Varkas reached the carriage in moments and practically threw her onto the seat.
Talia rubbed her throbbing hip and glared at him with venom in her eyes. Then she froze at the terrifying scowl hardened on his face. Varkas looked down at her as if his patience had snapped entirely, his words grinding out between clenched teeth.
“Did I not warn you to stop causing troublesome scenes?”
She flinched for a fraction of a second, then shot him a fierce, defiant glare.
“Why should I listen to anything you say? Who do you think you are?”
“Certainly someone of greater consequence than a princess in name only.”
A cold, mocking sneer curved Varkas’s lips.
Rage surged through her, and Talia bolted upright. She could not endure another second without slapping that arrogant face.
Varkas was faster. He leaned over her, pinning her arms down to cut off any movement, and looked into her eyes with detached, clinical coldness. Without a shred of pity, his gaze swept over the burst vessels on her cheek and the nape of her neck, which was already bruising black and blue.
A weary sigh escaped him.
“Do you truly act out like this because you know no better? No one here will lift a finger to protect you. If His Highness the Crown Prince sets his mind to it, no one can guarantee your life.”
“Why do you care?”
Talia shrieked.
“Wouldn't you be the most relieved of all if I vanished from this world?”
“I cannot deny that.”
Even though it was the very answer she expected, her heart tore open as if it were bleeding.
He went on with chilling, dispassionate cruelty.
“However, I cannot allow the Crown Prince’s standing to be jeopardized on your account. If you wish to destroy yourself, do it by your own hand.”
Talia forced her eyes wide, refusing to let the burning tears spill.
He straightened slowly. The sharp anger on his face had already slipped back behind the rigid mask of a knight. “I will summon a healer first,” he added in a detached, businesslike tone. “Tend to yourself, then rest.”
Talia’s only answer was to snatch a stray goblet from the floor and fling it. The silver struck his chest before clattering to the floorboards. Varkas gave her a look of utter disgust, turned, and strode out of the carriage.
Talia slammed the door shut and bolted it. The tears she had fought so desperately to hold back finally streamed down her cheeks. She clamped a hand over her mouth, terrified that a sob might slip out. The weeping trapped in her throat choked her. She felt as though she might suffocate right then and there.
At the crest of Ulgram Hill stood the White Temple, solitary and immense, built by Emperor Dorian to commemorate Osiria’s independence.
The pilgrims drew to a halt before it, gazing up at the magnificent, snow-white edifice in awe.
Despite the long passage of years, the temple remained almost flawlessly preserved.
They were lost in religious reverence as they traced the prayers carved into the stone and the statues of heroes lining the approach. The Crown Prince, however, seemed entirely unmoved by the legacy of his ancestors.
Swinging down from his saddle, Gareth cast a bored glance at the arched entrance. “Is this the second holy site?”
“It is, Your Highness,” one of the attendants answered, voice tight with strain.
The servants, well aware that his temper had been at its worst since the day before, kept their heads down and watched his every move with dread. Only Varkas remained as composed as ever.
“I am told no priests reside here. We will prepare the rites ourselves,” Varkas said, stepping up beside him.
The Crown Prince glared at him with strange, lingering hostility, then turned away.
“Then stop dawdling and get on with it.”
At his order, the attendants drew the carriages up near the temple and began unloading the baggage. The attendants of the First and Second Princesses arrived shortly after and joined them.
While the soldiers raised tents with practiced efficiency, the servants unpacked censers, the Holy Plate, silver ewers, and candlesticks from the crates, polishing each piece until it gleamed. Once the general preparations were in order, the maids set to work attending to the Crown Prince and the First Princess’s attire.
Watching from a short distance away, Edric approached the carriage where Talia remained shut inside. If she was to take part in the rites, he needed to advise her to begin preparing soon. Yet the words refused to leave his tongue.
He stared at the firmly bolted door and scratched the back of his neck with rough unease. The sight of the Second Princess from the previous evening left a sick knot in his stomach.
Edric raised his fist to knock, then let it drop limply, glancing over toward the Crown Prince’s newly erected tent.
While servants hauled out a large tub before the tent, filled it with water, and coaxed a fire to life beneath it, the Crown Prince sat reclined in a chair, leisurely sipping wine. The callous sight left a bitter taste in Edric’s mouth.
‘He beat his own sister into that state, yet he doesn't carry a shred of guilt.’
He had heard the rumors that the Crown Prince raised a hand against the Second Princess, but he had never imagined it reached such extremes.
He clenched his fists, remembering the woman—scarcely larger than a handful—struck across the face and thrashing while throttled by a man built like a mountain. It was fortunate Lord Shearkan had been nearby; otherwise, a gruesome tragedy would have unfolded.
Edric looked down at his palms, slick with cold sweat, and finally turned away.
Talia Roem Guirta would surely refuse to take part in the ritual anyway. There was no point in wasting his breath.
Just as he swallowed a heavy sigh and started toward the temple, a latch clicked behind him.
“You there.”
Startled, Edric whipped his head around, his eyes going wide to find Talia standing in the carriage doorway with her arms crossed. Looking as if nothing had ever happened, she stepped down with her usual haughty demeanor and jerked her chin.
“Fetch the maids.”
“…Pardon?”
She glared at him with sharp annoyance as he stood blinking in a daze.
“Not only are you hideous and dull-witted, but are you deaf as well? I am going to dress, so bring the maids this instant!”
Edric stood stunned by the sheer venom—a lashing the likes of which he had never endured before—before turning on his heel to gather the personal attendants the Empress had assigned to her.
Oddly enough, a breath of relief slipped out of him at the sight of her snapping with such fierce vigor. Although the healer had mended her wounds the night before, he had worried she might be confined to bed after enduring such brutality on an empty stomach.
‘Fortunately, she seems well enough.’
Then again, this was a woman who had sneered at the Crown Prince without a flicker of fear even while hovering at death’s door. She was not the sort to break so easily.
Letting out a dry chuckle, Edric ordered the servants to carry hot water and told his subordinates to straighten their dress. Since the Second Princess had chosen to fulfill the imperial custom after all, he would escort her properly, as befitted a knight of the guard.
END