“I am always mindful of Her Highness.”
Varkas spoke in a manner so scrupulously polite that it left no room for reproach.
“I meant only that the Princess is resting comfortably, so there is no cause for concern. Please take no offense.”
Gareth glared at him with sour irritation before striding into the grand hall. Losing his temper with a man as immovable as a slab of granite would only make him look foolish.
With a sharp click of his tongue, he crossed the room, which was appointed as lavishly as any nobleman’s banquet hall.
“Thank you for gracing us, Your Imperial Highness.”
As he neared the long banquet table draped in snow-white linen, the Abbot rose hastily to receive him.
“Please, sit here.”
Gareth took the seat the Abbot vacated and surveyed the spread before him. It seemed the Abbot had no intention of feigning a life of holy penance. The wide table groaned under silver plate, golden goblets, and rich delicacies fragrant with rare spices.
Surveying the feast with open satisfaction, Gareth nodded toward the dozen priests seated around the table.
“I appreciate your welcome. Come, be seated.”
At his word, the monks pulled their chairs back in unison and sat. Only Varkas, standing duty as his guard, remained silent behind him like an immovable shadow.
Curious glances kept darting toward Varkas. The striking presence of the Commander of the Imperial Guard had clearly caught them unawares.
Gareth’s brow furrowed.
It was nothing new—Varkas always drew more eyes than necessary. Even so, it rankled Gareth to find their attention fixed on his guard rather than himself.
It happened every time he brought the man along, yet the annoyance never dulled.
Forcing down his displeasure, Gareth raised his goblet high.
“My gratitude to the Abbot for preparing so splendid a gathering.”
The priests turned their eyes back to him. Gareth lingered on the moment, savoring their focus, before speaking on.
“May this occasion prove meaningful to us all—”
Just as he was about to round out the toast with a suitably grand phrase, a golden specter cut into his line of sight. Gareth froze, staring dumbly toward the entrance of the hall.
For a heartbeat, he thought that nightmare of a woman, Senevier, had appeared.
His grip tightened white-hot around his goblet as he scanned his half-sister from crown to hem. As if utterly ignorant of the basic rule requiring modest attire within a monastery, Talia Roem Guirta was dressed so extravagantly she would have turned heads in the imperial ballroom. Worse, it was an entirely vulgar, brazen display.
He ground his teeth in pure disgust. The youthful lines of her body showed plainly through the diaphanous silk as she walked languidly toward the table.
The monks looked ready to faint where they sat. A few simply stared, mouths agape. Unable to stomach it, Gareth surged to his feet.
“How dare you… show your face here dressed like that!”
Wine sloshed over the rim as he slammed his goblet down. Leaving his dripping hand unheeded, he thrust an accusing finger at her.
“Did you not hear my order to stay out of my sight?”
“Oh, of course I heard it.”
Talia pulled out the chair directly beside him and sat down as though she belonged there, a flirtatious smile touching her lips.
“How could I stay away when my brother made it so clear he wanted to see me? At the great Crown Prince’s bidding, I even took special care with my dress.”
She smoothed her hands down her skirt, displaying every fold. He stared at his half-sister, dumbfounded.
“What drivel is this…”
“Surely you know how contrary I am, Brother. Sending the Commander of the Imperial Guard to deliver such a message—didn't that mean you were dying to lay eyes on me?”
Her eyes, a pure, vivid cobalt, narrowed wickedly.
“Since the Crown Prince insisted so earnestly, as your dear sister, I had no choice but to oblige.”
Gareth had to summon every scrap of his meager self-control to keep from striking her across the face. As if deliberately baiting him, Talia went on in a slow, sweet drawl.
“Ah, it does me good to see your face. Are you enjoying yourself as well, Brother?”
“…I was, until you crept in.”
Talia burst into laughter at the words he ground out through his teeth.
“Then it was well worth dragging my tired body here.”
Gareth’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might splinter. Every time she laughed like that, the impulse to shatter that unnervingly lovely face became almost impossible to fight. His shoulders trembling, he tightened his fists and hissed each word.
“How long do you intend to make a scene? Are you deliberately testing the limits of my patience?”
“How can you say something so cruel…?”
Talia leaned forward, resting her elbows on the linen. The chandelier light washed over her painfully thin shoulders and sharp collarbones. The monks’ gazes settled just as heavily upon her delicate, ivory-pale frame.
Viper. Sick with revulsion, Gareth drew a ragged breath. Sensing his temper at the brink, the corners of Talia’s mouth tilted higher.
“I only accepted an invitation. I can't imagine why you are fuming when I've done nothing wrong. Don't you think you are being a touch harsh… to your sweet little sister?”
She turned toward the Abbot across the table, as though seeking his accord. Caught off guard, the holy man’s face went stiff with mortification. Amused by his naive distress, her eyes curved with sly satisfaction. Seeing her fawn like a tavern girl turned Gareth’s stomach. He seized her arm roughly.
“If you’re so desperate for attention, pick an attendant and take him to your bed. Stop playing your games with the clergy. Tarnish the Imperial name with one vile scandal, and I swear you will never show that pretty face again.”
At that brutal threat, Talia’s eyes flared.
“And just what will you do about it?”
Her reply came sharp and biting, head tilted in outright challenge.
“Since you've gone to the trouble of saying so, I’m dying to see you try.”
He could endure no more. He reached out to throttle that slender throat.
At that moment, a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder.
“Your Highness.”
Gareth snapped his head up. Varkas Raedgo Shearkan was looking down at him, his face utterly composed.
It was the same mask he had seen a thousand times, devoid of all expression. Yet for a fleeting instant, Gareth felt a chill of danger—unreasonable though it was.
“Everyone is waiting for Your Highness’s toast.”
Varkas bore down firmly on his shoulder, a silent warning not to rise to Talia’s bait.
Gareth shook off the hand with a harsh jerk. His fingertips trembled with the thwarted urge to strike.
Fisting his hands to conceal the tremor, he glared into the girl’s captivating face.
Talia Roem Guirta was provoking him on purpose. He could not afford to fall for it. Repeating the thought like a charm, Gareth quelled the fury boiling in his chest and shoved her arm away. He reclaimed his wine goblet and spoke in an overly theatrical voice.
“We have wasted enough time on petty squabbles. Come, let us dine. I express my gratitude once more to the Abbot for preparing this fine feast. May this day prove meaningful to us all.”
The monks, frozen as their gazes darted among the Crown Prince, the illegitimate Princess, and the Guard Commander looming behind them, hesitantly lifted their goblets. Talia Roem Guirta alone observed the display with crossed arms and a sneer.
Just as Gareth felt his temper flaring anew at her open contempt, Varkas leaned down toward her.
“Observe basic courtesy as a guest, Princess.”
He took her fingers, opened her hand, and set a silver goblet into her palm. Talia froze at the contact, then glared up at him with pure venom.
Gareth fully expected her to fling the vessel in his face. Clashing at every turn since childhood, Talia had always seemed bent on tearing Varkas to pieces.
Yet contrary to all expectation, Talia, who had been spitting daggers like a feral cat, quietly composed herself. Gareth narrowed his eyes. Backing down from a warning was entirely uncharacteristic of Talia Roem Guirta. Was she not the sort who ran reckless, never knowing when to stop? Flying into a shrieking rage would have been far more like her than tamely yielding to Varkas.
What is she plotting?
END