Ch#77
Lucas looked weary.
Ever since hearing the news of Varkas’s marriage, his younger sister seemed to have lost her mind completely.
Raina, who had harbored a subtle admiration for the relationship between Aila and Varkas, had constructed a clumsy romance novel inside her head. In that story, Thalia Roem Guirta appeared as the ultimate villainess who had torn apart a pair of tragic lovers.
Raina’s eyes burned with the same competitive fire as when she first followed the cavalry warriors out to hunt a manticore.
“Just you wait. I’ll make that woman leave this place on her own two feet. We’re going to rescue Brother from the clutches of that Taren witch!”
What on earth had blinded her to make Varkas Raedgo Sheikan look like someone in need of a rescue?
Sometimes, Lucas genuinely wanted to pry open her skull and see what was inside.
He swallowed a sigh and picked up his coat, which had been draped over the back of his chair.
“Well, good luck with that.”
“Are you seriously going to back out and leave me to do this alone?”
“Didn’t you see Brother practically wrapping her up and carrying her away earlier? I have no desire to get on the bad side of the future Grand Duke over something so pointless.”
“That’s all just her cunning trickery! Haven’t you heard the rumors? That the women of the Taren family use wicked sorcery to steal men’s souls?”
Raina was practically foaming at the mouth.
“She must have acted fragile to win his sympathy! Brother just couldn’t turn a blind eye to someone in that state!”
He shook his head. There was no point in talking to Raina when she was like this.
As he let out a long sigh and stepped toward the door, Raina shrieked at the top of her lungs.
“Where are you going?!”
“To ride my horse! I’m suffocating in here; I need some fresh air.”
“You can’t! Don’t you know Brother’s welcome banquet is starting soon?”
He ignored her and walked out of the room.
The central hall was bustling with servants moving luggage.
Workers with pale complexions, seemingly from the central regions, piled large crates into mountains on one side of the vast hall, while the servants of Raedgo Castle opened them to record the contents. Even a brief glance revealed treasures that would make anyone’s eyes bulge.
‘I guess the rumors about her being incredibly extravagant were true.’
He scanned the crates filled with clothes and various ornaments before heading out through the back door.
He intended to go straight to the stables, but he noticed the warriors of the Wolfram Lancer Corps, who had returned from escorting Varkas, gathered in a swarm at the training grounds in the backyard.
Spotting a familiar face among them, Lucas immediately changed course.
“Tyrone!”
A man nursing a drink while loosely clad in a single tunka looked back at him over his shoulder.
“Ah, the second young master.”
He wiped his wet lips and spoke in his characteristically slow drawl.
“How have you been?”
“I’ve been well—bored to death, actually.”
Lucas plopped down on the steps surrounding the training ground, snatched the man’s bottle, and took a long swig.
“How’s the capital?”
“As expected, it was a mess.”
Seemingly unbothered by the rude gesture, the man shrugged nonchalantly and continued with a calm face.
“Not only Marquis Oristein, but most of the conservative nobles seemed shaken by this marriage. Lord Sheikan had quite a hard time settling them down.”
“What about the First Princess and the Crown Prince?”
“I didn’t even get a glimpse of Her Highness the First Princess. They say she’s been shut up in her room. It’s understandable, given she was jilted right before the wedding… She likely won’t show her face in public until a new match is decided. As for His Highness the Crown Prince…”
Tyrone crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his brow as if searching for the right words.
“He was fuming, but he was surprisingly calm about accepting the situation. He probably judged that it would be more beneficial to pretend to agree to the marriage and solidify their alliance rather than becoming a complete enemy of Lord Sheikan.”
Lucas tilted his head at the unexpected news.
“That’s surprising. I thought he’d try to start a war with the East to make Brother pay for betraying his sister… The rumors say he’s obsessed with the First Princess.”
Lucas frowned, recalling the rough impression of the Crown Prince he’d met during a visit to the capital years ago. Tyrone burst into a laugh.
