Varkas swallowed a quiet sigh.
Ever since their quarrel that evening, she had stayed shut up in her quarters, refusing to show herself at all. Even as a child, she had always locked her door the moment something went against her wishes, so this was hardly anything new. Her temper would soften with time. Repeating the thought to steady himself, he trudged up the stairs, his footsteps heavy.
“Send my meal up to the study. And prepare a change of clothes.”
“Understood, Your Grace. I shall have them brought at once.”
Leaving the Head Butler’s answer behind, he walked straight to his study.
The room was already bright with candlelight. Even the servants had apparently come to take it for granted that he would sleep here.
With a bitter smile, Varkas shed his damp outer coat, tossed it into a hamper, and sank heavily into an armchair by the window. Only then did the exhaustion he had been ignoring come crashing down upon him.
Through heavy, bleary eyes, he stared at the rain-streaked pane.
Come tomorrow, he would have to ride for at least half a day through that deluge. At the end of the march lay a one-sided slaughter scarcely worthy of the word battle.
However brave the Zram warriors might be, they were nothing more than an undisciplined rabble in the end. Their crude weapons could never pierce the heavy armor of House Shearkan, forged through the pinnacle of dwarven craft. Unless the enemy’s numbers vastly exceeded reports, the engagement would be over before dawn.
He reached toward the wineglass the servants had set out beforehand and leaned his head back against the chair.
A sudden click broke the quiet as a doorknob turned.
Varkas frowned. Irritation flared at the insolence of entering unannounced, but assuming it was only some clumsy servant who had not realized the master of the house was back, he spoke without looking.
“Good timing. Pour me a glass, would you?”
He held out his glass, still resting his head back, when the soft rustle of cloth drew near. Recognizing the uneven, limping cadence of the footsteps, Varkas instantly straightened. At the same moment, a cloying sweetness that threatened to melt on his tongue drifted through the damp air.
He turned toward the woman beside him. Talia, clad in a thin gown that laid bare every curve of her slender frame, stood leaning over him, clutching a large bottle in both hands.
“You have to eat soon, so only drink a little.”
She murmured primly, tipping a splash of wine into his glass. Stunned, Varkas stared up at her for a moment before snapping to his feet.
“What are you doing here?”
Her eyes flickered at his wary tone, but the flash of hurt vanished beneath a thin, fragile smile.
“I was waiting for you to return.”
She gestured toward the adjoining bedchamber. Following her hand, Varkas’s brow furrowed at the sight of a table set beyond the half-open door. Atop the broad round table, a pitcher filled with colorful blossoms stood beside polished silver candelabras in neat, deliberate order.
“We haven’t shared a single meal since you came home. So… I had this prepared.”
She tried hard to feign composure, but an unmistakable tension bled through her voice.
Varkas let out a weary sigh.
“This will not change my mind. There is no need for this.”
The words sounded cold and blunt, even to his own ears. To her, they must have seemed crueler still, for the faint smile clinging to her painted red lips withered away.
“I didn’t prepare it to change your mind. It’s only… I heard you would be away from the castle for a few days….”
Her voice trailed off, her fingers nervously picking at the embroidery on her skirt.
“I wanted to apologize before you left. That day… I went too far. I shouldn’t have driven you out like that….”
Varkas looked down at her in silence. He was uncertain whether he should accept. He had no desire to be dragged around by her fickle whims any longer.
Looking away from her anxious face, he answered flatly.
“There is no need to apologize. I should have made my position clear from the start regarding a child. But I—”
“Please, no more of that.”
She cut in hastily.
“I want a child, but… if you say no, I won’t force it on you anymore. That isn’t why I came today. Truly. I only….”
She dropped her eyes, finishing in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper.
“I only wanted to have dinner with you.”
· · ·
“If you don’t wish to, you can refuse. I’ll eat alone.”
When he did not answer, color flooded her cheeks, and she turned abruptly to leave. Instinctively, Varkas caught her wrist, letting out a defeated breath.
