At his blunt answer, Talia arched an eyebrow.
She could not tell if he was humoring her because arguing felt tedious, or if he simply did not care enough about his clothes to object.
Talia studied his expressionless face as if trying to pull it apart, but her shoulders soon slumped in frustration.
“Sometimes, being around you makes me feel like I’m going to burst.”
He did not react to the provocation.
The stretching silence only frayed her nerves further.
Talia pulled the duvet to her chin and turned away.
“Just go.”
“I will leave once you take your medicine.”
“I’m not taking it, so get out.”
“I will leave once I have seen you drink it and confirmed you are well.”
“I told you, I’m not drinking it!”
When she whipped back around in a temper, his pale eyes, flecked with gold, caught hers.
He drew a chair to the bedside, sat down, and spoke without hurry.
“If you insist on being stubborn, I will force it down you.”
Talia froze.
Memories of their wedding night rushed back through her mind.
That hazy haze of recollection—where she still could not tell dream from reality—replayed with sharp clarity.
Was Varkas remembering that night as well?
A light sweat broke out above her lip.
Unable to stomach the strange tension hanging between them, Talia made a clumsy turn in the conversation.
“Have you been drinking?”
“A little.”
He leaned back against the chair, answering flatly.
Watching him guardedly, Talia snapped with even sharper bite.
“If you’ve been drinking, wash up and go to sleep. Why come into someone else’s room to be a nuisance?”
“Not enough to be drunk. There was a welcoming feast, so I kept them company for a short while.”
After the indifferent reply, he unclasped the heavy ornaments bound around his arm and set them on the shelf.
Talia, who had been watching him, asked tentatively,
“Did no one complain that I didn't show my face?”
“Who would dare question you?”
A crease formed between his brows.
“Your Highness holds the highest rank in this castle. There is no one here whose opinion you need to humor.”
“Who said I cared? I was just curious.”
Talia grumbled, glaring at him.
It rang absurd coming from a man who had never treated her like an imperial princess himself.
Just as she opened her mouth to tell him to mind his own business, a knock came at the door.
“Young Family Head, I have brought the medicine.”
“Come in.”
The door opened, and a petite maid stepped inside.
Varkas took the bottle from her hands and sent her away.
Talia watched the bottle in his grip, her muscles tightening.
A strange knot formed in her stomach.
Her throat stung as she swallowed hard while he swirled the bottle before her eyes.
“Drink.”
Talia’s gaze darted between the small blue glass bottle and his face.
If she refused, would he kiss her like he had that night?
The stray thought seized her chest.
When she looked away, flustered, he leaned forward and asked quietly,
“Will you not take it?”
Her face burned.
If she kept resisting, he might see straight through her thoughts.
Her hands trembled as she snatched the bottle from him.
“I’ll drink it. Fine!”
As if putting on a show of defiance, she uncorked it and tipped the bitter extract into her mouth.
The acrid liquid felt as though it scalded her tongue before sliding down her throat.
Talia broke into a dry cough, tears springing to her eyes. It was the most foully bitter draft she had ever tasted.
“What is this supposed to be?”
“Medicine prepared by the Shearkan family healer,” he said, pouring a glass of sweet cider from the shelf and offering it to her. “From now on, a healer from the estate will oversee your care.”
Talia took the glass and gulped down the sweet drink, then glared at him in disbelief.
“On whose authority? I already have my own healer. A senior mage trained by House Taren has been treating me—”
“All that healer did was burn dream-grass and cast basic mending spells. You would never have recovered under that care.”
Talia’s eyes narrowed.
The healer attending her was a skilled practitioner personally chosen by Senevier.
Did he honestly believe a Khan shaman, who knew only ancient charms, could rival a mage of House Taren? Or did he have another motive entirely?
Suspicion hardening in her stare, Talia spoke coldly.
“No. I will be treated by the mage my mother sent. How am I supposed to trust anyone here? It’s plain enough that everyone hates me…”
His lips tightened into a thin line.
“What makes you think that?”
“Do you take me for a fool? House Shearkan backs the Crown Prince. There is no way anyone here is pleased that I took Ayla’s place and married you.”
Her voice dripped with spite.
“For all I know, they might poison me.”
“Talia Roem Shearkan.”
The quiet name cut across the room like cold iron.
Talia flinched. Far more than the foreign surname fastened to hers, the low edge of warning froze her thoughts.
He went on, stiff and unyielding.
“I intend to indulge most of your whims. But do not cross the line.”
The chilling tone struck a match to her temper.
She hurled the glass in her hand at him.
“Who asked you to indulge me?!”
The sweet cider soaked dark across his chest.
A heavy, suffocating silence fell.
Varkas drew a long breath and slowly stood.
Startled, Talia shrank into the corner of the bed. Varkas looked down at her for a moment, then shook his head.
“Why do something that frightens you so much?”
Heat rushed to Talia’s face in humiliation.
He brushed lightly at the liquid dripping from his clothes and spoke without heat.
“Throwing a tantrum will not change anything this time. A new healer will examine you tomorrow.”
“I said I don’t want to!”
He paid her no mind as he walked toward the door.
Talia shouted at his back.
“Liar! You just said I held the highest rank in this castle! Why do you get to do whatever you please?”
“Even if you heed no one else, you should listen to your husband.”
Varkas stopped at the doorway, looking back as if humoring an unreasonable child.
“Have I not listened to you?”
As if to prove it, he shed the loose outer robe and draped it over his forearm.
Talia stared, her mouth slightly open.
Turning the door handle, he added evenly,
“Get some sleep. You need several days of rest to recover from the road.”
Talia hurled a pillow after him, but she was too late; he had already stepped through and closed the door.
Staring blankly at the bundle of cloth on the floor, Talia collapsed back onto the bed.
Why was it that this marriage felt like she was the one being tormented instead of him? A bitter wave of indignation washed over her.
The next morning, Talia woke feeling surprisingly clearheaded.
Perhaps because she had slept through most of the previous day, the ache in her legs was lighter than usual.
Rubbing the haze from her eyes, Talia sat up, glanced at the brilliant blue sky beyond the window, and rang the bedside bell.
Moments later, a stern-faced, middle-aged woman entered alongside a much younger maid.
“Greetings, Your Highness. Forgive us for not presenting ourselves sooner.”
The older woman spoke first.
“I am Aretha, head maid of this castle. This is Brisa, the personal maid who will attend Your Highness from today on.”
When Aretha gave the arm of the bewildered girl a tug, Brisa hurried to bow her head.
END