“In the face of power, even a pig starts clicking an abacus. It’s true the Crown Prince cares deeply for his sister, but surely not more than he cares for the throne. In fact, he seemed more worried about his support base being shaken than the humiliation the First Princess suffered.”
Lucas grimaced.
He had spent a few years being educated at the academy in the capital, but he could never truly adjust to the values of the central nobles.
In the East, the bonds between blood relatives tended to be much tighter.
Even though Raina was an annoying sister, if she had been jilted like that, they would have risked war to avenge the insult.
Suddenly, he felt a pang of pity for the First Princess.
She had been betrayed not only by her fiancé but even by the brother she trusted.
Perhaps Raina was right. Maybe women with Taren blood possessed a dangerous magic that made men abandon even their loyalty.
He recalled the deep blue eyes he had seen beneath the hood.
Those two eyes, flickering with a faint heat, were like living jewels.
No. Even the finest lapis lazuli couldn’t compare.
His attempt to pull off her hood had been purely subconscious. The moment their eyes met, his hand had moved on its own.
He asked in a slightly strained voice.
“What’s the Second Princess like?”
Deep lines etched into the man’s brow.
He hesitated for a moment before answering.
“I only spoke with her once, so I don’t know much. However, it seems clear that her personality is as formidable as the rumors say.”
“More than Raina?”
“Surely she couldn’t be worse than the young lady,” he said jokingly. However, he didn’t seem entirely sure of himself, as fine wrinkles appeared around his eyes.
Lucas felt his curiosity swell even further.
What kind of person was she to make this man, who was as slippery as an eel, scowl like that?
“What about her looks? Is she really that beautiful?”
At the sudden question, the man, who was in the middle of taking the bottle back, paused and gave him a searching look.
For some reason, Lucas felt guilty.
He scuffed the ground with his heel and looked away.
The man watched him quietly for a moment, drained the last drop of wine, and muttered indifferently.
“Enough to be a problem.”
Then, with a thoughtful expression, he added meaningfully.
“I suppose that’s why Lord Sheikan keeps her hidden so tightly.”
When she opened her eyes, a thick darkness had settled over the room.
Thalia gasped for air, clutching her throat. It felt as if someone were strangling her.
Clawing at her skin to strip away the formless fingers, Thalia crawled to the head of the bed and shook the bell pull.
A moment later, she heard the door open.
Thalia turned her head.
The sight of a familiar silhouette instantly cleared her blocked airway. It was as if her body recognized him before her mind did.
“Are your legs cramping?”
Varkas, who had lit a lamp by her bedside, leaned over the bed and asked.
Thalia took a long, deep breath and shook her head.
“I was just thirsty and called for a maid.”
His eyes narrowed. He clearly didn’t believe her.
Varkas checked her forehead for a fever with one hand, then gave a blunt order to the maids who arrived late.
“Go get some medicine from the healer.”
Then, he personally poured a glass of water and handed it to her.
She felt a momentary flicker of annoyance at him blatantly ignoring her words, but she was grateful he had come running, so she took the glass without a word.
After a sip of cold water, her hazy mind became much clearer.
She set the glass down and scanned him, her eyes now free of the heat of sleep.
Varkas was wearing a fitted tunic with a loose coat, the kind the men here wore, draped over it.
The unfamiliar attire made her stomach flutter for a moment.
She stole a glance at the silhouette of his chest, clearly visible through the gap in his clothes, then lowered her eyes with a troubled expression.
“What are you wearing? It looks strange.”
“…It is the traditional clothing of the East.”
“Don’t wear that anymore. It doesn’t suit you.”
In truth, it suited him terribly well.
Seeing a man who was always dressed with razor-sharp precision in such loose clothing—clothing that looked like it could be stripped off at any moment—felt somewhat suggestive.
That, for some reason, bothered her.
She spoke firmly.
“It looks incredibly undignified. If you walk around dressed like that, your vassals will think they can walk all over you. So don’t wear it.”
Varkas, looking down at her face, slowly nodded.
“I understand.”
