Yet the man’s glistening pupils remained fixed on her face. He stared down at her with an expression tangled in confusion, rage, and a strange, feverish heat, then muttered under his breath.
“Just who the hell are you…?”
“Can’t you tell by looking?”
Talia sneered, tilting her chin up.
“I’m that ‘wicked-to-the-core illegitimate brat’ you were blathering about.”
The man’s face flushed a deep crimson. As the truth finally took hold, his eyes, clouded with shock, snapped back into focus.
He blew out a hot breath, his voice rising in agitation.
“Even so, this is outrageous! I am a knight and a nobleman! Where in the world does anyone treat a noble like this…!”
“And where in the world is there a law that allows you to publicly insult the Imperial Family?”
Talia cut him off, her lips curling sharply.
“You openly insulted an imperial princess and committed insubordination against your future liege. You would have no right to complain even if your head rolled for this. You should be grateful it ended with a splash of wine.”
“I was merely offering candid advice born of loyalty…!”
“Save the barking for the dogs.”
She pressed him relentlessly, her eyes gleaming with venom.
“Loyalty? Candid advice? Don’t make me laugh. You were only venting your petty frustrations at random.”
As though struck by the raw malice rolling off her, the man flinched and took a step back.
Talia watched him with contempt, then spoke in that soft, melodic voice she used whenever she meant to tear into someone.
“If you find Ayla so tragic and pitiable, why not run to her and comfort her yourself? Who knows? Perhaps the perfect princess, so adored by the entire Empire, will grant you her grace.”
She dragged her eyes slowly from his head to his boots, then let out a dry, flippant laugh.
“No, wait—you won’t do. My sister is surprisingly particular about faces.”
The man’s face went violently red.
Varkas watched in silence as the heat in the man’s eyes shifted into venomous hostility.
Fascination curdling into enmity; desire quickly replaced by rage. Most men reacted that way upon meeting her. Veins bulged in the whites of his eyes as the man leaned forward, looking ready to pounce at any second.
He had been patient long enough.
Varkas pulled the hood over her head, cupped the back of her small skull, and drew her firmly against his chest. Talia let out a startled gasp, her hands pushing at him in vain.
Holding her fast as she tried to wrench away, he studied the man’s face. Though the man fumed with humiliation, he looked desperate—almost crazed—to tear the woman from Varkas’s arms.
Grinding his teeth with wide, glaring eyes, the man roared.
“Hand her over this instant! I will not let such an insult stand!”
“And if you don’t let it stand, what then? Will you draw your blade against me? Or perhaps—”
Talia, who had been shouting back at the man while trying to shove Varkas’s arm away, suddenly cut herself off. She seemed to have finally caught the grim chill settling over him.
Varkas tucked her head deeper under the hood to hide her upturned face, then surveyed the hall.
Most looked stunned, though more than a few watched with naked curiosity. Several others wore open hostility.
His plan to slowly bend the vassals to his will and build an unshakeable foundation had already shattered.
Swallowing a sigh, he looked back at the massive man.
“I find myself repeating my wife’s question. What do you intend to do if you don’t let it stand?”
“I will have an apology for the insult I have suffered!”
Varkas stroked his chin, feigning deliberation.
Alec Gutban held considerable sway across the southeast. Among the Khan people, who worshipped martial prowess above all else, many followed him blindly.
Commanding hundreds of fierce cavalry and entrenched as a lord in his own right, he likely presumed he could handle a greenhorn in his twenties however he liked.
Making such a scene the moment Varkas returned was an obvious bid to seize the upper hand.
Varkas’s mouth twisted.
“You insist on an apology?”
“I do! I demand a formal apology before everyone present for insulting and mocking me!”
“What do you think?”
Varkas looked down, putting the question to Talia.
“Do you have any intention of granting his demand?”
Betrayal flared instantly in her eyes. Beneath the chandelier light, the deep blue irises that always seemed to scrape at his very depths shimmered with fury.
