Blinking blankly, the knight exchanged glances with his companions before stepping forward to face the Grand Duke.
Baredon, who had stood watching the scene, resumed his stride as the messengers pressed him on. Within moments, the retreating backs of the Grand Duke and Edric Luvon vanished from his sight.
What could they possibly have to discuss in private?
He threw a curious glance back in their direction, but quickly turned forward again.
He had neither the time nor the luxury to waste his thoughts on matters outside his purview. Fulfilling his own assigned duties was more than enough to handle.
Shaking off the last trace of curiosity, the young man quietly led the messengers toward the main citadel.
A week later, the cavalry contingents dispatched by the eastern lords converged upon Kalmor.
Banners of varied heraldry bearing the crests of every house whipped fiercely in the wind across the fields outside the walls, and thousands of iron-armored warhorses filled the sprawling hills.
From atop the rampart tower, Varkas looked down upon the imposing host, then descended the steps toward the training grounds. Raedgo Castle was likewise bustling with armed riders and mounts clad in barding.
Passing the neatly formed ranks of soldiers, he inspected the supply train lined up before the fortress gate. Four-wheeled wagons laden with dry rations, weapons, and campaign supplies stretched in a long procession winding far outside the walls.
“Your Excellency, all preparations for the march are complete.”
Just as he finished inspecting the training grounds, Beirof approached from his patrol of the outer perimeter to deliver his report.
Varkas glanced up to read the angle of the sun and gave his orders in an even tone.
“See that the men are fed beforehand. If we are to reach our destination without halt, they must have their strength before we set out.”
“Understood.”
As the knight hurried away to pass the command, Varkas strode from the encampment toward the annex.
In contrast to the castle grounds, which bustled like an open-air market, the rear garden lay eerily quiet.
Treading through the piled drifts of snow, he approached the manor house at the northern edge of the inner court.
“Greetings, Your Excellency.”
The sentries posted at the entrance saluted in disciplined unison.
Passing them into the building, Varkas headed straight for the stairway—only to halt when he spotted Edric Luvon perched on a long sofa in the drawing room.
“What are you doing here?”
The man, who had been stirring the hearth with a fire iron, rose awkwardly in flustered surprise.
“What do you mean, my lord…? Did you not ask me to look after Her Grace, the Grand Duchess?”
Varkas’s eyes narrowed. Strictly speaking, he had instructed him to guard her after his own departure.
Glaring in mild displeasure at the knight who had packed his bags and moved in the instant he was summoned, Varkas reached inside his coat, pulled out a leather pouch, and tossed it to him.
“No matter. It saves me the trouble of seeking you out. Here is a year’s wage in advance.”
“There is really no need to go this far—”
“There is no telling when I shall return. Settling it now will be simpler for us both.”
Cutting short the polite demurral, Varkas turned on his heel and mounted the stairs.
Keeping Edric Luvon by her side had been a somewhat impulsive decision. He simply wanted someone familiar to remain in the castle after he departed.
In less than a year, she had lost everyone close to her in succession. Two healers, and even the wolf she had held so dear…
Though the wet nurse still remained, she possessed not an ounce of affection for Talia.
Had he not strictly forbidden the woman from any duty beyond preparing meals, fearing his wife would stop eating again if she ever found out the truth?
Rather than leaving that hateful woman in her presence, having Edric Luvon close at hand might offer her some measure of comfort.
Varkas came to a halt in the corridor, his gaze settling heavily on the bedroom door. A maid dozing in the antechamber across the hall sprang to her feet, visibly startled.
“Y-Your Excellency, you have arrived.”
“How is the Grand Duchess?”
“I brought her morning meal as you instructed, but… she barely touched it.”
The maid hung her head despondently.
Varkas pressed a finger against his temple, then turned the handle to the bedchamber. With a faint creak of hinges, the neglected room came into view.
His eyes moved past dark stains on the carpet that looked like spilled ink, and over the wine-soaked, blotched quilt, before finally settling on Talia curled into a tight ball in the corner.
Though she must have heard him enter, she did not move. He stood looking down in silence at the figure huddled with her face buried in her knees, then bent low, caught her chin, and forced her face upward.
Savage, hostile blue eyes flared within the lifted face.
Meeting that razor-sharp glare—a sight he was now more than accustomed to—he spoke quietly.
“I am told you refused to eat properly again. Have you grown tired of the food that woman prepares?”
· · ·
“If so, speak. I will leave orders to dismiss her and find another cook.”
She struck his hand away with a sharp slap.
“I am not cattle. I have no obligation to swallow down whatever slop you drag in front of me.”
His eyes narrowed.
Though the persistent force-feeding of food and medicine over the past several weeks had brought faint color back to her cheeks, she remained painfully, precariously frail.
Had he not regularly cast healing spells over her, she would not even have had the strength to resist him like this.
Swallowing a sigh, Varkas scooped her light body into his arms. Instantly, she thrashed with frantic fury, like a wild beast caught in a snare.
He hauled her over and deposited her firmly in a chair by the hearth. Clamping her small chin in his grip, he leaned in close and drove every word directly into her ears.
“I will be away from the castle for a time.”
Talia, whose chest had been heaving with frantic, ragged breaths, went completely still.
He pressed further, his voice sinking to a low, warning rasp.
“Do not even think to destroy yourself with foolish antics simply because I am gone. If word reaches me that you have starved yourself again, even I do not know what I will do.”
“Let go of me!”
Tightening his grip on the woman struggling to wrench her head away, he spoke in a tone of cold rebuke.
“Listen to me well. I will not tolerate any more trouble caused by you.”
Her face contorted with bitter venom. Through blood-bitten lips, she spat out her words.
“Go out there and rot to death.”
A thin, derisive smirk curved Varkas’s lips.
“Splendid. A wife showering curses upon her husband on the eve of his departure.”
Her flushed face blanched in an instant.
Her shoulders trembled as if she were about to lash back, but she quickly lowered her eyes and bit down on her lip. Looking down at her without an ounce of warmth, Varkas let out a hollow scoff and rose to his feet.
“We shall see how potent your prayers prove to be.”
At his sarcastic parting shot, her face crumbled into wretched despair.
Glaring up at him with bloodshot eyes, she rasped in a strained, metallic voice.
“Get out. Go, and never come back.”
Varkas held her gaze for a quiet moment, as though entranced, before turning and stepping out of the room. The second the door swung shut behind him, the sound of porcelain shattering against a wall rang out from inside. She was venting her fury on the furnishings again.
Letting out a faint breath, he instructed the maids waiting in the corridor in an even tone.
“I will keep a priestess stationed downstairs at all hours. If her condition deteriorates, summon her immediately.”
“W-we will see to it at once, my lord.”
With that, he descended the stairs and walked out of the annex.
A sudden touch of cold brushed his cheek.
Varkas tilted his head up. Beneath a pale, dimly glowing canopy of clouds, faint snowflakes were beginning to drift down. He wiped the damp chill from his cheek with a callous hand and walked on.
END