The Crown Prince’s face twisted miserably at the cold reception, which offered not a single trace of hospitality.
The Princess gently patted her brother’s arm, speaking in a soothing tone.
“Come, let us head inside.”
She then turned toward the retinue assembled along one side of the garden and issued orders in a calm, dignified voice.
“Keep only the essential personnel. The rest are to wait at the encampment.”
The attendants immediately dispersed in orderly fashion.
The two royals watched them disperse for a moment before mounting the steps and entering the main castle. Varkas, who had walked into the hall ahead of them and was handing down several orders to the servants, spoke in a flat voice.
“Recovery from the war is in full swing, so I cannot provide an elaborate welcoming ceremony. I ask for your understanding.”
“We did not come here to be entertained as guests. We know the Grand Duchy’s situation, so you may dispense with burdensome formalities.”
A magnanimous smile touched Ayla’s lips.
Varkas briefly studied her composed expression before gesturing toward the maids lining the wall.
“Show our guests to their chambers. Take every care that they lack for nothing during their stay.”
When he turned toward the stairs as though his duty were done, the easy composure vanished from the Princess’s lips, tightening into a line.
Gareth cut in front of his twin sister and reached out in haste to stop him.
“Wait a moment!”
Varkas looked back over his shoulder. At the plain annoyance in his eyes, Gareth’s dark skin flushed a distinct red.
Ordinarily, his temper would have flared on the spot, but he ground his teeth and took a deep breath, swallowing the humiliation. When he spoke again, his tone was far more subdued.
“I have urgent business with you. Grant me a private audience.”
“Speak here.”
“It will only take a moment. Surely you can spare that much time for someone who has traveled so far.”
Frustration bled into Gareth’s raised voice.
Varkas looked down at his cousin through eyes weighed down by exhaustion and let out a sigh.
“Unpack first. We shall speak after I have dealt with my official duties.”
“I said now—!”
“Gareth.”
The Princess quietly restrained her brother as he tried to lunge forward in a temper.
“We came here to aid the Grand Duchy. Would you disrupt the Grand Duke’s work?”
Gareth’s eyes warped furiously at the way she spoke, as though placating a petulant child.
Still, seeing that pushing further would only strip away his own dignity, he relaxed the hand clutching Varkas’s arm. Instead, he snapped at the servants.
“Didn’t you hear her? Why haven’t you shown us to our chambers yet!”
The servants, who had been watching the scene with strained faces, scrambled forward like whipped horses.
“P-Please, this way. I will escort you to your rooms.”
Gareth cast a smoldering glare at Varkas before following after the servant.
Ayla lingered for an instant as though she wanted to say something, but she too ascended the stairs toward the guest quarters under the maids’ guidance.
Once the unwelcome guests were out of sight, Varkas resumed his interrupted steps.
Passing through the dim hallway and entering his office, the chill air—thick with the smell of ink and tallow candles—crept into his fevered, exhausted head like fog.
His vision snapped completely black for an instant, and he caught the doorframe with one hand.
How long had he stood there? Gradually, his erratically flickering sight righted itself.
As if nothing had happened, he sat down at his desk and pulled forward a stack of official documents. Just then, a cautious voice spoke from nearby.
“Your Grace, may I bring you some tea for your fatigue? I understand you haven’t eaten all day….”
He jerked his head up. Only then did he notice someone else in the room.
Squinting, he looked at the small man standing by the door.
He could not place the face at once. Perhaps because he had pushed himself past every limit these last few months, other people’s features sometimes smeared into shapeless lumps of gray plaster.
He pressed his fingertips hard against the bridge of his nose and made an irritable brushing motion with his hand.
“I don’t need it. Leave.”
The man hesitated for a second before opening the door and withdrawing.
Varkas lowered his eyes back to the parchment.
Reconstruction of the city was moving forward without issue. With the rampant bands of raiders cleared out all at once, trade routes had reopened, and the conclusion of the northern civil war was serving as a catalyst, breathing life back into the eastern economy.
Progress in uncovering the forces behind all this turmoil was sluggish, but having witnessed the ruin of House Heimdal, they would have no choice but to lie low.
Unless an unforeseen variable intervened, the Imperial order would remain unshakable.
After penning his signature on a budget proposal to construct trade facilities across the East, Varkas set down the quill and leaned back against his chair.
Outside the window, darkness had fallen thick. Whether the sun had set or dense storm clouds had rolled in, he could not tell. From a certain point onward, the sky had seemed to wear nothing but a sullen, ashen shroud.
Staring blankly across the plain as it drowned in shadow, a sudden, violent dizziness hit him, and he pressed the back of his hand over his eyelids. Before he knew it, the thread of his consciousness slipped away.
Varkas snapped his eyes open at a knock on the door and looked around the darkened study in confusion. For a fleeting instant, he could not fathom where he was.
Hadn’t he been inside a campaign tent, preparing for a march?
He pressed his throbbing temples, trying to untangle the snarled thoughts in his skull, when an urgent knocking sounded again.
“Y-Your Grace, His Highness the Crown Prince is demanding an audience. W-What should I do?”
“What do you mean, what should you do! Out of the way!”
