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Varkas stroked her lips with his thumb, resting the straight bridge of his nose against her temple.
“I’ll keep the room dark that day.”
With her shoulder leaning against his broad chest and her gaze wavering uncertainly, Talia gave a slow nod.
He caught her by the chin and looked intently into her eyes.
Just as an obscure sense of shame made her want to flee, Varkas lowered his mouth to hers once more. This time, it was gentle—a light graze, like a bird nuzzling its beak against her.
That featherlight touch made something deep within her crumble. As if fighting that realization, Talia squeezed her eyes shut.
After that day, Talia began lingering in his bedchamber as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She used the excuse of keeping watch over that untrustworthy healing sorceress.
Yet even after the treatments ended, she never left.
She would linger, pretending to yield when he asked her to feed him his medicine, and end up falling asleep in his bed. This change had taken hold barely a month after she had kicked up a storm, swearing she would return to her own quarters even if it killed her.
She felt disgusted with herself, but she scraped together every conceivable justification.
This was merely a passing arrangement.
It was only a temporary compromise because he was hurt, and she could hardly bring herself to shove an injured man away.
The moment Varkas recovered completely, she intended to withdraw back across the boundary she had marked.
For that very reason, she was entirely justified in being furious whenever he neglected his care. The slower his recovery, the longer this uneasy state would drag on.
Having stewed in her irritation all day, Talia confronted him the moment he returned late that evening.
“You have no right to lecture me about my health.”
Varkas stepped inside and gave her an uncomprehending look.
Talia dropped the book from her lap as if casting it aside, slipped off his bed, and raised her voice.
“Working like an ox every single day in that state! You even had a fever at dawn…”
“I felt entirely well,” Varkas answered calmly, unfastening his coat.
Talia’s eyebrows shot up.
“No, you were not. Your skin was far warmer than usual.”
“If that was so, it was hardly because of a fever.”
Talia stared blankly for a heartbeat before blood rushed to her cheeks.
She could never understand how he could utter such things without a flicker of expression. The very concept of shame seemed foreign to him.
She ground her teeth.
“Monster venom is running through your blood. There is no way you are well. You ought to rest until every trace of the poison has cleared.”
“Even now, I have been concluding my duties earlier than usual,” Varkas replied flatly, undoing his sword belt and setting it on the stand.
Talia let out a hollow laugh.
The schedule she had coaxed out of the butler earlier today was nothing short of self-inflicted penance. She wondered if even the most ascetic monk could endure such a life.
Every morning before dawn, Varkas rose from bed and went straight to the training grounds. After honing his swordsmanship there, he headed to the military garrison to inspect each unit’s discipline, the intake of fresh recruits, and the state of supply stores in rigorous detail before signing off on countless documents.
Afterward, he attended to civil affairs, reviewing petitions brought from across the East or conferring with city councilors on policy. On occasion, he had to take part in functions held by the Cathedral or meetings of the noble coalition.
It defied belief that a single man could bear such an exhausting weight.
She spoke with an edge of fretful agitation.
“Even a man of iron would drop dead before long living like that.”
“I have kept this pace since I was eight years old. Do not fret; you will not find yourself a widow on my account.”
Talia balled her hands into fists at his callous reply. Had he been unhurt, she would have hurled a pillow straight into that indifferent face.
“How can you be so certain? Every fool who dies of overwork thinks he is made of steel until he collapses and never wakes again! Just wait. Keep driving yourself like this, and your turn will come soon enough.”
“…Is that concern, or a curse?”
Unbuttoning his tunic, Varkas glanced back at her as if she were speaking nonsense.
Talia bared a spiteful smile, like a cat unsheathing its claws.
“Which does it sound like to you?”
Narrowing his eyes, Varkas let out a faint sigh and tossed his shirt onto a chair.
The sight of his bare torso in the lamplight made Talia catch her breath. The bandages she had wound around him only last night were completely gone.
She stepped closer, inspecting his shoulder. Where the wound had been, nothing remained but a faint, faded mark.
“How can this be? They said it would take another day to heal.”
“The salve that healing sorceress prepared worked faster than anticipated. Once I was certain the venom was gone, I had a priest tend to the rest.”
She swallowed dryly.
“W-well… then that is good.”
As she took an awkward step backward, his gloved fingers brushed her cheek.
“Does that put your mind at ease?” Varkas asked, looking quietly into her eyes.
For some reason, a sudden chill seized her—as though the tame hound she thought she had kept under her thumb had snapped at her throat.
Talia turned her head away to slip out from under his hand and muttered coldly.
“Fine. I have no need to fret anymore.”
An uneasy silence fell over the room.
Staring down at his shadow cast against the carpet, Talia slowly looked up. His eyes, clouded with thought, were fixed on her from just inches away.
Brushing the stray hair from her brow, he asked softly,
“What would you have me do?”
Talia gripped her skirts tight. Her throat went parched.
“I…”
She did not know why she was hesitating. Had she not been urging him to recover solely so they could lie together? Now that the time had come, she needed only to demand her place in bed as planned.
Clutching her fabric, she moistened her dry lips. Then, his low voice fell over her head, soothing and calm.
“If you are unwilling, I can wait.”
Yet his large arm wound firmly around her waist, as though he had no intention of letting her step outside this chamber.
Talia looked up at him with trembling eyes.
If they were not going to share the bed, there was no reason for her to remain. Why, then, could she not bring herself to cast his hand off? And why did he insist on keeping her close?
To think that simply staying together was enough, without doing anything at all.
It resembled love far too closely.
At that thought, a creeping dread seized her spine. It felt as though she had been stripped bare in the center of a crowded hall.
She clasped her shaking hands tight.
‘Expect nothing. You must never expect a single thing.’ Repeating the words like a frantic prayer, she forced out a strained, breathless voice.
“Put out… the lights.”
She felt an overwhelming urge to bury herself in the dark, even if the blackness suffocated her.
Her voice edged into a desperate plea.
“Now. Right this second.”
“…Are you truly prepared?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Talia retorted with a sneer.
“That is the only thing I want from you. Nothing more.”
A faint flicker crossed his features. She did not want to understand what it meant.
Keeping her eyes glued to the floor, Talia endured the cutting silence.
Eventually, he turned and extinguished every light in the chamber, one by one. Yet the moonlight streaming through the window still bathed the room in a bright, pale glow.
Talia pressed him in a muffled rasp.
“Draw the curtains too.”
He walked to the window with steps so slow they felt agonizing. But instead of closing the drapes, he simply stood there, gazing up at the brilliant moon.
Looking at that rigid, unmoving back, Talia was gripped by a nameless dread.
Then, having stood still as if lost in thought, he strode back toward her.
Startled, Talia shrank back, but Varkas reached out, swept her up into his arms, and walked straight to the bed. She flailed against him by instinct.
“No! I told you to pull the curtains!”
“I will look at nothing you do not wish me to see.”
Varkas whispered against her ear as he lowered her onto the mattress.
Talia looked up at him, her eyes wide with fright. Leaning over her, Varkas drew the blanket up to cover them both.
END