A faint smile touched Varkas’s lips. With a quiet rustle, he drew out another strawberry.
“Open your mouth.”
Looking up at him with wet, glistening eyes, Talia parted her lips again. Varkas gently placed the berry inside.
It was too large to take in all at once; when she bit it in half, sweet juice spilled over her lips. Varkas wiped it away with his thumb, his gaze darkening as he watched her mouth move. A strange prickle of embarrassment crept up her neck, and she cast her eyes down to swallow.
“You have one too. They’re actually quite sweet.”
“I brought them for you, Your Grace.”
Varkas spoke evenly, bringing the remaining half back to her mouth.
“Eat them all.”
Talia looked up at his calm, handsome face for a beat before parting her lips again. Varkas took his time feeding her the bright red fruit. Though she kept each one in her mouth as long as she could, chewing slowly to stretch the taste, the six plump berries were gone in no time.
When she licked her lips with lingering longing, Varkas rose from the bed.
“Wait here. I will find more.”
“No, don't. I'm full now.”
She hurriedly reached out to grab him as he looked ready to snatch up his coat and head straight out. The sun would set soon. She could not have the master of the East scouring the land for fruit that didn't even grow in this season.
Talia tightened her grip on his forearm.
“This is enough. Don't make an unnecessary fuss.”
“A fuss?”
He looked genuinely puzzled. Did he truly not know how strange he was being?
Talia let out a brief sigh.
“Turning the territory upside down for strawberries in the dead of winter—if that isn't making a fuss, what is?”
Varkas tilted his head slightly, as if the concept was foreign to him.
“Why is providing food for one’s wife considered a fuss? Even beasts do as much. It is only natural.”
Talia stared up at him, struck dumb. He meant every word.
He would have done the exact same thing even if he had married someone else. The light, fluttering warmth that had gathered in her chest sank like lead, and her eyes narrowed.
“Just sit down. Even if you bring more, I'm too full to eat them.”
“The maids will bring freshly baked citron pie shortly. Have at least a slice of that.”
Hearing his low voice rumble so close above her head, her defenses gave way again. She blamed it on the pregnancy. These wild swings in emotion, this sudden greed for food she had never cared for—it was all because of the life swelling inside her.
“…Just one slice.”
A trace of a smile flickered on Varkas’s lips again. Talia watched it blankly until a strange, unbearable sensation washed over her, forcing her to turn her eyes toward the window.
Before long, the maids filed in with trays bearing steaming pie and a traditional Eastern brew.
While they laid the spread, Varkas—who had stepped away to change—returned, scooped her up blankets and all, and set her down before the hearth. He cut into the hot pie, stuffed with thinly sliced citron, honey, cinnamon, and nuts, and began feeding her small forkfuls.
Out of habit, Talia opened her mouth, but when her eyes met those of a wide-eyed maid, her face burned. Unlike Varkas, she at least possessed enough shame to know a grown woman being spoon-fed like an infant was an embarrassing sight.
“All of you, out. You're in the way.”
As if only just noticing the maids hovering nearby, he jerked his chin toward the door.
“Leave us.”
The frozen maids hurried out of the room together. Unfazed, Varkas brought the fork back to her lips as though nothing had happened.
And you still claim this isn’t making a fuss? Talia glared at him in mute protest, but she parted her lips in defeat.
Varkas made sure she finished an entire large slice, then fed her preserved apricots he had unearthed from who knew where. It felt as though she had not eaten this much in a single sitting since her days with the Taren family.
“Does your stomach ache?”
Having fed her so relentlessly, he asked with belated concern, gently rubbing her abdomen. Talia shook her head slightly.
“I'm fine.”
“…I heard the priest examined you today. Did he say anything of note?”
Soaked in an unfamiliar, heavy fullness, Talia felt her muscles tighten. When she first learned she was pregnant, she had wondered how he would take the news. Now that he was right before her, the words stuck in her throat.
After a long pause, Talia muttered awkwardly.
“…Nothing special. Only that I need to eat well and rest for a while.”
· · ·
“I'm tired. I want to sleep.”
As she averted her gaze and shifted deeper beneath the blankets, the arm braced behind her back tightened. Talia stole a glance up at him. Varkas was watching her closely, his eyes narrowed.
“Is there truly nothing you wish to say to me?”
Talia swallowed hard.
“…Nothing.”
“There is.”
His tone was heavy with certainty. Talia’s eyes flashed. The Head Maid swore she would keep silent until I spoke, but did she spill it after all? Shying away from eyes that seemed to strip her bare, she snapped defensively.
“Say what? You know already.”
“What am I supposed to know?”
“Stop pretending! You heard everything. Why else would you ask?”
“If I knew, why would I ask in the first place?”
Varkas replied evenly. Talia peered at him, suspicious.
“…You truly haven't heard?”
“I have not.”
His steady answer made her suspicions crumble. Perhaps the Head Maid had merely hinted that she had something to say.
Talia ran her tongue over her dry lips.
Varkas swept the hair from her brow and prompted her softly.
“Tell me. What did the priest say?”
“Well… you know how tired and sluggish I’ve been lately.”
Her voice cracked, sounding wretchedly thin. Talia swallowed dryly and searched his face.
The firelight cast warm, flickering shadows over his sharp features. Seeing the gentleness in his expression, the strange terror that had gnawed at a corner of her heart dissolved in an instant.
“He said… there's a child in my womb.”
He did not move an inch. He only looked down at her in silence. But Talia could see the slivers of silver in his deep blue eyes rippling like disturbed water.
A heavy breath tore from his chest as he leaned his forehead against her shoulder. At the same time, a broad, sinewy hand came to rest over her stomach. His hand had always seemed vast, but now it covered her belly entirely.
“…I will take far better care of you from now on.”
His breath, like the rumbling purr of a great beast, grazed her ear.
For some reason, tears pricked her eyes, so she bit down hard on her lip. It took a long moment before she could steady her voice.
“Yes. You must treat me with the utmost care from now on.”
“I will.”
Though his reply was so blunt it bordered on indifferent, the hand caressing her abdomen was tender beyond measure.
Without warning, the day she first met him came back to her. In a world that had felt utterly, freezing cold, this very hand had wrapped around hers with heat.
The memory of that day, which had often felt like a curse, did not hurt quite so much right now.
She curled small in his embrace and pressed her cheek against his broad, thumping chest.
END