26
Gareth watched his half-sister’s profile with suspicious eyes, then turned away in disgust at himself for paying such close attention to the every move of so trivial a creature.
What did it matter what went on inside her head? She was someone he intended to erase from this world forever the day he took the throne. He only had to endure her until then.
As if to wash away her tiresome presence, he gulped down the strong wine.
Talia brought the cup to her lips, affecting an expression of sheer boredom. Noticing the faint tremble in her fingertips, she set it down at once. Straining to look natural, she hid her hands beneath the table and moistened her parched lips.
The place where Varkas had touched her burned as though scorched by flame, even though his bare skin had not even grazed hers. It felt as if the impression of his hard knuckles had soaked deep into her flesh through the cold leather of his glove.
She forced strength into her shoulders, which kept trying to hunch inward, and wiped her sweating palms against her skirt. The damp fabric clung stubbornly to her skin.
A sudden suffocating frustration swept over her. The dress she had chosen specifically to provoke Gareth now felt like a noose.
Her bare shoulders and spine prickled. She knew perfectly well the man could not possibly be looking at her, yet her nerves remained stretched to the point of pain.
Talia fought down the urge to glance over her shoulder to see where his eyes were directed. Years of performance allowed her to keep her face composed, but she could do nothing about the slow sweat breaking across her skin.
Feeling the thin slip of silk stick to her like grease, she bit her lower lip. Choosing this dress had been sheer folly.
“Is the food not to your liking?”
Talia flinched at the unexpected voice. A young monk seated across from her was watching her intently.
Had they said he was the Abbot? She offered a deliberate shrug.
“It is quite meager compared to the fare at the Imperial Palace.”
At her offhand remark, the monk’s face twisted slightly.
She turned her head away sharply to signal that he should leave her alone, then picked up a small confection. If she looked as though she were eating, he would not pester her with pointless conversation. With that thought, she pushed the dry morsel past her lips and chewed mechanically. It went down like a mouthful of sponge.
Suppressing a gag, she took another sip of wine. Then, noticing several other monks watching her with persistent, surreptitious gazes, she frowned. Their greasy leers were far more nauseating than the rich food.
She pushed back her chair and stood.
“This banquet is a disappointment. I shall take my leave and retire to my quarters.”
Gareth threw her an irritated glance. Normally, she would have tossed a few more barbs to sting him, but bile threatened to rise in her throat and she could not bear another second in the room.
She left the hall with quick strides. The moment she stepped clear of the air thick with grease, spirits, and candle smoke, her roiling stomach began to ease.
Drawing a deep breath, Talia wiped the cold sweat from her forehead and moved down the corridor with quiet, light steps.
The night air swept cold across her bare back. Crossing her arms over her gooseflesh, she hurried her pace.
Sometimes she could not fathom why she did this. What was the purpose of causing a scene just to put herself on display for people to stare at?
“The Crown Prince simply cannot abide your existence. At times, he seems to find you even more intolerable than he finds me.”
Senevier’s murmuring, satisfied voice from long ago drifted through her thoughts.
It had been the day of the memorial rites for the late Empress Bernadette.
Gareth had flown into a blind rage the moment he saw her enter the hall, led by her mother’s hand.
The nobles, horrified to see him screaming and throttling the young princess, had tried to intervene, but the Crown Prince would not let go. It had taken two knights lunging forward to tear his hands from her.
Once free of that vicious grip, Talia had crawled to her mother’s hem and curled into a ball. Senevier had gathered her into her arms as if to shield her.
For a single heartbeat she had felt like weeping with relief—until she caught the flash of satisfaction across Senevier’s face.
It was likely from that very day that she had begun baiting Gareth at every opportunity.
Her reputation, already lying in the gutter, had plunged to the lowest depths, but she had not cared. The Crown Prince’s standing would suffer just as much, and that brought her mother joy.
A hollow laugh escaped her. It was pathetic how, even now, she scrambled so desperately to win a single crumb of affection from that woman.
Even if she dragged the Crown Prince’s honor through the dirt, Senevier would never love her.
Her mother loved no one. Not the Emperor, and certainly not Asros, whom she seemed to dote upon so lavishly.
To her, every person was merely a tool or a stepping stone. Perhaps because Talia understood that fact all too well, she continued the charade. If she failed to prove her usefulness, she would truly be discarded as nothing…
“Princess.”
The sudden call wrenched Talia from her thoughts.
Turning her head, she saw a dark silhouette looming in an alcove of the dim corridor. The moment she recognized him as the monk who had stared so persistently in the banquet hall, her body stiffened.
Did he follow me?
She glanced warily down the walkway. Not a single person was visible in the long passage leading toward the garden. The realization that he had trailed her in silence until she reached an isolated spot made her skin crawl.
“What do you want?”
Talia forced an air of haughty composure, doing everything she could to conceal her dread.
Her stern front seemed to work, for the monk hesitated. She fixed him with a sharp, cutting glare, willing him to turn and run.
“I asked what your business is.”
“I-it is only… what you said earlier…”
The monk stammered, his words faltering.
She narrowed her eyes.
“What about it?”
“You see… back at the banquet…”
As he shifted on his feet, his freckled face flushed a vivid red, and his gaze drifted down her body with unmasked intent.
Talia planted her feet to keep from recoiling. Show any weakness, and men like him only grew bolder. She tilted her chin higher.
“I have no idea what you mean. If you have nothing to say, I shall take my leave.”
“Y-you said… you wished to live up to the Crown Prince’s expectations…”
The man blurted it out.
Talia, who had begun turning toward the garden, froze and looked back at him. Surely he had not followed her over the flippant retort she had thrown in Gareth’s face when he warned her not to toy with the clergy?
A sudden chill ran down her spine, cold as a douse of ice water.
END