14
“Aren’t you going to speak with him?”
Growing impatient at seeing her merely watch from afar, the maids beside her urged her forward. All of them seemed desperate to catch a closer glimpse of Varkas. Among their gazes burned a hunger that went far beyond mere admiration.
Ayla turned a blind eye to their presumptuous glances. It was a composure she could afford, knowing full well that Varkas would never spare a second look for any woman.
‘Of course, he has never looked at me with passion, either…’
A bitter smile touched her lips.
To begin with, Varkas was incapable of such feelings.
Brought into the Imperial Palace at a tender age, he had endured training bordering on indoctrination at the hands of fanatical, fundamentalist priests to shape him into a loyal weapon of the empire. In that crucible, he had been stripped of nearly all emotion.
When her mother discovered how brutal a discipline the heir of Shearkan was suffering under the clergy, she had fought desperately to shelter him. Yet the young boy had already lost not only joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure, but even the most primal impulses a human possessed.
Ayla’s face clouded as she recalled their first meeting. How terrifying he had seemed back then, his eyes hollow as a discarded cicada shell.
Varkas had resembled a doll sculpted from cold wax. He spoke so rarely that uttering two words in a single day was an event, and he would neither eat nor sleep unless explicitly ordered to do so. Stripped of every impulse for so long, he had lost even the instinctual cravings for sustenance and rest.
Compared to those days, the Varkas before her now seemed far more human.
‘Perhaps he will keep getting better…’
She looked upon her fiancé with quiet hope. Though she had vowed countless times not to expect too much, she could not stop her heart from fluttering whenever she laid eyes on him.
The beautiful boy who had remained steadfastly by her poor mother’s side had now grown into the most immaculate man in all of Roem. How could she not yearn for him?
She knew well that countless women who carried a torch for him had tasted only bitter heartbreak, yet Ayla believed herself to stand on far higher ground.
Even if their union had been forged for political advantage, she would soon become his wife and eventually bear his heir.
If she patiently offered her devotion through the long years ahead, would not his frozen heart thaw in time?
Clinging to that slender hope, Ayla carefully stepped toward him. Perhaps sensing her approach, Varkas, who had been standing with his back to the sun, turned toward her.
A chill ran down her spine. His countenance was cold enough to mock every dream and expectation she harbored.
Regarding her with deadened eyes, the man turned forward again and spoke in an even tone.
“Is something the matter?”
Calming her trembling heart, she deliberately fixed a bright smile to her lips.
“I came to see if the preparations for the journey were progressing well.”
“They are nearly complete.”
He answered flatly, gently stroking the steed’s thick neck.
“I worry because the delays dragged on longer than anticipated. The heat has set in, which will make travel grueling.”
“It could not be helped. The schedule was disrupted by Gareth’s stubbornness.”
Ayla spoke with care, glancing up to gauge her fiancé’s reaction. Thinking of her brother’s thoughtless conduct, she was so flushed with shame she could barely hold her head up.
Not content with merely forcing his way onto the journey, Gareth had acted as if determined to pack the entire Crown Prince’s palace into his luggage. He had insisted on dragging along dozens of servants to attend him, jesters to ward off boredom on the road, a personal chef, and even his tailor.
She was once again struck by the forbearance of Varkas, who had quietly indulged every unreasonable demand and tantrum without once raising his voice.
Her expression grew contrite.
“I am truly sorry for the trouble he has caused you.”
“There is no need for Your Highness to apologize. It was a matter that would have had to be handled sooner or later.”
Handing the reins to a stable hand, he added dispassionately,
“Compared to what I anticipated, he is behaving quite reasonably. Considering he is seeing off his cherished sister, this much bluster is entirely understandable.”
Ayla’s face fell. At his words, the dread she had fought so hard to bury reared its head again.
Gazing up at the dazzling white fortress, she gripped the fabric of her skirt. The thought of leaving her brother behind in this palace of bitter memories threatened to tear her heart apart.
Moreover, a venomous devil ruled here, coveting Gareth’s position. Could her brother, with his fiery temper, truly withstand that cunning woman on his own?
“If it would not be an imposition, I would like to visit the Imperial Palace regularly even after our wedding. Would that be permitted?”
Varkas, who had moved on to inspect another warhorse, shifted his gaze back to her. Noticing a faint crease settle between his straight brows, Ayla realized how childish her plea sounded, and heat rushed to her cheeks.
Governing the vast Eastern marches and leading hundreds of vassals as the Grand Duchess would be no light burden. Once wed, she was obligated to place the affairs of House Shearkan above all else.
Yet Varkas, after studying her thoughtfully, gave a nonchalant nod.
“So long as the long journey does not overtax Your Highness, you may come and go as you please. Was not this union arranged in the first place to lend strength to the Crown Prince?”
Ayla’s smile faltered. To him, this might be nothing more than a strategic alliance, but to her, it was far more. Though stung by the reminder, she forced herself to maintain a grateful front.
“Thank you for your understanding.”
Varkas gave a brief nod and returned his attention to examining the horse’s teeth.
Swallowing a sigh, Ayla placed her hand on his forearm, compelling him to look at her once more.
“I know you are occupied, but could you spare me a moment? There is something I wish to give you before we depart.”
He eyed her with quiet inquiry before turning fully toward her. Ordering a nearby squire to lead the inspected horses back to the stables, he escorted her toward a quieter corner of the grounds.
With the maids discreetly dropping behind, Ayla was able to share a quiet walk alone with him.
Resting her hand upon his firm forearm, she followed the neatly manicured path. As they stepped into the expansive garden, a gentle breeze caressed their cheeks.
The main palace gardens were in full, splendid bloom. In beds tended with meticulous care by the gardeners, vivid summer blossoms opened their petals, and pruned hedges were dense with emerald leaves.
Ayla took in the sight with a mournful gaze. This scenery had once felt like salt poured into an open wound. Yet as years passed, an imperial residence filled with traces of Senevier had become her everyday reality, while the memory of her own mother’s garden slowly eroded. That realization cut deeper than anything else.
“What was it you wished to give me?”
Drawn back from her brooding, Ayla looked up at Varkas.
In his youth, he had spent a great deal of time in the garden tended by Bernadette. Ayla knew that within those grounds, his scarred soul had found at least a sliver of peace.
A sudden thought stirred within her. Did this man miss her mother’s garden as well?
Gazing into his mask of indifference, where not a ripple of sentiment could be discerned, Ayla sighed quietly in defeat and withdrew a handkerchief from within her coat.
“I embroidered the crest of Shearkan.”
His eyes lowered to the neatly folded linen. Her throat went dry.
She began to chatter in an overly lively voice, desperate to mask her nerves.
“It is customary to present a handmade token to one’s betrothed before a long departure. Granted, we are traveling together, but still—”
“It is a thoughtful gift.”
Cutting off her rambling, he accepted the handkerchief. A faint smile grazed his austere lips.
Ayla felt her chest tighten with warmth. It stung her pride slightly to realize how entirely her heart hung on his slightest gesture, yet she was overjoyed that Varkas—a man who withheld every trace of emotion—had smiled for her sake.
“I shall treasure it,” he said, fastening the linen securely around his sword hilt.
She offered a shy smile.
Just then, hurried footsteps approached from the path ahead.
END