Talia turned toward him, her face stiffening.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It means we must stay together from now on,” he answered calmly.
“While on the tour, there will be times when I must mount my horse, but I intend to share the carriage with you as much as possible.”
She swallowed hard.
“Then our quarters…”
“We will share those as well.”
Her stomach sank. She could not tell whether it was fear or the lingering embers of feelings that had tormented her for so long.
Fingering the jade ornament at her wrist, Talia spoke with clear irritation.
“Is that really necessary?”
Varkas did not reply, and Talia instantly lashed out.
“It is not as if you were blind to what people would whisper when you took me as your wife. Now that the entire empire knows the truth behind this marriage, playing at being a doting couple will only make us look more pathetic.”
“There is no need to look happy.”
Varkas drew a slow breath.
“It is enough if we appear capable of sharing an intimate relationship.”
Talia’s bewilderment shattered into wide-eyed disbelief.
By ‘intimate relationship,’ did he mean what she thought he meant?
She stared blankly into his impassive face, devoid of even a shred of lust, while he continued in that same even voice.
“Regardless of how it came to pass, we are husband and wife. Your Highness surely knows the obligations expected of noble blood. Appearing as an ordinary couple will protect your standing no less than my own.”
Blood rushed to Talia’s face until she burned scarlet. He truly had meant what she had imagined.
Senseless words spilled past her trembling lips.
“So what you mean is… we need to make it look as if we sleep together?”
Faint creases gathered at the corners of his eyes. It was a peculiar expression, resting somewhere between an amused twitch and a grimace.
“To put it bluntly, yes.”
Talia bit her lip hard, slowly tracing him from head to toe.
Beneath the thin, gleaming silk, the lines of his lean, muscular frame were laid bare.
Broad shoulders, a chest knit with tight, tempered muscle, a lean waist, and legs long and sinewy as a courser’s…
Her breath hitched, and she looked down in a rush. Through the light silk of her skirt, the gaunt outline of her own legs was faintly visible.
Her stomach twisted violently. It was a scar so hideous that her own mother had turned away in revulsion. Even the wet nurse who had reared her from infancy could never hide her distress whenever she bathed Talia’s body.
The mere thought of laying such grotesque flesh bare before him brought a cold sweat to her skin.
She twisted the skirt in her fists, her voice turning shrill.
“I will not. Let them wag their tongues. People will talk regardless; mouths exist to prattle. Why must I stage such a humiliating farce just to mind the servants’ eyes—”
“Talia.”
A broad hand settled over her clenched fingers. Talia flinched, looking up at him.
Varkas clasped her ice-cold hand firmly, his gaze resolute.
“I am not asking you to stage a performance.”
· · ·
“It is enough for the public to know we share our days together.”
His words sounded more like an entreaty than a command. That alone choked off the refusal swelling in her throat.
With wavering eyes, Talia searched his face, noting the faint exhaustion etched into it. Considering the old Duke’s hostility, Varkas’s own footing could not be entirely secure. While she had remained secluded in her bedchamber, he had likely been driving himself without rest to consolidate his hold.
Her mouth went dry. Had Ayla been here, she would have rolled up her sleeves for him. With her innate grace and unshakeable poise, she would have fortified his authority effortlessly.
He would never have needed to ask this of her. The two of them would have shared a wedding night without hesitation and slipped into married life as naturally as breathing.
Talia bit her lower lip, crushed under wave after wave of self-loathing. How would Varkas have treated Ayla? If he could show this much leniency to Talia, whom he had once regarded like an enemy, he would have been gentler still with Ayla.
Just as he now reached for Talia at every turn, he would have touched Ayla’s flesh without hesitation. She imagined him cupping Ayla’s cheek, tracing her ear, sliding an arm around her waist. In her mind’s eye, the two went further still. The deeper the vision cut, the more her chest burned as if scorched by lye.
Talia ripped her hand from his grasp. She threw her gaze out the window, desperately choking back the venom rising in her chest.
“Do as you please.”
A stifling silence descended between them. She wanted to read his face, but some cowardly impulse kept her eyes averted.
Proping her elbow against the sill, Talia feigned interest in the cavalry outside.
Before long, with the sharp blare of a horn, the carriage lurched forward.
Talia leaned toward the open window. As the wheels rolled past the fortress gates, an endless expanse of earth unrolled before her. A wild wind swept over the plains that met the sky.
Watching the grass blur into streaks of pale ocher, she risked a glance at him.
Varkas was gazing out at the vast land as well. The brilliant glare of the sun cast his profile in sharp, dazzling relief.
A nameless ache tightened her throat.
Across this raw, alien expanse, she had to endure his company day and night.
Would she truly be able to defend the ramparts she had built around herself?
Lucas cracked the reins without hesitation.
It was his first proper ride in nearly a week. Turgan, who had been cooped up and sour-tempered for days, snorted loudly as he tore across the plains.
Lucas could feel the courser’s thick muscles bunching and surging between his thighs.
Rising in the stirrups, he let out a wild shout. The dry wind lashed his skin, raw and terribly invigorating.
“Do not break formation!”
Tyrone, who had spurred his horse to catch up, shouted. Lucas threw an irritated glare over his shoulder.
“What is the harm in a short run!”
“I barely persuaded him to let you come along under the pretext of instilling retainer’s discipline! What does it make me look like if you run wild the moment we clear the gate?”
Lucas clicked his tongue and reined in. Once the horse’s frantic gait settled into a trot, Tyrone pulled alongside him and closed the gap.
“As I told you, you are serving as His Grace’s squire for this tour. Keep close to the carriage.”
“You don't understand anything. I'm doing this for my brother's sake,” Lucas said, dripping sarcasm.
“Brother would hate having me hovering around him even more, wouldn’t he? And that woman would be no happier.”
He spoke with a barbed edge, casting a look back toward the carriage as it crept over a distant rise.
The cheek that woman had struck still seemed to itch. The angry red welt had taken two full days to fade.
He scowled.
“You saw what that woman did to me that day.”
“I also saw you burying your nose in the back of her neck.”
Lucas stiffened, his face flushing crimson.
“Put it like that and you make me sound like an absolute pervert! I only smelled something strange and went to check!”
“…No matter how you phrase it, you sound like a pervert,” Tyrone said, shaking his head.
“His Grace was right. You both need to learn the manners befitting nobility. You ran too wild under the excuse of the former Duke’s illness.”
Lucas glared at him, resentful. It grated on him how neatly Tyrone was aligning himself with Varkas.
“You’ve completely bent the knee to my brother, haven’t you?”
Tyrone made no effort to deny it. He had evidently sworn himself to Varkas as his lord.
And it was not just Tyrone. While the conservative elders fretted over Varkas’s aggressive maneuvers, the younger, hot-blooded warriors welcomed him with open enthusiasm. They had all been starving for a resolute master.
To tell the truth, Lucas himself had been half-awed by the overwhelming force Varkas had brought to bear. But his pride would not let him admit it so easily.
“Fine. I admit I went too far. But that woman is hardly blameless either! Why are we the only ones being taken to task?”
“She belongs to the Imperial house,” Tyrone said flatly.
“Moreover, she is now the Grand Duchess. You had better mind your tongue from now on. You heard what Sir Daren said earlier, did you not?”
He drew a fingertip across his own throat in a clean, slicing motion.
“She did not bat an eye while pouring venom directly into the old Duke’s face. A woman like that could flay someone like you with nothing but her words. So if you care about keeping the peace in the East, do not go prodding her temper for sport.”
END