Eyes glistening with expectation clung to her chest with a damp intensity before slowly sliding downward. He lingered over the curves under the sheer fabric, tracing them with his gaze, then dragged his eyes back up to look straight into hers.
Every muscle in Talia’s body seized. She knew she had to run, but her feet refused to budge.
The man wet his lower lip and edged closer.
“If Your Highness would only permit it, I…”
A coarse, calloused hand reached out and touched the hair spilled over her shoulder. She watched in horror as he twisted the strands around thick, wood-like fingers.
Air would not fill her lungs. She should have screamed at him, demanded how he dared lay a hand on her, but not a sound broke from her parted lips.
Taking her silence for consent, the man stroked her golden hair with painstaking care, then lifted his hand toward her cheek.
A palm as rough as sandpaper grazed her skin. Just as she recoiled in revulsion, a gauntleted hand thrust out of the dark and caught his wrist.
Talia jerked back, jarred from her daze. She looked up and found herself staring into sharp, silver-blue eyes.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
Instinctively, she pressed her back against the wall. Varkas looked down at her without an ounce of expression, then turned his gaze slowly toward the monk.
Whatever the man saw in that look, he froze, then began to tremble violently as though he had seen a phantom.
“I—I only… Her Highness…”
“Be quiet.”
The deep bass of his voice cut through the excuse. The monk went white as a sheet, his face contorting into an agonizing grimace. Varkas appeared to be holding him with effortless ease, yet the pressure was enough to splinter bone.
Varkas spoke slowly, leaned down toward the man whose forehead now gleamed with cold sweat.
“Neither of us wishes to make this larger than it is. Return to your quarters in silence.”
With a muffled groan, the monk nodded frantically.
Varkas released him and added, “Stay out of my sight until we leave this monastery.”
“I—I will. I will.”
Cradling his bruised, purple wrist, the man looked on the verge of tears.
Varkas jerked his chin toward the path. The monk scrambled away without a backward glance. Varkas watched the pitiful retreat for a moment before turning back to her.
Talia looked down reflexively. She had done nothing wrong, yet her mouth had gone dry, and a prickle of heat crawled up the back of her neck. As she stood shifting her weight under his gaze, his voice came—chillingly flat.
“Follow me. I will see you to your room.”
The tension drained from her limbs, replaced by an odd, hollow exhaustion. At the same time, an unreasonable sting of resentment flared within her.
‘I was almost assaulted just now. I was terrified. How can you be this cold?’
Biting her lip, indignation flushing her cheeks, Talia brushed past him. She would rather die than show him any weakness.
She marched through the garden with her chin high. Before long, the dormitory for female devotees came into view at the end of the long arcade.
Keeping her eyes fixed ahead, she snapped, “We have arrived. Stop following me.”
Imperial knights stood guard around the building. Nothing like that could happen to her here.
She quickened her stride to get away. But before she could take three paces, he blocked her path, penning her against the outer wall.
Talia looked up at him, eyes wide.
“Wh-what are you doing… all of a sudden—”
“If playing with fire burned you once that badly…”
His voice was rough, as though scraping past the back of his throat. He seemed to notice it himself, pausing before continuing in a much calmer tone.
“…isn’t it time you learned to be careful?”
The blood drained from Talia’s face. Varkas studied her features with a gaze sharp enough to dissect her, his mouth curling.
“Or do you truly wish to throw yourself away so cheaply?”
Without thinking, Talia lashed out with an open hand. But he caught her wrist before it reached his face. Varkas spoke in a deliberate, quiet voice:
“If so, restrain yourself for now. I prefer to avoid trouble until this pilgrimage concludes.”
She pressed her trembling lips together. He released her wrist and turned away without haste.
“I trust you understand.”
At that moment, if she had held a knife, she would have driven it into his back without hesitation.
She glared at the broad back retreating smoothly into the dark, her chest boiling with hatred. Then her vision blurred, and she wrenched her head away.
She knew he would not look back, yet the terror of him catching her crying drove her forward. Talia wiped her eyes roughly with her sleeve and ran into the dormitory.
The next morning, the ceremonies began as though nothing had happened.
Talia sat by the window of her assigned chamber, looking down at the royal twins walking toward the altar, followed by Varkas like a guardian shadow.
By rights, she should have walked among them. Instead, she had claimed to be unwell and excused herself, brushing aside a rite obligatory for the imperial family with a flimsy excuse.
Normally, the ceremony would have been delayed, but the Crown Prince had insisted it proceed without her. The monastery likely welcomed her absence anyway; conferring a divine blessing upon a bastard could hardly have sat well with them.
‘…Perhaps I should have gone after all.’
Talia let out a dry laugh, but the humor died the moment she saw Ayla and Varkas standing side by side before the altar.
Had she been there, there was no telling what she might have done. She might have thrown herself at one of them, intent on murder.
‘I don’t even know which of them I hate more.’
Talia raised a hand to chew a nail out of habit, then lowered it, unwilling to ruin the tips that had finally grown out.
She could not bear to watch any longer. Pulling the drapes shut, she threw herself onto the bed.
Curled in the dim room, the memories of the night before rushed back. The lust-thick gaze, the coarse hand reaching out, and Varkas’s cold, unfeeling eyes…
“If playing with fire burned you once that badly… isn’t it time you learned to be careful?”
Talia pulled the blanket over her head.
Varkas believed she had baited the monk. Perhaps it was no different to him. She had always cornered herself with foolish choices… and it had always fallen to him to drag her out of the wreckage.
He had only just broken free of that thankless duty, only for the same scene to play out once more. Of course he was disgusted. He had to be utterly sick of her.
She buried her face into the pillow and let out a faint, hollow giggle.
She remembered the day he had severed their ties. Did yesterday’s encounter bring it back to the surface?
Staring blankly at the crack of sunlight slipping between the curtains, Talia slowly closed her eyes. Unwanted memories began to piece themselves together in the dark.
END