Varkas rubbed his temples with his fingertips as though fending off a headache, letting out another heavy sigh.
“Regardless, sleeping in separate rooms is out of the question.”
With that, he wrapped her tightly in the duvet and lifted her from the bed.
Talia pushed against his shoulders in brief defiance, but soon let herself go limp. As loath as she was to let Varkas see her looking so unsightly, her longing to be with him ran just as deep, and she had no stomach for a fight.
“Move my things back to my chamber.”
After giving the order to the maids waiting by the door, Varkas stepped directly out into the corridor.
Talia peered through a gap in the duvet at the lamplit hallway. The servants bowed their heads with practiced composure, as though carrying her through the halls of the castle had become an ordinary spectacle.
St憔ing past them with brisk strides, Varkas made for the staircase.
Just then, a familiar voice drifted up from beyond the balustrade.
“Brother!”
Varkas halted midstep and peered down into the stairwell.
Following his gaze, Talia narrowed her eyes at two slender figures in black cloaks crossing the broad hall below.
The identity of one was obvious enough. It was Varkas’s insolent younger brother.
The boy, who had shot up considerably in the span of a few months, came bounding up the stairs two at a time.
Talia pulled the duvet to the bridge of her nose, eyeing him with wary disdain.
Once the funeral rites for the late Grand Duke had ended, Lucas Raedgo Shearkan had officially entered the Wolfram Cavalry to begin his training. As a result, she had not crossed paths with him once in recent months. With the barbarians growing rampant since late autumn, most of the Wolfram Cavalry had been deployed beyond the castle walls.
Life out in the field must have been harsh; the boy’s frame had broadened noticeably by the time he reached them.
“Forgive the late hour. I rode in from camp because there’s word that must be delivered at once. It seems the imperial family has—”
Lucas, who had been speaking in a rush, caught sight of her in Varkas’s arms and let the sentence trail off awkwardly.
A sudden wave of dread swept over Talia, and she pressed a hand to her lower belly. It felt as though the biting dread she had breathed in with every draft of the Imperial Palace had returned to chill her marrow.
As if feeling her tremble, Varkas bundled the duvet tighter around her and spoke in a flat, icy tone.
“Wait in my study.”
“I don’t mind, but it might be better to see our guest to a chamber. He’s had a long, exhausting journey.”
“No, it’s quite all right. I’ll wait with the young master.”
The man standing behind Lucas spoke up, throwing back his hood.
Talia’s eyes widened the moment she saw his face.
Edric Ruben.
Of all the imperial knights who had crossed her path, that one particularly tiresome nuisance stood before her now, looking worn to the bone.
Her trembling stopped at once.
She could not tell whether the shock came from seeing a man she thought she would never lay eyes on again, or from how effortlessly his name had surfaced in her mind.
As she stared in blank disbelief, Edric met her gaze and dipped his head in an awkward bow.
“It has been some time, Your Highness. I trust you have been keeping well—”
“Speak to the butler and have him assign you a guest chamber. I will summon you in an hour. Rest until then.”
Cutting him off without a second thought, Varkas turned toward his own bedchamber. The knight rubbed the back of his neck, looking abashed.
Talia watched them closely before glancing up at Varkas. He seemed entirely unfazed by the sudden arrival of his former subordinate.
Had this visit been expected?
Whether he sensed the question in her eyes or not, Varkas carried her swiftly through the gallery and stepped into the bedchamber. “I heard you haven’t eaten. Is there anything you’d like?”
“…I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“You must eat well, if only for the child.”
Varkas spoke coaxingly as he set her down at the table by the hearth.
Talia nodded reluctantly. The hearty appetite she had enjoyed for a time had vanished with the aches in her pelvis and back over the past few weeks, but an obligation weighed on her—the thought that the child in her womb might starve if she went without food.
“Just a bowl of chicken broth, then.”
“You heard her. Have it brought at once.”
Varkas issued the clipped command to the servant waiting at the threshold, then walked over to tend the fireplace himself.
The hearth was stocked with fire mana stones and charcoal instead of smoky kindling, and within moments, warm air washed over the room.
“How is your throat? I heard you were coughing earlier today.”
“It’s only the winter dry. More to the point, shouldn’t you go see them? They said it was urgent.”
“Do not concern yourself. Waiting an hour will change nothing.”
Varkas answered offhandedly, prodding at the embers with an iron poker.
Talia studied his profile, searching for something beneath the calm.
Edric Ruben was a knight of the Imperial Guard. If he had returned to his post without incident, he ought to be serving Gareth or Ayla by now. One of the two must have sent him here.
‘You will surely come to regret this day, Talia Roem Guirta.’
The curse her half-sister had spat at her, buried all this while, echoed sharp in her ears. Talia’s hand drifted down to her belly without thinking.
The memory of those vivid green eyes burning with hatred made a tremor run through her.
As if catching the scent of her fear, the baby kicked hard inside her. Talia drew a sharp, startled breath, and Varkas, who had been hanging his coat on the stand, turned around at once.
“What is it?”
“The baby… kicked.”
She felt the movements often enough, but never a jolt this violent, and it left her unsettled.
As she stared down at her abdomen with an anxious frown, Varkas, stripped down to his thin linen shirt, crossed the room and dropped to his knees before her. His voice turned grave. “Does it hurt?”
Talia looked at him as though he were being absurd.
How much could a kick from something no larger than a fist truly hurt? The dismissive retort was on the tip of her tongue, but the raw concern in his eyes stopped her cold.
She wanted him to worry more. She wanted him consumed by thoughts of nothing and no one else—only her, and this child.
“Yes. It hurts terribly. From the sheer brute force of it, this one takes after you.”
At her exaggerated complaint, his expression darkened with solemn gravity.
Kneeling on the floorboards, Varkas began to reach out a hand, then flinched and started to pull back, remembering how she had refused his touch moments before.
After a beat of hesitation, Talia caught his wrist and drew his palm against her lower belly. Much as she hated exposing her swollen body, she wanted Varkas to feel the child’s presence, unmistakable and real.
“I’ll let you touch, just this once. A special concession.”
Varkas stared at her face for a moment before letting his eyes drop to his resting hand. Right then, another strong heave stirred beneath his palm. A rare flicker of astonishment crossed his features.
Talia gave a small, triumphant smile.
“Strong, isn’t it? It’s surely a son. And I imagine he’ll look just like you.”
She laid her palm over the back of his hand, pressing down lightly to let him feel the child better.
She needed Varkas to understand, deep down.
Your child is here, bearing your blood. So whatever Gareth or Ayla have to say, you cannot waver. You must stand with us, no matter what comes.
Swallowing the words that lingered in her throat, she traced the prominent veins and rough knuckles of his hand.
Ever since she had seen this very hand rest protectively against Ayla’s back eleven years ago, she had desperately hungered for the day when this man would finally stand on her side.
END