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Fierce rage flared in her eyes as she ground out each word.
“Do my words sound like a joke to you, too?”
Edric reflexively took another step back from the raw malice radiating from her.
Her slender frame trembled with fury as her voice rose sharply.
“How many times must I tell you to leave me alone before you understand? Does what I say amuse you that much?”
“I only brought it because I worried Your Highness might collapse,” Edric protested, feeling wronged, his words faltering under her onslaught.
The princess let out a dry, contemptuous laugh directly in his face.
“And why would a lowly thing like you dare worry about me?”
“I am your personal knight! It is my duty to attend to you—”
She burst into sudden, mocking laughter.
Edric’s face burned. Never in his life had he been subjected to such blatant ridicule, and he had no idea how to respond.
Looking down at him with a cold sneer, she spoke slowly.
“You must take me for a fool. Do you think I don’t know the Roem Knight Order is nothing more than the Crown Prince’s pack of dogs?”
His face hardened into stone.
She cast a disgusted glance down at the basket in his hands, her voice dropping to a chill. “How do I know what’s in there? You expect me to eat it? What kind of foul scheme are you trying to pull on me?”
“I am a knight!”
Unable to stomach any more, Edric raised his voice. His ears burned with heat from the insult—the first he had ever received.
“Your Highness insults not just me, but the entire Imperial Knight Order! We have sworn before God to protect the imperial family! We would never conspire to harm Your Highness—”
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”
Edric stood frozen, staring at her face, which looked as though it were carved from ice.
Wiping away the last trace of her mocking smile, she spat, “If you want to play the sycophant, go do it for my half-siblings. I have no use for it.”
With that, she slammed the door shut with a deafening crack, cutting off all further talk.
Edric tightened his white-knuckled grip on the basket. If he did not, he felt he might tear the door open and scream at her to stop being so impossible.
Glowering at the closed carriage door with simmering rage, he finally turned on his heel.
He had done enough. He had no desire to waste his breath reasoning with a woman who treated him with such open malice and venom.
Edric dumped the basket onto a shelf outside the communal tent as if throwing it away, then marched toward the mess line.
The knights were already seated across the field, eating their rations.
Slipping in among his comrades, Edric heaped his plate high with food and began shoveling it down. He told himself over and over that he didn’t care whether that wicked woman starved to death or not…
After hours of tossing and turning in the dark, Talia cautiously sat up.
When she parted the carriage curtains, she saw only the faint glow of sentry lanterns dotting the pitch-black camp. Everything else lay swallowed by shadow.
Looking up at the black, moonless sky, Talia carefully slipped down from the carriage.
Having survived on nothing but a few scraps of bread and dried, honeyed fruit for days, her limbs trembled with weakness. She briefly wondered if she should have just eaten the food that foolish knight brought.
He had seemed too simple to concoct any clever poison; perhaps she had been overly suspicious.
Remembering the knight’s naive face, Talia shook her head sharply.
Had she not learned by now that those who wore the most harmless faces were the least to be trusted? It could have been a ploy to lower her guard before striking.
She surveyed the perimeter sentries with wary eyes, then began to creep through the camp.
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, the silhouettes of pointed tents, long rows of wagons, and tethered horses took shape in the gloom.
Mindful of loose stones, she picked her way quietly between the tents. The cold wind blowing down from the hills sliced through the folds of her dress.
The smell of charred firewood mingled with the pungent scent of dry grass, stinging her nose. Talia moved through the darkness, relying entirely on her instincts.
At last, she located the attendants’ quarters. Squinting to confirm her bearings, she scrambled onto the nearest baggage wagon, curling into the gap between stacked crates to watch the tent flaps. She was waiting to see if her mother’s spy would make a move tonight.
Drawing her knees to her chest, she stared into the shadows without blinking.
Occasional snores and the sound of soldiers grinding their teeth drifted through the air, joined by the snorting of horses and the hum of night insects. She had never realized the night could be so loud.
She counted each passing second, trying to settle her frayed, aching nerves.
After she had held her breath for what felt like hours, the black sky began to pale into a bruised navy. It seemed the night would pass without incident.
She began to ease her stiff limbs, stretching her aching joints. Her bones protested, popping audibly.
Swallowing a groan while rubbing her numb arms, she froze as a dark silhouette emerged from the tent.
Talia narrowed her eyes.
Though the face remained hidden in the gloom, the figure was unmistakably that of a slender woman.
Forcing her creaking body upright, Talia slipped off the wagon and followed the shadow.
After trailing her past the line of carriages, Ayla’s carriage came into view. Talia wiped her clammy palms against her skirt.
How wonderful it would be if the woman simply crept inside. If she carried out the task Talia herself needed to do.
Clinging to that desperate hope, she kept her eyes fixed on the woman’s back. Yet the figure walked straight past Ayla’s carriage, heading toward the outer edge of the encampment. Talia’s face hardened. Fluttering outside the distant tent was the Shearkan banner, bearing the crest of a black horse.
She picked up her pace. But in the brief moment her eyes wandered, the woman had vanished.
Frantically scanning between the tents, Talia looked toward the entrance of the commander’s quarters, cold dread sinking into her gut.
‘Could she… have gone inside?’
Her heart dropped into an abyss.
If Ayla and Varkas were united in marriage, Gareth’s position would become unassailable.
The Shearkan family wielded formidable influence across both the East and the North. If Ayla became the Grand Duchess of Shearkan, Gareth would have the entire Union of Nobles behind him. To prevent that, Senevier could well have chosen to eliminate Varkas instead.
The moment that thought took root, Talia dashed toward Varkas’s tent as if being hunted. All reason had left her.
Rushing inside, she swept her eyes across the dark interior and shoved aside the central partition.
The cot was empty. Given that he was a man who rose well before dawn, he was likely inspecting the perimeter or checking on Toruk.
The rational thought crossed her mind, but her panic refused to subside.
She frantically patted down the empty bed, checking for any trace of blood. A heavy footstep echoed behind her, and her head snapped around. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood silhouetted at the entrance of the tent.
Thinking it was Varkas, Talia lunged forward, only to freeze in her tracks. Dressed in light tunic and trousers, staring at her in shock, was Gareth.
“What are you doing here?”
He raked his eyes over her from head to foot, his brow furrowing in disgust.
END