140
A sudden thought crossed Tairon’s mind: what would have happened if Varkas Raedgo Shearkan had married the First Princess as intended?
Politically, it would have been far more advantageous. House Shearkan would not be locked in this discord with the Crown Prince.
Yet for some reason, he could not easily picture Varkas taking any other woman as his wife.
“I’ve kept our guests standing in the cold far too long. Come along, follow me. I’ll show you somewhere to rest.”
Snapping out of his thoughts, Tairon looked over to see Daren personally guiding the northerners away.
As he strode toward the annex, Daren tossed a casual reproach over his shoulder.
“Go wash up. You look a mess.”
Tairon let out a quiet sigh, scraping at a patch of dried blood on his cheek.
He had no time to waste on idle hypotheticals. Once he had scrubbed away the blood and dust and tended his minor cuts, he had to return to his post at once. A mountain of overdue business was waiting for him. Among all of it, the regional security was the most pressing.
His brow furrowed at the memory of the Zram who had ambushed them. While their attention had been bent on dousing the sparks of war in the North, the unrest within the East had quietly festered.
Raking a rough hand through his unkempt hair, Tairon led his men across the broad courtyard with heavy steps.
A sudden chill brushed his cheek, and he looked up at the sky where pale, ash-colored clouds were rolling in.
Just as the Grand Duchess had said, pale flecks were fluttering on the wind.
The first snow.
A sudden, quiet foreboding settled over Tairon.
Winter this year would likely be long and bitter.
“Were you in a fight?”
The woman had been riding quietly in his arms down the long corridor, but now she wrinkled her nose and looked up.
Varkas checked his clothes for stains. He looked no different than when he had ridden out of the castle gates.
If so, the lingering scent of blood must have given him away. Her senses were sharp at the best of times, and since the pregnancy, her nose had grown sharper still.
Lengthening his stride, he offered an even excuse.
“I only went hunting.”
“Liar. You came back with a company of knights. What kind of hunt needs that many men?”
“I took more men because bandits have been active lately.”
She eyed him, her gaze narrowing with suspicion.
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
Giving the answer without a ripple of hesitation, Varkas shifted her weight into one arm and pushed open the bedchamber door.
The room was chilly, perhaps because the maids had aired it out. He went straight to the window, shut the pane, and set her down before the hearth. As he began prodding the dying embers with fresh logs, she caught him by the sleeve.
“Don’t go hunting anymore. If bandits are roaming, why look for trouble? Leave the game to the huntsmen, or buy it from a butcher.”
His brow knit.
Since finding herself with child, she worried over far more than she used to. She seemed convinced that if anything befell him, neither she nor the child would survive it.
Boasting that no such thing could happen would be pointless.
After a moment’s thought, Varkas finally nodded.
“Very well. I will not hunt from now on.”
Her face, tight with tension, softened, and her shoulders eased.
He made a mental note to warn the servants never to mention that the meat had been taken by the Grand Duke’s own hands.
Watching the kindling catch, he dusted off his palms.
He knew she was right; using huntsmen was far more practical. Even so, he had no intention of setting his bow aside. The thought of her eating meat brought down by another man rankled him.
It was an urge he had never known before. Meat was only meat; whose quarry it had been mattered not at all. He could not account for why he acted on such foolishness.
Yet when he watched her—a woman who had barely touched meat since childhood—bite into a rich, roasted cut and chew with real appetite, those self-mocking questions vanished without a trace.
Watching her fill herself with food he had provided, seeing the hollows of her frame slowly soften, brought him a quiet, profound satisfaction. He had no wish to share that role with anyone.
“So… what did you bring back today?”
Her voice came hesitant and soft, as though she feared she had scolded him too harshly.
Working the bellows to coax the flames, Varkas answered calmly.
“Pheasant.”
Her eyes brightened at once.
Leaning forward, she chirped in a voice pitched an octave higher.
“Like last time? That was delicious. Tell the cook to crisp the skin. And don’t forget the cameline sauce!”
He looked at her without blinking.
That a woman who lived with her guard always raised, bristling with thorns at every turn, could light up over something as plain as a meal struck him as nothing short of a miracle.
Catching his strange look, she flushed and grumbled defensively.
“It isn’t that I crave it. It’s… it’s this little one wanting it.”
Her hand dropped to her belly, which was only just beginning to show a gentle curve.
Varkas watched her hand, his fingers clenching into fists. If he did not hold himself in check, he felt he would take her in his dirty hands, pull her close, and touch her however he pleased.
Oblivious to the restraint he fought for, she pouted her full lips and kept muttering.
“I think this child is going to be terrible. What if it’s born and turns out fat as a pig? A chubby child would be so unsightly…”
“Then I will leave the child with the nurses and keep it out of Your Grace’s sight as much as possible.”
Her eyes flared at his perfunctory answer, tossed out only to keep his wandering mind under rein.
“You fool! Is that what you’re supposed to say? You should say, ‘Even chubby, they will be lovely’!”
“Even chubby, they will be lovely.”
He gave the demanded answer without missing a beat, but her scowl did not budge.
Incensed for reasons beyond him, she grabbed a cushion from the chair and brought it down hard against his back.
“And there is no way my child could ever be unsightly! I’m sure it will be terribly pretty. Even if it is as fat as a pig, it will be the most precious thing in the world!”
He could not fathom why she was furious with him when she was the one who had worried over the baby being unsightly in the first place. Yet the sight of her venting her unreasonable temper, lips pushed out, was so breathtakingly lovely it became its own problem.
Swallowing a sigh, he turned toward the washstand. Even through his loose trousers, the heat pooling low in his body was growing uncomfortably tight.
Left alone, it would pass, but he was afraid of making her uneasy.
He did not want Talia fretting over trivial things. He only wanted her to stay comfortable and untroubled, exactly as she was now.
He poured cold water into the basin and washed his face and hands to cool the heat. His body, however, showed no signs of following suit.
‘Should I go to the adjoining chamber and take care of it myself?’
As he looked down, scowling, he felt a soft warmth press against his back.
“Are you angry?”
She had wound her arms around him, peeking her head around to look up into his face.
His brow furrowed deeper.
Was she doing this on purpose?
He narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion, then took a step back.
“I smell of the stables. Step back a little.”
“I don’t mind…”
Burying her nose against his shirt, she drew a deep breath. Her damp, warm breath seeped through the linen, grazing his bare skin.
“It smells mostly of peppermint and you.”
She was definitely doing this on purpose.
Setting his jaw, Varkas turned, gathered her into his arms, and sat down in the chair, pulling her body—growing softer with every passing day—tight against his chest.
Her breasts, fuller than before, pressed into him. He cupped one gently in his hand, caressed it, and then let his fingers drift down to rest against the soft, rounded swell of her belly.
END