True to his nature as a man who detested drawing more attention than necessary, he raised a hand to stop the servant about to announce his arrival, then descended the stairs with an upright, measured elegance.
Despite his efforts, every eye in the room remained fixed on him. Even the presence of the future emperor seemed to fade in comparison.
Talia drank in the sight of him, taking him in hungrily from head to toe.
As always, he was dressed impeccably in the uniform of the Imperial Guard. The only departure from his usual attire was beneath the ornate greatcoat of his order: instead of the golden armor that marked the Roem Knights, he wore a black breastplate etched with the crest of a dark horse.
It was an open declaration that he attended this banquet not as a knight, but as the heir of Grand Duke of Shearkan and as Ayla’s fiancé.
Just as Talia expected, Varkas headed straight for the center of the hall, where Gareth and Ayla stood.
“I greet Your Highness the Crown Prince.”
He offered Gareth a bow that was neither excessive nor lacking, then turned toward Ayla, who was smiling with quiet modesty.
Talia’s fingertips began to tremble violently. She gripped her wine glass until her knuckles turned white.
When Varkas extended a hand toward the legitimate princess, Ayla took it demurely. In that instant, a pain as sharp as twisting entrails tore through Talia.
‘Don’t touch her. I told you not to touch Varkas.’
She wanted to scream it, though she had no right to. She had to bite down on her lip to keep from making a grotesque scene.
“Wouldn’t it be better to leave the hall now?”
The man who had been watching her face made the suggestion cautiously. Hearing such words from someone who had clearly been relishing the chaos brought her back to her senses. She had not come here to slink away in defeat.
Talia smoothed away her fractured composure and crossed the hall with poised strides. Those gathered around the Crown Prince, the First Princess, and the scion of the East parted naturally to give her way.
They were undoubtedly eager for a spectacle. Talia fully intended to grant them one.
“Greetings, my esteemed brother… and my lovely sister.”
She deliberately ignored Varkas, offering her slow greeting only to her two half-siblings. She knew that if she looked him in the face, whatever thread of reason she had left would snap completely.
Keeping her back turned to Varkas, she fixed her gaze entirely on Ayla and spoke with open mockery.
“I am glad to see you have recovered. You made such an… unseemly show of yourself earlier, did you not?”
“Thank you for your concern.”
Ayla replied with a gentle smile unclouded by a single shadow.
A chill prickled across Talia’s skin.
There was no way the woman did not know who had poisoned her cup. Yet there was not a trace of anger in the gaze she turned on Talia. It was the look one gave an ordinary, inanimate object.
Like the wine goblets, plates, or candlesticks scattered around the hall. How could anyone feel anger toward such things?
Faced with an attitude that went beyond composure into absolute indifference, a sharp pang of regret washed over Talia.
She should have given the woman a lethal poison instead of an emetic. Even if it meant a brutal execution… even if it meant burning forever in the depths of hell.
Compared to her, the brother who laid his raw hatred bare seemed almost human.
“How dare you show your face here.”
Gareth leaned in close, his jaw clenched tight. His glistening eyes raked over her from head to foot with venomous disgust.
“And looking so cheap! Did your mother order you to play the whore to sway my retainers?”
“Cheap? Such harsh words.”
Talia spread her skirts wide for all to see.
“This dress is the very one my mother wore the day she first met His Majesty the Emperor. It carries a great deal of meaning.”
A hush fell instantly over the hall.
A violent blaze flickered in the Crown Prince’s eyes. Unfortunately for him, Talia loved playing with fire.
“Our father would have adored this attire. Don’t you agree?”
Gareth’s shoulders hitched. He looked on the verge of losing his temper and striking her across the face.
His clever sister, however, had no intention of allowing that. Laying a hand on Gareth’s forearm to stay him at the precise moment, Ayla looked back at her half-sister with an unblemished smile.
“Yes. It truly suits you.”
Remarkably, there was no malice in her voice. The tone was so placid, as though she were merely stating the obvious, that it set Talia’s nerves on edge. Perhaps the woman considered reacting to the slurs of a lowly bastard beneath her.
Giving her twin brother a steady look that urged him to be calm, Ayla stepped closer to her fiancé. She leaned lightly against his side, her face radiant with happiness.
“In any case, thank you for coming. Today is deeply meaningful for both of us… especially for me. I wanted to be congratulated by as many people as possible.”
Her slender hand came to rest as softly as a shadow upon the arm of the man standing silent at her side.
Talia glared at that hand as if she might tear it apart. She could not bring herself to look up. If she saw him smiling down at Ayla, she would lose whatever remained of her mind.
Ayla’s voice fell soft as down.
“Our wedding date has finally been set. Once the Season of Winds arrives, I will depart for the East to become a member of the Shearkan family. Of course, I must make a pilgrimage beforehand to receive the blessings of the saints. We have to set out before the heat sets in, so today may be the last time I see you.”
She affected an expression of regret quite convincingly.
“I am glad we could meet like this before I leave the palace. I wanted to say a proper farewell.”
Then, as if eager to bring the conversation to a close, she rested her shoulder lightly against Varkas and added serenely,
“Please, enjoy the banquet held in our honor to your heart’s content.”
Wearing a magnanimous smile, Ayla turned gracefully away. Talia, whose eyes had remained fixed on her, spoke abruptly.
“If it is our last… then I must offer a blessing for your future, sister.”
The moment she took a step toward Ayla, the man who had been silently watching the cold war between them moved. When he thrust an arm forward to shield his fiancée, the world before Talia went crimson.
Before Varkas could close the distance, Talia threw her glass, dousing Ayla’s chest in dark wine.
The dark liquid stained the white bodice of the pearl-sewn gown, trailing a bright red track down to the hem. It looked as though she had taken a blade straight through the heart and was bleeding out.
“I shall pray every day that you end up looking just like this before long.”
A collective gasp caught in every throat at the hideous curse.
Even Ayla, whose composure had remained unshakeable, went stark white. The sheer terror on her face struck Talia as so absurd she almost laughed out loud.
The satisfaction was brief. An iron hand clamped around her wrist and yanked her backward with brutal force. Dragged around by the momentum, Talia was forced to look straight into the face she had tried so desperately to avoid.
A pair of pale, glowing blue eyes bored down into hers, filled with cold, merciless fury.
END