“My apologies. I was shortsighted.”
The butler bowed his head at once. Varkas stepped into his bedchamber without a word.
A page hurried after him. Dismissing the boy with a slight flick of his hand, Varkas sat in a chair, stripped off his armor and clothes himself, and set them aside neatly. Then he lowered himself into the bath the servants had drawn beforehand.
After a whole day in the saddle, the scent of dust and horses clung heavily to him.
He washed thoroughly in the clear water, then dressed in a dark navy doublet and woolen trousers. When he pulled on his shin-high boots and stood before the looking glass, the reflection looking back at him was impeccably groomed.
His body, hardened by years of discipline, settled effortlessly into flawless posture.
He stared for a long while at the man in the mirror—a figure that looked as though it had been cast in the Imperial Palace itself—before picking up his coat and leaving the room.
Just as he turned toward the main hall, he caught sight of a woman coming down the stairs. Recognizing her as the healer dispatched from the Imperial Palace, Varkas called out to her immediately.
“Why are you coming down from upstairs?”
The woman quickly lowered her head.
“Her Highness summoned me…”
His eyes narrowed. He had known Talia would not listen to him, yet seeing the proof with his own eyes stirred a sharp prick of irritation.
“What is Her Highness’s condition?” he asked coldly.
“She seemed better than usual, perhaps thanks to a full day of rest. Her fever has completely broken. But the pain in her leg persists…”
“Did you burn the sleeping herb again?”
Whether she caught the accusation in his tone or not, the healer’s expression hardened. Her answer sounded like an excuse.
“Her Highness suffers from severe chronic pain. Burning the sleeping herb is the best way to ease her suffering.”
His sharp gaze dug into the woman’s face.
Could he truly trust a healer sent by the Empress? Senevier treated her own daughter like a playing piece. There was no telling what plots were moving behind her back.
He watched her closely, weighing her thoughts, before giving a slight nod to dismiss her.
The woman bowed and went down the stairs at a measured pace.
Varkas watched her descent for a moment, then turned toward Talia’s bedchamber.
When he knocked on the closed door, a slightly raspy voice drifted from within.
“Come in.”
The moment he opened the door and stepped inside, a draft of cold air grazed his cheek. His brow furrowed. Contrary to his expectation of heavy medicinal smoke, the spacious room held only a faint fragrance of dried flowers and sweet grass.
Settling his churning thoughts, he cast his eyes slowly across the cluttered room.
Before long, he spotted a small figure perched on the windowsill.
Varkas started to call her name, but stopped. He could not tell what held his tongue.
Bathed in the pouring glow of the sunset, she turned her head toward him. As their eyes met, an unnamable unease tightened in his chest.
Tugging at the collar of his doublet, he strode over to her. He pulled the wide-open window shut and latched it tight, then brushed the back of his fingers against her pale, glowing cheek. It was icy cold.
“How long have you been sitting like this?”
“Like what?”
“I am asking how long you have been letting yourself freeze in the draft.”
Her eyes narrowed. As a petulant scowl took over her small face, she looked two years younger than her age.
She slapped his hand away and snapped back,
“I don’t know. What do you care?”
“What if your fever returns?”
“Then let it. What is it to you?”
His brow knit deeper. Whenever he exchanged words with this woman, conflicting impulses took hold of him. He wanted to force her to obey, yet at the same time felt a strange urge to coax her gently.
He took a step back, shaking off the peculiar sensation. As he put distance between them, some of the tension seemed to leave her stiff shoulders.
Talia hugged her knees to her chest, looked him up and down, and spoke sullenly.
“Anyway, why are you so dressed up?”
“Guests have arrived. We are holding a small banquet.”
“Guests?”
“Lords from the eastern territories. They have come to make their introductions.”
“Hmm…”
She let out a soft hum, fingering the hem of his coat. He watched her hand in silence.
After plucking at his sleeve for a while, she hesitated before asking,
“Shouldn’t I be there too?”
Varkas looked back at her. Her face was so beautiful it felt uncanny.
She was a woman who stirred the emotions of others to an extreme degree. Even he, who kept every sense under strict control, felt strange urges around her. He did not need to see it to know what kind of chaos she would invite into the hall.
He hesitated for a second, then slowly shook his head.
He could not keep her hidden forever, but at the very least, he did not want her exposed to their eyes until his grip on the East was absolute.
“There is no need. I will explain the situation to the vassals, so focus on resting for now, Your Highness.”
“…You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?”
A sudden venom seeped into her voice. Varkas, who had begun turning toward the door, paused and looked down at her.
Picking at the dry scabs on her lips, she sneered, “Are you already regretting taking a cripple for a wife?”
He clenched his fists so hard the joints ached. If he did not, he feared he might do something he would regret. Drawing a long breath, Varkas looked down at her with cold eyes until the edge of his temper subsided. At that, the hostility in her gaze sharpened further. In the quiet, the words he had been biting back finally scraped up through his throat.
“Sometimes I truly cannot tell whether you say these things to stab me, or to wound yourself…”
Her lips parted slightly, struck silent.
He looked at her guarded, distrustful face, let out a quiet sigh, and turned away.
“I will send a maid to help you dress. If you truly wish to attend, I will not stop you.”
“Forget it.”
Talia hopped down from the windowsill and snapped coldly,
“Being near you will only make my fever spike anyway.”
With that, she limped over to the bed and threw herself onto the sheets. Varkas watched her for a beat before stepping out of the room.
As he descended the stairs and entered the Great Hall, hundreds of eyes shifted toward him at once.
The assembled company rose from their seats in unison.
“Welcome, Young Family Head.”
One of the vassals standing near the entrance bowed respectfully.
Acknowledging the greeting with a slight nod, Varkas walked slowly across the hall.
High-ranking nobles in fine attire and his own kin occupied the tables at the center, while men in far humbler clothes sat along the perimeter, ringing them in.
As he walked past them toward the high table, the quiet music playing in the hall died away. He took in the gathered crowd before offering a formal greeting.
“I thank you for traveling so far to be here. Forgive our lack of hospitality.”
“Lack of hospitality? Perish the thought! This is the finest wine I have ever tasted in all my life!”
One of the men seated along the long table roared in laughter.
Varkas turned his gaze upon him. Embroidered across the ostentatious coat the man wore was the crest of a black bear—the sigil of the Gutban family, rulers of the southeast.
The man raised his goblet high, his voice deliberate and provocative.
“A gift bestowed by His Imperial Majesty is truly something else. I wonder if wretches such as us are even worthy to wet our lips with it. Is this not the reward the Young Family Head earned through a lifetime of devoted service?”
With a theatrical shout, the man threw his head back, downed the wine, and slammed the goblet onto the table with a loud crack.
“When I remember that this is the sweat and blood of our Young Family Head, this fine vintage tastes terribly bitter.”
A heavy silence dropped over the hall.
Varkas leaned back into his seat, a cold smirk touching the corner of his mouth.
“It seems you came here looking for a fight.”
END