A coarse voice cut through from beyond the door, and a moment later, a dark silhouette burst inside.
“What in the world are you doing sitting in pitch-blackness?”
The man who had barged in at his own whim snapped at the servants hovering at the entrance.
“What are you standing around for? Light the lamps this instant!”
Faint lanterns flickered to life throughout the room at once. Only then did Varkas recognize the man before him.
Gareth Roem Guirta.
Now that he thought of it, Gareth had arrived at the castle earlier that day.
It was bizarre. How had that slipped his mind?
Frowning, Varkas rose from his chair.
“What is it you wish to say?”
“Come sit down. This is not a discussion to be had on our feet.”
Gareth seated himself on the long sofa before the fireplace, tipped his chin up arrogantly, and picked up a glass of wine the servants had set out.
Varkas watched that haughty face for a beat before taking the opposite seat.
“I would appreciate it if you kept this brief. I am tired.”
“Don’t worry. I have no desire to drag this out either.”
Gareth drained the wine and spoke stiffly. Despite his outwardly easy posture, the tension within him was plain enough: the knuckles gripping his glass were drained of all color.
“I sent an official letter of apology to the Bluestone family.”
He finally broke the silence after a long pause.
“If I must, I am prepared to visit the daughter of the Bluestone family in person to court her. To pacify the North, there is no choice but to take the daughter of the house representing Balto as Crown Princess… I understand that now.”
“How very quick of you.”
A cold sneer edged Varkas’s voice as he brought the wine glass his attendant had poured to his lips.
Gareth glared back, frustrated, but drew a deep breath to rein in his temper before speaking on.
“I… am offering you an apology. I made a mistake. I should have trusted your judgment, but I didn’t. It won’t happen again.”
The mockery faded from Varkas’s lips as he scrutinized Gareth’s solemn expression.
Tapping his knee with a finger in restless agitation, Gareth added in a low, heavy voice,
“From this day forward… I have resolved to trust you no matter what. Whatever anyone claims, you stand by my side.”
“Is that so?”
Varkas tilted his head as though hearing this for the first time.
Gareth’s face flushed crimson in an instant.
“You could never betray me. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Isn’t that true?”
Varkas offered no answer.
Taking the silence as an admission, a smug smile spread across Gareth’s lips.
“I wasn’t certain before… but this incident made me sure of it. You are bound by something bodily. That’s why you can never simply watch as Ayla or I are put in danger. Am I wrong?”
He leaned forward from the backrest and added with a smirk,
“Not that I’m ungrateful for your loyalty. To me, you are still no different from a brother.”
“I am profoundly moved.”
Varkas set his wine glass on the table and let out a quiet sigh.
“Is that all you came to say?”
“I haven’t even touched on the main point.”
With his confidence entirely restored, Gareth spoke in an unhurried drawl.
“I intend to right our crooked alliance once more.”
Varkas raised an eyebrow.
Assuming he had failed to grasp the point, Gareth added with impatient fervor,
“I mean to reinstate the marriage between you and Ayla. I have already secured Father’s approval. So long as you accept, everything will move forward without an obstacle.”
Varkas gave no response for a long while.
Leaning his elbow on the armrest, he pressed hard against his temple, and a hollow laugh finally slipped past his lips.
“And here I wondered what grand thing you were leading up to….”
Shaking his head, Varkas rose and reached for his coat.
“I have heard enough nonsense. It seems I have fulfilled my duty as a subject, so I will take my leave.”
As he turned toward the door, Gareth grabbed his shoulder in a hurry.
“If you need time to sort out your feelings, we can delay until next year. If the wedding takes place after a year has passed, no one will dare gossip. Ayla can wait that long—”
“Enough.”
Varkas coldly shook off the hand on his shoulder and glared at him, irritated.
“I have told you repeatedly that I will not divorce her. If you came all this way to make such an absurd proposition, leave this castle at once.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
Gareth stared back, thoroughly baffled.
“Divorce? What divorce? All you have to do is marry Ayla—”
Gareth trailed off, stammering with a blank look, before his eyes flew wide as though struck by a sudden realization.
Looking down at his cousin with sheer weariness, Varkas let out a sigh and turned away. He could not even remember the last time he had slept a full night. He had no strength left to indulge this man’s antics.
He crossed the room with measured steps and took hold of the doorknob.
Just then, Gareth seized him by the shoulder and spun him around roughly.
“Do you… do you still believe that woman is alive?”
At words that breached the final boundary, the warmth drained from Varkas’s gaze, leaving only dead ice. He caught Gareth by the collar with one hand and issued a chilling warning.
“Do not speak carelessly of my wife. I believe I made that clear. If you want me on your side until the end, do not dream of laying a hand on her.”
Gareth’s mouth fell open in disbelief, his expression quickly twisting into venomous rage.
“Damn it all, you’ve gone completely mad!”
He screamed, the veins corded thick across his neck.
“Wake up! That woman is dead! Talia Roem Guirta is no longer of this world!”
At that instant, the sound of something snapping resounded through his mind.
Before thought could catch up, his arm shoved Gareth back without mercy. In the next breath, his hands were locked around the Crown Prince’s throat, choking the life out of him.
END