“Anything?”
Her cautious voice briefly breached his composure.
During his years as an Imperial Knight, she had commanded him with nothing more than an upturned chin. Had he not learned the meaning of exhaustion for the first time in his life just struggling to keep up with her unreasonable whims, complaints, and baffling bouts of spite?
To see a woman who had once made the most shameless, impossible demands now falter over a mouthful of food rubbed against him the wrong way.
He reached out, closing his hand over hers—curled tight as a snail’s shell—and spoke firmly.
“Name whatever you want. I will find a way to get it, whatever it takes.”
“Then… I want apricots. Not dried, but fresh. And buy me candied violets and citrons, too. I don’t like them soft. I want them crisp.”
She rattled them off as if the words had been waiting at the tip of her tongue.
Watching her ask for sweets with eyes bright as a child’s stirred a strange fluttering in his chest, as though he had swallowed a handful of feathers.
This was a woman who used to scowl as if offal had been set before her even when served an entire banquet. How many times had he fought the urge to wrench her jaw open and force food down her throat?
It came to him suddenly that he had wanted to see her eat well for a very long time.
Back then, he had mistaken it for sheer irritation at her spoiled pickiness, but in truth, he had been worried.
“What else?”
As he coaxed her gently, his hand grazing her fever-warmed cheek, the color on her face deepened.
Her moist eyes darted aside in hesitation before she spoke in an awkward mumble.
“You remember… the drink we had on the tour through the East? The fermented goat’s milk… I want that, too.”
After her other requests, it was an astonishingly modest one.
A brief frown touched his brow at how difficult she found asking for a peasant drink, but the memory of feeding it to her himself made his throat tighten.
The recollection of her small tongue clinging to his fingers like sticky honey sent an ache hardening low in his gut.
Taking a slow, deep breath, he rose to his feet. If he lingered any longer, he would take her whether she was willing or not.
“That can be prepared right away. I’ll instruct the maids, so drink as much as you like.”
“Bring it to me yourself.”
Her hand, which had drawn back defensively, suddenly caught his sleeve.
Varkas, who had been turning away, paused and looked down at her.
Her voice dropped so low it barely carried.
“Not now. Later… this evening.”
A sudden jolt, like vertigo, swept through his head.
He shut his eyes hard and opened them again. Fortunately, his reply came out steady.
“Very well. I will bring it myself.”
Gazing up at him with clear eyes, she gave a slow nod and let go of his coat.
“Fine. Now go.”
With that, she gave a haughty toss of her head.
Unable to suppress the sudden surge inside him, Varkas caught the back of her neck in his palm.
Her eyes widened in surprise, then softened in an instant. Staring into pupils as dark and thick as a bottomless mire, he drove his tongue deep into her mouth.
The slick, fevered heat sealed tight around him. The sensation, never wearing thin no matter how often they did this, made his insides feel as though they were melting into liquid.
Cradling her small jaw, he worked his tongue deep inside her and drew back, mimicking the steady thrust of taking her.
He went on until reason threatened to fray, breaking the kiss only when the heat running through him turned unbearable.
In the stark daylight, her eyes shone like pure gems without a single blemish.
Drowned in those strangely deep blue irises, he lingered until the woman, panting for air, pressed her hands against his shoulders.
“Go now. You said you had to be at the Military Office within the hour.”
He glanced toward the window. Little time seemed to have passed, yet he knew that if he hesitated another moment, he would not be able to pull himself away.
Swallowing a sigh, Varkas forced himself up.
“Rest, then.”
“…See you later.”
She murmured the words hoarsely, resting her chin on her drawn-up knees. He turned away, his feet feeling leaden.
Before heading to the meeting hall, he stopped by the kitchens to order what she had asked for. While fresh fruit would require contacting merchants from the South, preserved treats like candied violets and citrons would not be difficult to procure.
In his mind, he took inventory of other things she might tolerate. Ideally, he wanted her eating meat or vegetables to rebuild her strength, but for now, the mere fact that she had an appetite at all was enough.
After instructing the butler to send for a merchant without delay, he strode out of the main keep.
The garrison hall used by the cavalry was a spare, functional space stripped of ornament.
Most of the riders were currently deployed to the borderlands to suppress monsters and bandits, leaving the quarters silent and half-deserted.
Passing through the hall where racks of weaponry stood displayed, he climbed the stairs.
Three broad-shouldered warriors were waiting in the council chamber. Exchanging brief nods with them, Varkas cut straight to the matter.
For now, the only immediate measures within their grasp were reinforcing defenses along the northern frontier and quietly stockpiling arms and grain.
He drafted orders in cipher and gave the officers several directives, foremost among them being strict secrecy.
“Should we not begin mobilizing additional levies as well?”
A younger knight who had been listening in silence ventured an opinion.
Varkas rubbed his chin a moment before giving a slow nod.
“It would be wise to prepare quietly. Send covert riders to the lords of each region and tell them to ready their retainers.”
A sudden chill prickled the nape of his neck, warning him that even this might fall short.
“Gather seasoned scouts as well. I want the Balto border thoroughly surveyed.”
“…Do you truly believe Balto intends to wage an independence war?”
“Those people bare their fangs whenever an opening presents itself.”
Varkas cast his gaze over the map unrolled across the table.
“Preventing conflict entirely remains the ideal outcome, but there is no harm in preparing for the worst.”
Taking up a quill, he quickly marked the districts to be reconnoitered and moved to the next order of business.
To determine how deep the Heimdal family’s roots ran, he would need to put the duchy’s intelligence network to work.
From there, their lower ranks would have to be pruned away with care. One did not set fire to the entire manor simply because rats were nesting beneath the floorboards; tedious as it was, one laid poison and set traps to clear them out piece by piece.
“It would be best to buy off the guildmaster of the White Silver Alliance beforehand. Secure a meeting soon.”
“That will prove difficult. The current master is known to hail from Balto nobility.”
“He is a merchant all the same. No one rises to lead a trade guild with such sway over the northeast without being a businessman to the marrow.”
Leaning back against his chair, Varkas cut through the doubt with a cool tone.
“If the man is foolish enough to refuse my terms, we can simply replace him with someone from the East. I noted several viable candidates during my circuit of the eastern territories, so make contact with them in parallel.”
At the bold decree, a brief flicker of surprise crossed the officers’ faces before vanishing.
The man who had voiced the objection bowed his head, his expression solemn.
“Understood.”
Varkas handed down a few remaining orders and pushed himself up from the table.
While it was too soon to be certain, the Heimdal family likely did not intend to strike at once. They, too, would require sufficient time to prepare. The broader direction would likely be determined over the course of this winter.
He pressed his fingertips against his burning eyelids and walked out of the council room.
By the time he had cleared his routine duties and returned to the main keep, the sun had already slipped behind the ramparts.
Every day was a breathless rush, yet today felt uniquely long.
Stepping into the great hall, Varkas made straight for the kitchen. As he emerged carrying the drink he had seen to personally alongside a small tray of sweets, a familiar voice called out from behind him.
“Your Grace.”
Turning, Varkas narrowed his eyes at the prim face stiff with tension. The house healer was looking up at him, her gaze heavy with unease.
“There is an urgent matter I must speak with you about.”
END