The dry look in his eyes made her mouth go bone-dry.
Talia pressed her chapped lips with her fingertips and lowered her gaze.
She had no idea what to say.
As she stood there with her mouth clamped shut as if struck mute, her eyes darting back and forth, a monotonous voice reached her ears.
“Your nanny is in the next room. Call her if you need her.”
Talia looked up at him again.
Varkas spoke calmly as he slid an arm into his shirt sleeve.
“We are scheduled to depart for the East in one week. I will summon workers, so if you have luggage to bring, please have it packed in advance.”
“S-so soon?”
As she stammered with a flustered look, Varkas, who had been buttoning his shirt, turned his gaze back to her.
His eyes, shrouded in thick fog, carefully measured her face.
“Is there any reason to remain longer in the Imperial Palace?”
Talia looked up at him, caught at a loss for words, before slowly shaking her head.
Varkas watched her a moment, then approached the bed with measured strides. Her heart shrank tight at the sudden nearness of his face.
Talia’s eyes fixed instinctively on his mouth. In the narrow parting of his lips, she caught a glimpse of his red tongue.
That tongue had been inside her.
Was it real, or a dream?
While she was lost in thought, fingers tilted her chin up, and clear blue eyes filled her view.
“Does the pain often flare so suddenly, as it did yesterday?”
Her shriveled heart snapped sharp and brittle.
Talia knocked his hand away roughly. Irritation flared hot at being treated like an invalid.
“I don’t know. Who cares?”
“If there is an issue, we should seek further treatment—”
“Even the mages of House Taren couldn’t do anything about it. How do you intend to treat it?”
When she raised her voice, unable to bear the anxiety, his lips set into a firm line. That sharp curve drew her eyes once more.
What mattered now was that last night, that very mouth had plundered hers as it pleased. Why was he fretting over something like her leg?
Talia parted her dry lips.
“More importantly… about yesterday…”
Why did you do that to me? Was it truly just to make me take the medicine?
She tried to ask, but clamped her mouth shut.
Perhaps their lips had brushed for only a passing second. Her muddled mind could easily have twisted the memory.
She swallowed hard, searching his expression.
As though not the least bit curious about what she had left unsaid, Varkas drew himself up and spoke in a flat voice.
“I have placed a healer in the room next door. If you feel unwell, call for them immediately.”
Is that all?
Have you nothing else to say to me?
While she turned the questions over on the tip of her tongue, his calm voice continued.
“I intend to remain at the Imperial Palace until the day of departure.”
Talia looked up at him as if struck across the face.
A cool finger touched her brow.
Her skin stung as though grazed by a blade.
When she instinctively flinched away, Varkas withdrew his hand, having only brushed aside a stray lock of hair.
Deep shadows fell over his face as he stood with his back to the window.
“For the time being, you will not have to face me. So please, rest easy.”
Talia parted her lips in haste.
She felt she had to say something, but her throat burned, and not a sound would come.
He turned slowly away and took his coat down from the wall.
Talia could only stare blankly at his back as he crossed the room.
Hand on the doorknob, Varkas looked back at her over his shoulder. His lips parted slightly, as if to speak. Yet in the end, he left without a word.
Click.
Staring vacantly at the closed door, Talia swung her feet off the bed. Pain stabbed up through bone. Ignoring the searing ache, she limped to the doorway and turned the handle.
Varkas must have already started down the stairs; only silence hung in the hallway.
With an empty face, she bolted the door again and returned to the bedside.
The only trace of him left in the room was a single set of formal clothes, folded neatly.
She picked up the meticulously folded garments from the shelf and buried her face in the smooth fabric.
No hint of peppermint met her; only a heavy cloy of roses seeped into her nose.
Perhaps from holding her all through the day, the elaborately embroidered satin reeked solely of the fragrant oils the maids had slathered over her skin. Having nothing else, she pulled it over herself and lay down upon the cold bed.
She remembered the broad chest that had held her fast while she thrashed in agony.
To spend an entire night nursing a patient must have made it wretched for him. What man on earth would welcome so grueling and tiresome a wedding night?
Talia bit down hard on her trembling lip.
In the first place, she had agreed to this marriage merely to indulge a childish desire for revenge. Since she had disgusted him from their very first night, she ought to be delighted.
Trying to settle her bitter heart, she looked toward the glowing white window. Beyond the clear pane, the dawn burned bright.
Suddenly, it struck her: this was her very first morning as Talia Roem Shearkan.
Bleakly, she murmured to the empty room.
“What will become of my life now…?”
Before she knew it, the day of departure for the East arrived.
Talia, who had been made to dress since dawn at the urging of the maids, stared out the window with weary eyes.
In the wide courtyard, more than twenty wagons stood in line. Piled high were silks wrapped in linen, dwarven craftwork, elven-woven gowns, and chests laden with rare jewels.
Half were wedding gifts sent from the Imperial Palace; the other half were possessions she had obsessively hoarded over many years.
Talia, who once would have gloated over her treasures, drew the curtains closed without a thought.
Only a season ago, she had been desperate to amass rare dresses and trinkets. She had wanted to outshine everyone, hoping Varkas would look at her and regret choosing Ayla.
Now, jewels and gowns meant nothing. She could never be as graceful as Ayla, nor as beautiful as Senevier.
Draping such finery over a ruined body would only make her look grotesque and pitiful.
Talia sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her aching knee.
Whether the draught she took at dawn had worn off or simply failed, the quieted pain began to raise its head again.
She set a new incense cone into the brazier of dying embers. Just as she moved to light it, a knock sounded at the door.
“Your Highness, Lord Shearkan has arrived.”
All at once, her senses—dull and submerged as if under water—snapped awake.
Talia hastily put down the incense and rose.
When she reached the door and pulled it open, she found maids lined up along the wall.
Talia swept her eyes over them.
“…Where is Nanny?”
“She has already boarded the carriage.”
Talia, who had harbored a lingering dread that the nanny might refuse and demand to return to the Imperial Palace, let out a quiet breath of relief.
“Wait a moment. I will be right out.”
As she turned to fetch her traveling cloak, an older maid spoke up quickly.
“Lord Shearkan instructed me to deliver this to you.”
Talia looked down with narrowed eyes at the sweeping garment the maid held out.
It was a loose, hooded mantle made to cover the entire body. Clearly, he had sent it so she could conceal her limp.
Though shame burned hot in her ears, Talia put it on without a word.
The long hem trailed down to her feet. She must have looked as if wrapped in a curtain.
She smoothed her hands over the fabric, then gestured with her chin toward the maids.
“Let us go.”
END