she was hurt, and being hurt meant she had nurtured expectations after all.
Her resolve hardened. Talia tossed the book aside onto the bed and rose to her feet.
When she reached his quarters, the junior knight stationed at the door hurriedly announced her presence, clearly desperate to warn his master before the Grand Duchess could shove her way through unbidden.
Talia, however, seized the door handle without waiting for an answer.
She limped inside, only to stop short at the bright glare filling the room.
This was a man who always waited in the dark. Had he decided she would not come tonight?
Frowning, she swept her eyes over the chamber until two elongated shadows before the hearth caught her attention.
Her gaze snapped to them, and her breath hitched. A young woman was running her hands over Varkas’s bare chest while he sat half-undressed.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The woman sprang to her feet, flustered.
“G-Grand Duchess…”
Talia recognized her then: the ducal healer, the very woman she had once struck until she spat blood.
The healer bowed low, stammering out a defense.
“I was… I was attending to His Grace’s injuries.”
Glaring with narrowed eyes, Talia whipped her head toward Varkas.
“Have you forgotten what a useless wretch she is? Why would you let someone like her near—!”
The words died in her throat. Two long, ragged gashes sliced diagonally from his shoulder down across his chest.
Her stomach dropped. The wound was far graver than she had imagined.
She rushed to his side.
“What happened to you? You told me it was nothing!”
“It only looks severe; it is not a deep wound. No bones are broken, nor are the major muscles and tendons impaired.”
Varkas spoke without an ounce of feeling.
Talia stared at him in disbelief.
Dark veins bulged against the inflamed, swollen flesh, making the damage hideous to look upon. The agony had to be unbearable.
Unable to strike a wounded man, she let loose her temper instead.
“Listen to yourself! If this isn’t serious, what is, you fool?”
The healing sorceress gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. Varkas, by contrast, remained utterly unmoved.
He offered the woman a faint nod.
“Leave us.”
“B-but Your Grace, the dressing—”
“I can bind it myself.”
The healer hesitated, then ducked her head and practically fled the bedchamber.
Without sparing the woman a second look, Talia thrust out an open hand toward him.
“Give me the bandages. You can’t wrap them properly with one arm.”
“It is fine.”
“It is not fine! Hand them over.”
He watched her closely for a lingering beat before yielding the roll of linen. Snatching it from his fingers, Talia dragged a chair directly across from him and sat down.
Up close, the rent in his flesh looked far more horrific. A pale seep wept from the edges of the salve-smeared tears, and heat radiated off his unnaturally flushed skin.
She bit down hard on her lower lip, carefully winding the linen around his torso.
Having grown accustomed to tending and securing the bandages around her own crippled leg day after day, her hands moved with practiced ease.
“Are you certain you’re all right? What if an infection takes hold…?”
“Once the venom has cleared, magic will knit the flesh. Do not worry.”
“Who said I was worried about you? If you die, my life turns to ruins, that is all…”
“I know. I am telling you this so Your Grace need not fear becoming a widow.”
Talia went silent, stunned by his deadpan delivery.
Leaning back in his seat, Varkas studied her with an unreadable expression, then lightly circled her wrist with his fingers.
“What brought you here tonight?”
Her chest seized as though she had been ambushed.
Was he asking because he did not want her here?
She stole a glance at his face, where firelight danced across his hard, unyielding features.
He tilted his head slightly.
“You told me you had no intention of sharing a bed with me for the time being. Have you changed your mind?”
She tore her wrist from his grip.
“I have not! Do you think I am so shameless that I would roll around with a half-dead man?”
“Then why did you come?”
He leaned in closer.
Talia’s eyes darted frantically about the room until she remembered the justification she had rehearsed, blurting it out with a slight stammer.
“The gift… I came to thank you for it.”
He looked down at her in silence for several seconds, as though testing the weight of her words, before speaking.
“Did you like it?”
“Who wouldn’t like something like that?”
Unable to hold his gaze, she lowered her eyes awkwardly.
“Still, you shouldn’t hunt such beasts ever again. No matter how much you dote on your sister, the ruler of the East has no business running about reckless enough to get wounded…”
“What brother would go to such lengths merely for a sister?”
Talia’s scolding faltered, and she looked up at him in surprise.
Without her noticing, Varkas had begun idly twirling a strand of her hair, his fingers working like a cat batting at yarn. He stroked the lock gently as he went on, his voice low and level.
“You caught chills easily, even at the height of summer. The winters here are far harsher than those in the capital. You will need something of that caliber to endure the cold.”
“…That was when I was a child.”
Swallowing hard, Talia fought to keep her tone detached.
“Everyone endures the winter. There is no need to make such a fuss over—”
“It is not a fuss.”
His pale blue eyes drifted down her figure, slow and deliberate.
Talia’s hands tightened reflexively around the shawl drawn over her shoulders. He already knew how thin and frail she had become since the carriage accident, yet having his gaze linger on her stirred a sharp, fresh prickle of shame.
Flustered, she hurried to shift the conversation.
“Regardless, you are never to hunt dangerous beasts again. Order your men to do it. Do you still think yourself some ordinary knight? You are the Grand Duke now. Why keep an army if not for tasks like that?”
“It was simpler to handle it myself. Above all, I could hardly send my soldiers into mortal danger for a gift meant for my wife.”
The casual way he referred to her as his wife sent heat rushing straight to the tips of her ears.
Hoping the dim orange glow of the hearth would mask her flush, she snapped with hollow irritation.
“If it is too dangerous to send soldiers, you shouldn’t be doing it either, you idiot!”
“…Did you not come here to offer your thanks?”
He arched a single brow.
Talia scoffed under her breath.
“I came to scold you as well. Your body no longer belongs only to you. Treat it recklessly without my leave again, and I will never forgive you.”
END