“Wait a moment. I will change and join you.”
Her face instantly cleared. Nodding like an eager child, Talia hurried back into the bedchamber.
Once the door clicked shut, he stripped off his damp clothes, dried himself with a towel, and pulled on clean indoor attire. He stood before the mirror only long enough to smooth down his unkempt hair and straighten his collar.
Finishing in moments, Varkas threw on a silk Tunka that hung against the wall and stepped into the bedchamber where she waited.
“That was faster than I expected. Come, sit down.”
Talia, who had been fidgeting with the silverware on the table, sprang up from her chair.
After a beat of hesitation, Varkas walked to the far side of the table and pulled out a chair. The spread was elaborate, laden with steaming soup, roasted meats, and bowls of fruit.
As she ladled food onto his plate, Talia chattered with a lightness that felt brittle and forced.
“You must be famished. Eat quickly. The Head Butler told me you’ve been skipping meals lately. How can you do that when you nagged me endlessly about my own eating habits?”
He reached out and caught her hand to still its frantic movements.
“I will serve myself. Please, sit.”
“You used to serve me all the time. I wanted to do it for you tonight.”
She murmured, her voice trembling slightly, her eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight. Realizing how taut she was with the dread of being pushed away, Varkas gently let go of her hand.
Talia set to work, awkwardly carving the meat into small pieces and slathering them in various sauces. She was clearly trying her best, but a woman who had spent her entire life having others lift a fork to her mouth could hardly carve meat with grace.
Looking down at the mangled pie, the butchered slices of meat, and the heap of food swimming in cloying jam and conflicting gravies, Varkas let out a faint, dry breath that sounded like a laugh.
She looked up, worried.
“What is it? Is it not to your liking?”
“No.”
He lifted his fork and pushed the chaotic heap into his mouth.
“How is it? Does it taste good?”
He could not even tell what he was chewing, but he gave a steady nod.
“You should eat as well, Your Highness.”
When he carved a clean, modest portion and set it on her plate, a genuine smile touched Talia’s lips.
She nibbled at the lamb and fruit he had neatly sliced and managed a few spoonfuls of the clear chicken broth. Though she still ate sparingly, it was an astonishing improvement compared to her childhood, when she had regarded food like poison.
“When do you depart tomorrow?”
As he watched her eat, she dabbed her lips with a napkin and posed the question out of nowhere. Varkas answered casually.
“At dawn.”
“Lucas said you were riding out to wipe out the raiders… how many men are you taking?”
Chewing through a mouthful of lamb drenched in peach preserves, Varkas paused and stared at her, his brow furrowing. He had assumed she was shut in her room all this time; when had she found the chance to speak with Lucas? Suppressing his annoyance, he replied flatly.
“Roughly seven hundred should assemble.”
“Isn’t that too few?”
She asked, wide-eyed with alarm. He let out a low chuckle.
“It is only a bandit raid. Seven hundred mounted warriors is more than sufficient.”
“Still… you will stay in the rear and command, won’t you?”
Offering neither confirmation nor denial, he kept eating the food she had piled on his plate. Watching him anxiously, Talia rose from the table and fetched a silver decanter from the credenza.
“Aren’t you parched? Let me pour you some wine.”
Before he could refuse, she filled his goblet with a dark, heavy vintage. Varkas wrinkled his nose at the sharp, pungent scent that prickled his nostrils. It was no ordinary wine; beneath the heat of strong alcohol lay the distinct, bitter tang of steeped herbs.
“They say this wine restores your vitality. It is brewed with many medicinal roots… it should help soothe your weariness.”
She offered the explanation with a hesitant, awkward cadence.
Varkas peered down into the crimson liquid with suspicion, then took an experimental sip of the syrupy brew. It was not as foul as he had anticipated. He swallowed a few deep draughts of the vintage, its burning heat searing his throat, before setting the glass back on the table.
END