“Never. I would sooner bite off my own tongue!”
“There is your answer.”
When Varkas turned his cold gaze back to the man, he found a murky malice gathering in those bloodshot eyes.
The man spat his reply.
“In that case, Young Family Head, you will apologize on your wife’s behalf. One way or another, I will have satisfaction for the insult I have endured.”
Sharp intakes of breath rippled across the room. Even those who had wished to test Varkas seemed startled by the insolence of the demand.
Varkas paused, his mouth parting slowly. An urgent hand caught him before he could speak.
Looking down, he saw her bloodless face and frowned. Talia gripped his arm tightly, her voice cracking.
“Don’t. If you apologize, I will never forgive you!”
That familiar churning coiled tight in his gut. Before, he had assumed it was annoyance. Now, the thought struck him that it was something entirely different.
He pulled her hand away and took a slow step toward the man. Gutban’s eyes remained glued to her. Blocking that gaze, Varkas spoke softly to the face reeking of heavy wine.
“We are men of the East, are we not? If there is something you want, you take it by force.”
“What are you getting at…?”
Deep suspicion crossed the man’s heavy, flushed face. Varkas added calmly.
“Let us settle this by the old ways. A duel. If you win, I will offer you a formal apology before everyone.”
A sharp murmur broke out across the banquet hall.
Instead of leaping at the challenge, the man hesitated, casting a wary look over Varkas. It occurred to Varkas that half of this brute’s bluster had been calculated posturing.
After weighing him with shrewd eyes, the man finally spoke.
“Do you even know what a duel means out here? A duel in this land is not like the petty games played in the Imperial Palace. To us, a duel is a fight to the death where lives are pledged.”
Talia gasped and yanked hard at his coat. Ignoring her, he answered flatly.
“Are you afraid?”
Thick veins bulged across the man’s broad forehead. After raking Varkas with open disdain, he let out a scoff.
“Your spine, at least, belongs to the East.”
“Your answer?”
“Fine. I accept.”
The moment the words fell, the hall erupted into a roar.
Varkas gestured toward Daren, who stood frozen in disbelief at the sudden turn.
“Ready the horses and armor.”
“The sun has already gone down. If we wait until dawn tomorrow—”
“Why drag it out?”
Cutting Daren off, Varkas looked up at the massive man, his gaze a provocation.
“The Khan learn to fight in the saddle before they can walk. Does the dark bother you?”
“Not in the least,” the man snarled. “Hey! Bring my armor and weapons at once!”
“Lord Gutban, please, calm yourself. Let us discuss this tomorrow—”
When a young aide stepped in to plead with him, the man threw a fist across the boy’s face.
“Do not make me say it twice!”
Clutching his bloody nose, the aide scrambled from the hall.
A feverish heat surged through the crowd. Gutban was visibly fired up as well, grinding out every word.
“The duel will take place before all present. If I win, you will press your head into the dirt and apologize on the spot. For a contest where lives are staked, that much reward is only fair, is it not?”
“Var—Varkas!”
Talia, who had stood frozen by the madness spinning out of control, threw herself in front of him.
He finally looked down at her. Talia whispered, her voice shrinking to a frail plea.
“I—I will apologize… I’ll do it, so… do not do something reckless.”
The tremor in her voice clawed viciously at his ribs. He pulled her hood forward to conceal her face completely, then looked back at the man with cold, hollow eyes.
“Very well. Have it your way.”
The man’s grin widened, brimming with certainty of his triumph.
Alec Gutban licked his lips like a bear over its prey. “And what will you demand if you win, Young Family Head?”
Just then, servants hurried into the hall bearing armor. Varkas took a gauntlet from an attendant boy and tilted his head. His voice sounded cold even to himself.
“I have nothing to ask of you.”
Fitting his hand into the iron plate, Varkas finished slowly.
“Because if I win, you will never speak again.”
END