Tears welled again in eyes hollowed by shock.
Ayla stood frozen, not even thinking to brush away the wet streaks tracing down her cheeks, her trembling lips parting.
“Why… why are you being so cruel to me?”
She cried out in protest, her gaze sharpening with grievance.
“We have known each other almost our entire lives. Across all those years, you were always kind to me. Why have you changed like this?”
He frowned.
Had he ever been affectionate enough toward her for her to make such a demand?
He sifted through his hazy memories.
Though it had been nothing more than an imitation of Bernadette, he felt he had tried to treat her decently in his own way. Regardless of the circumstances, had she not been a cousin he had watched grow up since she was three years old?
Politically, an alliance with the Crown Prince was essential. The decision to keep amicable ties had been driven primarily by reason, yet it was also true that he had intended to offer the sincerity expected of a fiancé.
When had he stopped maintaining that benevolent mask?
For the first time, he questioned his own mind.
When exactly did Ayla Roem Guirta become so utterly tiresome to me?
‘At the very least, let us recover the child’s body so she may have a proper funeral.’
A sudden slash of memory brought his thoughts to a dead stop.
He looked down at the leather waterskin in his hand.
A strange, low hum filled his head, thick as morning fog. Instinctively shutting out the agonized ringing that felt as though it were crushing a piece of his brain, he turned his gaze back to her face.
Before he even realized it, harsh words tore from his throat.
“If you are finished whining, will you withdraw?”
Ayla’s eyes emptied with disbelief.
Stumbling back a step, she stared down at him in horror, before malice flared in her gaze.
“Is it because of that girl?”
· · ·
“Is it truly… because of her… because of Talia Roem Guirta that you are treating us this way?!”
The tone of that voice trampled the last remnants of his composure.
He surged from his seat. Driven by instinctual fear, the Princess flinched and drew back. He closed in slowly, casting a heavy shadow across her tear-streaked face.
“I thought you were wiser than Gareth… but seeing you now, perhaps not.”
The color drained from her entirely, as if her spirit had deserted her. Her pale lips set into a rigid line.
She was a woman who had spent her entire life upon an altar. This was likely the first insult she had ever endured.
Seeing her face pale to the color of ash, unable to fathom the words she had just heard, his stomach churned with disgust.
He leaned in and whispered directly into her face.
“How many times must I tell you to leave? Are the two of you taking turns hoping to be strangled by my hands?”
“V-Varkas…”
“I will say this once more.”
A rasping, broken voice scraped the air.
“Get out.”
Her eyes, which had always held a steady, benevolent light, were now clouded with dread, shame, and humiliation.
She stood motionless for a long time, staring up at him, before finally forcing out words through a cracked voice.
“I… I understand… what you mean.”
Pulling her shawl tight with trembling fingers to gather the dregs of her dignity, she turned. Then, on unstable feet, she walked toward the door.
Even then, she wiped the tears from her wet cheeks and straightened her ruined expression, striving to keep her composure; it was almost admirable.
Desperately putting on her customary regal bearing, the Princess finally departed.
As the latch clicked shut, Varkas walked to the bedside and took a bottle of wine from the cabinet.
Yanking the cork free, he poured the strong liquor into a silver goblet and downed it in a single draught. It burned down his throat like molten coals. He longed for something—anything—to drown his senses again.
Having drained the bottle in an instant, Varkas reached for another. A strange noise caught his ear, and he glanced out the window as the sky blackened.
The wind beat shrilly against the glass pane. Mixed within it came what sounded like faint weeping.
He walked to the window.
A pitch-black night was settling in, so thick a man could not see an inch in front of him. After staring into the dark void for a long time, Varkas yanked the heavy curtains shut.
The imperial retinue departed Raedgo Castle in haste the following day.
They claimed they had to hurry north to address postwar recovery following the end of the civil conflict, the peace treaty, and the marriage arrangements, but in truth, they were being driven out.
The brazen disrespect left the Crown Prince, the Princess, and their attendants flushed with mortification.
The Grand Duke never once showed his face until the day the Crown Prince rode out of the castle gates. Enraged by the cold shoulder, Gareth ground his teeth and spat a warning.
“Tell the Grand Duke that I will return soon. When I do, I will not overlook this insolence.”
The vassals of House Shearkan, gathered on the training grounds to see the Crown Prince off, bowed as one. Yet not a single man reacted to his outburst.
Reading the clear defiance in their silence, the Crown Prince glared with burning hatred before wheeling his mount around.
Once the royal entourage vanished, a heavy quiet fell over Raedgo Castle once more.
Varkas remained sequestered in his chamber, barred from every duty as though yielded to the relentless urgings of those around him.
With nothing left to turn his hands to, he passed the hours burning potent sleeping drafts or swallowing liquor that tasted of poison, desperate for sleep.
Perhaps his efforts bore fruit; as if his long torment with insomnia had been a lie, he managed to lose most of each day in dreams.
In his sleep, he was still her knight.
Whenever the bright laughter of that willful girl—always scheming some new way to torment him—brushed his ears, he wished never to wake again.
Yet the moment the medicines wore off, cold reality dragged him under.
The haze granted by drugs and wine was wearing thin. As the days blurred, the doses needed for sleep only mounted, and his frayed mind grew sharper rather than numb.
He demanded stronger, deadlier tinctures. Yet soon enough, no draft could grant him sanctuary in dreams.
All that remained were bleached, bloodless days and nights that yawned like a pit.
Unable to stomach the terrifying crawl of time, he finally hauled himself from the bed. If he did not move, he felt he would lose his mind completely. No—perhaps he had already gone mad.
Brushing past the servants who tried to hold him back, he began to dress with mechanical calm.
In the glass, a man who looked like an animated corpse stared back with hollow, sunken eyes.
Looking away from that ruined wraith, he buttoned his shirt neatly as he always had and threw his coat over his shoulders. Just as he reached for the latch, he caught a cautious presence beyond the wood.
“Your Grace, I must speak with you on an urgent matter. May I enter for a moment?”
It was the Head Maid.
Varkas pulled the door open without delay. The woman standing on the threshold flinched, stepping back in surprise. Varkas stared down at her with empty eyes and spoke evenly.
“What is it?”
“Forgive me for disturbing your rest, Your Grace. But I believed you ought to know…”
After a momentary falter, the woman gathered herself and continued.
“The Grand Duchess’s nanny is packing her chests, saying she will return to the Imperial Palace.”
Varkas stood in silence, his expression hardening. When he gave no sign, the Head Maid pressed on, her tone tinged with unease.
“She is taking Her Grace’s personal belongings as she pleases…”
A thread of indignation ran through the woman's voice.
“She refuses to listen when ordered to stop. I came to you at once because I felt you must be told.”
Personal belongings.
The words rang like iron inside his head. It felt as though every nerve in his skull were tearing apart.
He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing his temples as though his head might split open on the spot. Seeing his sudden distress, the Head Maid stepped forward quickly to take his arm.
Varkas shoved her away by instinct, glaring down at her with blood-mottled eyes.
“Tell her that if she touches a single thing belonging to my wife, she will not leave this place alive.”
END