He looked the woman up and down.
“What is it?”
“It concerns Her Grace the Grand Duchess. I felt it was something Your Grace ought to know….”
The woman, who had begun with a rigid face, suddenly turned pale and fell silent. Only then did he realize he was radiating cold hostility.
Varkas knit his brows slightly. It had already been made clear that the improper prescription given to his wife had been an honest error.
Had it not been confirmed by several servants and assistant sorcerers that she had merely been cautious with the dosage, given how persistently Talia refused treatment?
She had answered for her mistake with an appropriate punishment; there was no longer any call to bear her ill will.
Gathering his composure, Varkas asked bluntly,
“What is it that I ought to know?”
“It seems the Grand Duchess is….”
Her lips parted anxiously as she glanced around, wary of being overheard.
He gestured with his chin toward a small parlor near the kitchen.
“Follow me.”
Stepping into the dim room, Varkas set the tray on a shelf and turned back.
The woman, lingering by the door and peering inside, finally spoke again.
“It is something I heard from the maids… but they say it has been quite some time since Her Grace last saw her monthly cycle. Judging by her recent condition, I suspect she may be with child.”
For a moment, he could not fathom the meaning of the words.
As he stood frozen in a daze, the healing sorceress pressed on in a breathless rush.
“Yet Her Grace’s personal sorceress has not breathed a word of it. I know full well it is not my place… but there are many precautions that must be taken in the early stages, so I felt Your Grace needed to know at once. There are skilled midwives in Kalmor; it would be best to summon them and have her examined immediately….”
“Wait.”
He cut her off sharply, pressing a hand to his brow as a throb of pain lanced through his head.
A rough rasp tore from his constricted throat.
“You are saying my wife is pregnant?”
“Given Her Grace’s recent symptoms, it is exceedingly likely….”
Varkas wet his parched lips.
The image of his wife, listless and slumped in exhaustion these past few days, flashed through his mind. He remembered, too, how she had suddenly begun asking for food.
Blood rushed through his veins in an instant, and a sharp ringing filled his ears.
He looked down at his faintly trembling hands, his brow furrowing. He could not understand why his body was reacting like this. It was not as though he had taken her to bed unaware of the consequences.
Put a bull to a cow in season, and a calf would follow a few months later. That was the natural order of things.
If anything, it was strange he had not realized it sooner.
“Thank you for telling me. I will summon a midwife at once to make sure.”
Having offered the mechanical reply, Varkas moved toward the door.
He was about to step into the corridor when he recalled his promise to her and turned back to collect the tray.
Then it occurred to him that this might not be enough.
He wondered if he ought to fetch something more substantial from the kitchen. As he turned with that thought, the healing sorceress hurried to stop him.
“Your Grace, if I may say one more thing.”
He made no attempt to conceal his annoyance as he glared at her.
She shrank back for an instant, but soon met his eyes with quiet resolve.
“Please grant me one more chance to attend the Grand Duchess.”
His face twisted in disbelief.
The memory of his wife vomiting blood and collapsing still made him want to string this woman up by her heels.
He had stayed his hand only because such cruelty was unfitting for a vassal whose house had served the ducal family for generations.
Had his retainers not quietly intervened—arguing that her gifts were too rare to cast aside, and that she should be relegated to menial chores in the infirmary instead of exiled—he would have signed her banishment long ago.
He spoke coldly, like a hound baring its fangs.
“Do you truly believe a mistake like yours can be washed away with this?”
“How could I presume so? I would never dream of returning as Her Grace’s primary healer.”
She bowed her head swiftly, the color draining from her cheeks.
“I only ask… to serve as an assistant. If you would permit me to work beneath the sorceress in charge of Her Grace’s care, I will give my life to ensure nothing of the sort ever happens again.”
“I refuse. I have no wish to place my wife in the hands of someone capable of such a blunder….”
Varkas cut himself short mid-sentence.
Set against everything else, she remained the most brilliant pharmacologist in the East.
Had she not neutralized a monster’s venom in mere days—a feat beyond even the senior priests?
Should a crisis arise that neither mages nor priests could answer, her knowledge might prove indispensable.
Above all, he was uneasy leaving Talia entirely to a sorceress sent by the Taren family. If someone bound to the Grand Duchy remained at her side, the newcomer would find no room for foul play.
Settling his thoughts, Varkas clicked his tongue.
“Very well. You have permission to return as an assistant.”
A flicker of relief washed across her features. He watched her in silence before adding,
“However, if my wife rejects you, you will return to the lowest duties in the infirmary.”
“I understand, Your Grace.”
She bowed her head, her expression clouding over. She seemed to recall the venom Talia bore toward her. But softening his wife’s guard was not his concern. If the woman lacked even that much discretion, she could go back to scrubbing floors.
He turned away without another word.
He intended to bring in additional sorcerers to watch over Talia anyway. It might also be wise to station the High Priest at Raedgo Castle.
Though it was a breach of custom, the priest would hardly refuse if offered the funds to expand his temple.
Under the pretext of housing the clergy while the works progressed, holy magic would remain within reach should an emergency arise.
His mind churning, Varkas reached his bedchamber before he finally let out the breath he had been holding.
His heart, which never faltered through half a day in the saddle, was thumping against his ribs. Whenever it came to her, his body slipped out of his control.
Once, he had loathed the sensation beyond endurance. Being near her had felt like an unending war within himself. He had wanted nothing more than to tear those fragile, precarious eyes from his mind—the ones that made him feel what he did not wish to feel, and hunger for what he did not wish to want.
When had he broken free of that misery?
‘I… I knew it. I knew you’d come for me… I knew it.’
He shoved the sudden memory away.
He had the sense that lingering on that moment would shatter something inside him beyond repair.
Clearing the fog from his head, he pressed down the door latch.
The dense, sweet fragrance filled his chest the moment he stepped inside. Drawing in the scent that had thoroughly seeped into his chambers, he moved across the warm candlelight. Beside the bed, he found her curled into a small ball.
He set the tray on the table and sat on the edge of the mattress. Resting the back of his hand against her flushed cheek, he felt the faint, lingering heat.
Was this, too, what happened to a woman with child?
As he searched her features with uneasy eyes, her long, heavy lashes fluttered open.
“…Are you only coming now?”
Blue eyes, hazy with sleep, settled on him. She rubbed them with a small fist and let out a faint yawn.
“Did you bring what I asked for?”
“Only the drink for now….”
The words came out stiff, sounding awkward even to his own ears.
Fortunately, she seemed not to notice.
Talia leaned into his side, making her demand as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Then hurry and give it to me.”
She tipped her head back, parting her rose-red lips.
Watching her with a taut body, Varkas took the glass and drew the tart liquid into his mouth.
As he cupped her soft cheeks in both hands and carefully passed the drink between her lips, a sudden heat rose through him like fire.
He drew her against him and pulled her down onto the mattress. Only the healer’s warning about the early months brought him back to his senses.
“…Why aren’t you doing it today?”
Catching his breath while holding her limp, fever-warmed body to his chest, he found her looking up at him with uneasy eyes.
He brushed her flushed cheek and murmured,
“You have a fever. Nothing until you are well.”
“I’m fine….”
A dizzying pulse pressed behind his eyes; he closed them for a moment, then looked at her again.
“You are not fine.”
He let out a low sigh, his palm coming to rest on her soft, slender waist.
Perhaps my child is in here.
He turned the unreal truth over in his mind, gazing down as she drifted back toward sleep.
When her brow was not furrowed in spite, Talia looked like a young girl. Seeing that youth in her face made his heart sink like lead.
END