After that day, Talia began to struggle in earnest to tear herself away from an affection that had hardened into years of habit. She had tried to cut her feelings out before, but never with such desperate urgency.
She shoved the dresses he had picked out for her deep into the back of her wardrobe, pulling out the ones he had frowned upon the moment he saw them. Then she began attending the banquets held routinely at the Empress’s Palace.
As her escort knight, Varkas was naturally forced to trail behind her into those nights of debauchery.
To a man raised under an almost monastic discipline until the age of fourteen, it must have been a sickening spectacle. Nor was it easy on Talia. Inside the hall filled with her mother’s devotees, she was treated as nothing more than a miniature Senevier.
Bearing the Empress’s features on the frame of a blooming young girl, she struck them as an amusing toy, and more than a few made their advances plain. Though humiliated to be treated as a mere stand-in for her mother, Talia pretended to bask in the attention showered upon her.
She wanted to flaunt it before Varkas.
‘Look at what you’re throwing away. I’m going to become a woman far more beautiful than Ayla. A woman every bit as radiant as Mother.’
She wanted to show him how many men craved her. Perhaps, deep down, she had hoped he would step in and stop her.
Yet Varkas merely stood watch in silence, fulfilling his duty as an escort as he always had. Whether she drank heavily amid crowds of men or flirted with suitors twice her age, he did not seem to care in the slightest. His indifference only poured fuel on the reckless impulses consuming her.
He had remained by her side for seven long years. Couldn't he show even a sliver of concern? Couldn't he try to hold her back? The childish grievance clung stubbornly to her mind. It felt as though she might finally shake off this foolish attachment if she only ruined herself completely.
Abandoned to despair, she kept company with strange men. She even tolerated their grotesque advances—men stroking her hands, her cheek, or her hair with breathless adoration, or burying their noses in the crook of her neck.
Being handled like a porcelain doll disgusted her, yet she did not hate the drunken, rapturous looks they cast her way.
At times, she felt an intoxicating rush, as though she were a goddess. Swept up in that thrill, being denied a single man like Varkas seemed of little consequence.
She clung to that sensation. If she lost herself in these dizzying moments, her fledgling love would surely wither and die.
She sank deeper into the shallow, sordid games between men and women. Slowly, she grew accustomed to suggestive banter and casual caresses, learning to tread the edge of that dangerous line.
After losing herself in those perilous days for she knew not how long, a southern noble named Margus approached her.
At first, she paid him little heed. Though she spent every evening in the banquet hall mingling with different men, not one of them had left an impression on her memory.
Yet before long, his name began to linger in her mind. He had caught her interest in an unusual way.
He treated her like a young niece or a favored child, occasionally offering advice out of what seemed like genuine concern. After a brief spell of annoyance at his familiarity, Talia slowly opened up to him. Unlike the others who sought to touch her at every turn, he remained amiable while keeping a respectful distance.
Nor was that all. Acting as though he harbored no ulterior motives, he played the fool simply to make her laugh, offering toys and dolls rather than jewelry or revealing gowns. Talia gradually began to feel at ease around him.
Perhaps he had seen the affection-starved child hidden beneath her surface. He slipped into her vulnerabilities with effortless ease.
And on the evening four days before her coming-of-age ceremony, he tore down the fortress of trust he had built.
He visited the Separate Palace late in the evening, during Varkas’s absence. Though startled by his unannounced arrival, her wariness melted at the sight of his cheerful face and energetic chatter.
“Look at this, Your Highness! I finally tracked down the puzzle I told you about!”
The man beamed with excitement, holding out a large toy box.
“You have no idea what it took to get my hands on this! I haven't put this much effort into a gift for His Imperial Majesty!”
Puffed up with pride a moment before, he suddenly scratched the back of his head with an embarrassed look, as if only then realizing the impropriety of barging in at such an hour.
“I intended to present it to you on your birthday, but… an urgent matter calls me away from the capital tomorrow, so I took the liberty of coming tonight. Will you forgive my bad manners?”
Seeing him look down like a puppy caught in the rain, Talia shook her head, relenting.
“It can't be helped. Come inside.”
He stepped into the Separate Palace with a bright smile. It was the first time she had ever invited anyone other than an escort knight or a maid into the residence. A sudden wave of shame washed over her at the disheveled state of the place.
She bypassed the drawing room, veiled in dust from disuse, and led him up to the second-floor study, the cleanest room outside her bedchamber. There, they unfolded a chess table and sat opposite each other to piece the puzzle together.
She was so engrossed in the task that she did not notice his knees resting on either side of hers.
Talia poured all her focus into fitting the small pieces together to form a pointed castle spire.
To assist her, he leaned in close, holding the delicate pillars in place. When the first spire stood complete, Talia smiled with satisfaction. But an instant later, realizing how close he was, her expression tightened. He leaned in near enough that his breath, thick with wine, brushed against her forehead.
She shifted in her seat. Yet she worried that pulling away too sharply would make things awkward.
Talia edged her body to the side, pretending to search the box he had brought for another piece. Then he slid around behind her, wrapping his arms around both sides of her waist as if embracing her, and reached into the box.
“Ah, here it is.”
Talia froze. His thick, heavy arms tightened firmly around her waist. Feeling his hot, damp breath spilling over the nape of her neck, she drew her shoulders in as tightly as she could. Panic seized her in the unfamiliar trap, but strangely, no voice would rise from her throat.
He pressed his weight against her back as he reached deeper into the box. Talia barely forced out a whisper.
“Let… let go…”
“Just… just a moment. Your Highness… you smell so sweet.”
He pressed his nose to her shoulder, inhaling deeply.
Every nerve in Talia's body screamed. A cold sweat broke over her skin, and goosebumps raced down her spine.
END