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He carried her through the wing, her feet barely brushing the stone.
Talia parted her lips, sore from where she had bitten down on them.
‘Do you truly mean to marry me like this? Truly?’
The words died on her tongue, and her mouth closed tight.
He was right. Perhaps they had already gone too far to turn back.
She lowered her eyes and took in the guests filling the nave.
Dozens of faces blurred through the film of her tears. The Empress’s favorites, high dignitaries, nobles from every great house… Familiar, powerful figures stared back in oppressive silence.
Now she understood why Varkas had not simply cut her loose and walked away.
No matter how grand an heir to a ducal house might be, he could not make a mockery of a wedding hosted by the Emperor before the assembled court.
“The ceremony is about to begin. Will the bride and groom please move to the antechamber?”
As they reached the transept, an attendant priest spoke with cautious deference.
Without a word, Varkas followed him toward the seats beside the altar.
Talia trailed behind him on unsteady feet, her gaze darting erratically.
Through the haze clouding her sight, she caught glimpses of spectators watching as though entertained by a lively play. Those cold, bloodless faces all seemed to join in the same silent ridicule.
“Are your legs paining you?”
Feeling her frame stiffen, Varkas reached over and cupped her chin in one hand.
Talia looked up at him blankly. He brushed his thumb lightly beneath her damp eyes. The gesture was so tender that she wondered if the sleeping draught was weaving another illusion.
He stared deeply into her eyes and spoke under his breath.
“Bear with it just a little longer. As soon as the rite is done, I will see that you rest.”
His tone, coaxing as if soothing a child, made her throat tighten.
‘He is only doing this so I don’t make a scene before all these people.’
‘He’s just pacifying me so I don’t throw a fit.’
She chanted the words in her mind, desperate to steady her pounding chest, when a voice she never expected to hear here cut through the air.
“I can scarcely stomach the sight. To look at you two, one might take it for a match made in love.”
Her shoulders jerked rigid. Talia slowly turned her head. Gareth, clad in a scarlet doublet, was striding past the pews, flanked by half a dozen imperial guards.
In an instant, the blood in her veins went cold.
“Why such a grim face for the brother who came to offer his congratulations?”
Gareth halted before her, his lips curling into a sneer.
Talia stared up at him, eyes wide with terror.
Did it give him pleasure to see the half-sister who had always been a thorn in his side reduced to this—so pale she could not even speak?
A strange amusement danced across Gareth’s harsh features.
He leaned close and whispered with venom.
“Trading a leg for the title of Grand Duchess… You ought to be beaming.”
Talia stared back, her expression frozen.
Ordinarily, she would have dragged her nails down that smug, glistening face. But now, she could not even part her lips. Her already muddled mind seemed to have ground to a dead stop at his sudden appearance.
She could only tremble, eyelids fluttering like someone trapped in a nightmare, until her head was abruptly hauled aside.
“Your Highness.”
Varkas pressed her face firmly against his chest, his voice a low warning.
“If you have come as a guest, observe the proper decorum. Would you truly make a scene on the wedding day of an old friend?”
A heavy silence fell between them.
Talia swallowed hard, her brow pressed against the stiff cloth of his tunic.
She could not fathom why Varkas was shielding her from Gareth.
It should have been the opposite. His place was to protect Gareth and Ayla from the spiteful bastard child.
“No need to be so prickly. So long as you hold to your word, I will hold to mine.”
Gareth’s chilly drawl came from behind them.
She tried to twist around to see his face, but the hand pinning her head held her fast.
Varkas tightened his arm around her waist, muttering coldly,
“If you intend to witness the rites, take your seat.”
The faint sound of grinding teeth reached her ears before Gareth’s footsteps finally drew away. Only then did Varkas ease his hold.
Talia turned to watch Gareth’s back as he walked toward the seats of honor.
As he sat, an elderly man beside him leaned in to speak. It was not hard to recognize Marquis Oristein.
Had the two of them arranged something beforehand?
Talia narrowed her eyes, then widened them as the truth struck her: many of the guests filling the benches were conservative lords who backed the Crown Prince.
Just what was happening here?
As she surveyed the chapel in utter confusion, a firm hand pulled her head around once more.
“There is no need for you to think on any of this.”
His icy gaze locked onto hers.
“After today, you will never have to see these faces again. Do not waste your thoughts on them.”
He spoke with an intensity that burned the words into her mind, then turned toward the altar without another thought.
Talia bit her cracked lip as she was drawn along with him.
Varkas had shown no surprise at any of this. Seeing his composure, her tangled thoughts began to unravel.
Perhaps Gareth merely wished to display to the court that his ties with House Shearkan remained unbroken despite this marriage.
And Varkas had played his part in that display.
From the start, this wedding was nothing but a performance strung together by the Emperor’s demands, Varkas’s duty, and her own thirst for vengeance. He remained on the side of Ayla and Gareth.
“Their Imperial Majesties, the Emperor and Empress, are arriving!”
A herald’s voice bellowed from above the stone stairs leading to the gallery.
Talia pulled her gaze away from Varkas and looked up.
The Emperor and Empress moved with measured grace toward the elevated thrones on the second level.
They appeared as the true masters of this grand spectacle.
Talia took in the Emperor’s stern, somber presence for a brief moment before turning her eyes to Senevier beside him.
As always, she shone with an almost blinding radiance.
Flawless features framed by hair the color of molten gold, and a full figure of seamless grace…
That beauty, which Talia had once believed would one day be hers, pierced her eyes like needles.
“The holy rites shall now commence.”
Once the imperial couple had taken their thrones, the High Priest stepped up before the altar, his voice solemn and carrying.
Varkas brought Talia forward to stand before him.
Beyond the priest’s weathered, austere face, the sky loomed dark with impending rain. Framed by storm clouds, he began to chant verses in the sacred ancient tongue.
The entire spectacle felt like a grotesque farce.
Senevier with her faint, inscrutable smile; the Emperor looking faintly ill at ease; the priest droning pious platitudes; and the guests beholding this sham with thinly veiled derision.
“Varkas Raedgo Shearkan, do you swear to take Talia Roem Guirta as your lawful wife, and to cleave unto her for all the days of your life?”
Finishing the long litany, the priest delivered the final vow.
Talia moistened her parched lips, her eyes glued to the stone floor.
After a brief pause, he answered.
“I do.”
It came out so dry and matter-of-fact it bordered on hollow.
The priest turned toward her with the same question.
“Talia Roem Guirta, do you swear to take Varkas Raedgo Shearkan as your lawful husband, and to cleave unto him for all the days of your life?”
Talia raised hollow eyes to the priest’s face.
She wanted to answer as flatly as Varkas had, but only a ragged, wheezing rasp tore from her throat, as though hands were strangling her.
As the silence dragged on, the arm supporting her waist tightened.
Talia turned her head toward him.
His blue eyes pressed her in silence for an answer. Unwilling to let the moment linger, that resolute gaze drove her to wrench a single phrase from her throat.
“…I do.”
“By the power vested in me by the heavens and His Imperial Majesty the Emperor, I pronounce you husband and wife.”
Having recited the declaration in a measured cadence, the priest spoke the words that sealed the ceremony.
“Now, seal your union with a kiss.”
END