“That will never happen.”
She spoke with absolute conviction.
Yet Varkas could tell she was not entirely sure of her own words. Beneath her confident smile, he caught the faint, familiar look she wore whenever she was bluffing.
Even she seemed uneasy about the Dire Wolf’s predatory nature.
‘…I will need capture magic tools on hand, just in case the beast runs wild.’
By law, any magical beast that harmed a person was to be put down on the spot, but he feared the sight of its death would leave Talia inconsolable. If the worst came and force became necessary, he resolved to instruct his men to take it alive.
Letting out a quiet, weary breath, he turned away from the window.
“Then I shall go inform the council.”
“Right now?”
Varkas, who had already taken a step toward the door, stopped and glanced back down at her.
Talia, absently twining a damp lock of hair around her finger, murmured with an awkward stiffness,
“You have only just returned. I thought… perhaps you would rest first….”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
This was a woman who could barely endure sharing a room with him. Over the past two years, whenever he briefly returned to the castle, she had avoided him at all costs. Why this sudden shift in demeanor?
“…As you said, Princess, I have only just arrived, so there is much that requires my attention. Rest will have to wait.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed her face. Masking it instantly, she gave a dry smirk and replied with deliberate carelessness,
“Is that so? Then don’t let me keep you.”
After a brief pause, he turned the handle and pulled the door open. Directly outside, standing sentinel, was the massive silver wolf.
As if begrudging the time spent apart from its mistress, the beast glared at him with flashing blue eyes, then brushed past him and squeezed through the doorway.
Shoved aside by its heavy bulk, Varkas frowned and shot the creature a hard look.
The Dire Wolf strode across the bedroom as though it owned the place, settling right beside Talia. The moment her eyes found the wolf, they lit with delight.
She drew the beast close as its tail thumped against the floor, burying her face into its thick, silver ruff.
Varkas watched them in silence for a fleeting second, then shut the door behind him.
“Your Grace is far too lenient with the Grand Duchess.”
Seated at the head of the council chamber, scanning through petitions, Varkas lifted his gaze toward the elder councilman on his left.
The man, a stern and stubborn figure in his fifties, served as the magistrate presiding over the legal affairs of Kalmor.
He dabbed his dwarven-crafted monocle with a handkerchief and sighed heavily.
“We have overlooked much out of respect for the tragedies the Grand Duchess has endured, but we cannot indulge her reckless whims forever. That wolf stirs unrest throughout the castle, and it breeds needless discord with the Church.”
“I intend to meet with the Grand Priest soon. I will handle the matter with the Church myself, so do not bring it before me again.”
“Still, Your Grace…”
“Since when did the men of Shearkan grow so faint of heart? Trembling over a single beast.”
Varkas tossed the stack of petitions onto the table with an irritated snap. The faces of the retainers gathered around the chamber hardened.
One of them spoke up, unable to conceal his resentment.
“Your Grace, all of us here are devout followers of the Imperial Church, baptized twice over. By sacred scripture, are magical beasts not abominations created by demons to scourge mankind? For the Grand Duchess, who should serve as an exemplar to the entire East, to harbor such a foul creature… it tarnishes the dignity of the ducal house—”
“As I recall, you have fathered three bastards across three different women.”
At those words, the man flushed crimson.
Varkas let out a slow, tired breath.
“Must I drag out every indiscretion in this room? I can assure you, not one man here has lived entirely by sacred doctrine. Let us end this pathetic habit of picking at one another’s faults.”
A stifling silence fell over the chamber.
Surveying the vassals around the long table, Varkas spoke again, his voice dropping into a measured calm.
“If you turn a blind eye to my wife’s minor eccentricities, I will happily overlook your little transgressions. Is it not the duty of family to shield one another’s flaws?”
The veiled threat landed squarely. A taut tension gripped the room.
The retainers exchanged wary glances and swiftly moved to the next order of business. None of them wished to see their dirty laundry aired over a single wolf.
Varkas affixed his seal to several legislative revisions, then rose from his chair.
As he exited the council chamber, Lucas fell into step behind him, his voice tight.
“Do you truly intend to let that beast roam free?”
“Do not make me repeat myself.”
“Brother, I only worry for Sister-in-law…”
Varkas stopped dead and cast a cold look over his shoulder. Lucas hurriedly corrected himself.
“I speak out of concern for the Grand Duchess. I know not what she said to sway you, but that monster is dangerous. It will end in disaster.”
“If that day comes, I will bear the blame and deal with the fallout myself. Cease your badgering. That is an order.”
Faced with that cutting decree, Lucas clamped his mouth shut.
Varkas turned away and resumed his stride down the long corridor.
Just then, a faint trace of laughter carried in through the tall windows.
Turning his head, he halted at the sight of her seated on a long marble bench out in the courtyard.
Beside Talia, the massive silver wolf stood proudly, as it always did. Having clearly been rooting around the gardens, the beast—its shaggy fur dusted with leaves and crushed petals—lowered its head and dropped something from its jaws into her lap.
Varkas frowned, realizing it was an armful of freshly picked flowers.
Though the stems were chewed through and the petals bruised from the wolf’s fangs, she drew the clumsy bouquet to her chest with pure joy. As Varkas stared blankly at the scene, Lucas moved up beside him, his voice dripping with disbelief.
“That wicked creature is merely playing tame in front of its master. Beneath that act, it is nothing but a bloodthirsty savage—”
“Lucas.”
Varkas cut him off, voice low and stern.
“I was told that beast only bares its fangs to protect my wife. Has it ever once threatened her?”
His brother waved his hands frantically in denial.
“Never! Of course, we exchange sharp words now and then… but that is only out of concern for the Grand Duchess in my own way—”
“Then see to it that you do not linger around her.”
Varkas’s words were sharp as ice.
“Do that, and the wolf will have no reason to bare its fangs at you.”
Lucas fell silent, color rushing to his cheeks.
With a gaze as cold and heavy as lead, Varkas turned on his heel and walked away.
After spending the afternoon inspecting Kalmor, Varkas retreated to his study to pen a letter to Daren.
With the conservative nobles steering the peace talks, the likelihood of a disruption was slim, but precision left no room for error.
He wrote orders to keep a vigilant eye on Duke Heimdal until the council concluded, then sealed the parchment with hot wax and his signet ring.
A quiet knock broke the silence of the room.
“Enter.”
“Pardon the intrusion, Your Grace. I come at the Grand Duchess’s request.”
A brief look of perplexity crossed Varkas’s face before he granted permission to speak.
Moments later, the healing sorceress Marisen cautiously pushed the door open and slipped inside, her robes rustling.
“It has been long, Your Grace. I am… truly relieved to see you returned in good health.”
“Dispense with the formalities. State your purpose.”
Marisen nervously wet her lips, stepped toward the desk, and placed a small glass phial upon the polished wood.
“The Grand Duchess bade me bring this to you. It is a restorative draft brewed from Mandrake extract.”
Varkas stared down at the phial with narrowed eyes, then shifted his gaze back up to the sorceress.
“She told you to bring this to me?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Hearing that you had thrown yourself into work without a moment’s rest since arriving… she seemed terribly worried.”
END