25.
“I am always keeping Your Highness in my thoughts.”
Varkas spoke in a tone so polished it was difficult for the Crown Prince to find fault.
“I only meant that since the Imperial Princess is resting comfortably, you need not worry. Please, do not take offense.”
Gareth glared at Varkas with annoyance before stepping into the spacious hall. Getting worked up over this stone-like man would only make him look ridiculous.
He clicked his tongue and crossed the hall, which was decorated as lavishly as any noble’s banquet room.
“Thank you for attending, Your Imperial Highness.”
As he approached the long table draped in a snow-white cloth, the Abbot scrambled up to welcome him.
“Come, please, take a seat.”
Gareth sat in the spot the Abbot vacated and scanned the table. It seemed the Abbot had no intention of feigning a life of poverty; the surface was laden with silver cutlery, golden goblets, and dishes seasoned with an array of expensive spices.
Scanning the room with a satisfied gaze, Gareth gestured toward the dozen or so priests surrounding the table.
“I am grateful for such a welcome. Now, let us be seated.”
No sooner had he spoken than the monks pulled back their chairs in unison. Only Varkas, who had attended as an escort, remained standing behind him like a shadow.
Curious eyes darted toward him. They seemed startled by the imposing, extraordinary presence of the Commander-in-chief of the Roem Knights.
Gareth narrowed his eyes.
It was nothing unusual; Varkas always drew more attention than necessary. Nevertheless, Gareth felt a prickle of irritation. It was a tedious experience, having this man in his company, but the displeasure never seemed to fade.
Trying not to reveal his mood, he raised his goblet high.
“I express my gratitude to the Abbot for preparing such an enjoyable gathering.”
The priests’ gazes shifted back to him. Relishing the focus, Gareth paused for a moment before continuing.
“Hoping this time will be of meaningful significance to everyone…”
Just as he was about to conclude his congratulatory speech with flowery rhetoric, a golden phantom intruded into his field of vision. Gareth stared at the entrance of the hall, frozen.
For a moment, he thought the nightmare herself, Talia Roem Gwirta, had appeared.
He gripped his goblet fiercely and raked his eyes over his half-sister. She clearly didn’t understand the rules of monastic modesty; Talia Roem Gwirta was dressed so gorgeously she would have stood out at an Imperial banquet. She looked remarkably cheap and vulgar for it.
He gritted his teeth in contempt. Walking slowly toward the table, Talia revealed the fresh, not-yet-fully-matured curves of her body through the thin hem of her dress.
The monks looked as though they might faint. Some stared with mouths agape, appearing utterly bewitched. Unable to contain his rage, Gareth jumped to his feet.
“How dare you… in a place like this, dressed like that!”
Wine sloshed over the rim of the cup he had slammed down. He pointed a finger at her, not even bothering to wipe his soaked hand.
“Did you not hear my warning not to appear before me?”
“Oh, of course I heard it.”
The girl, who had pulled out the chair right next to him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, wore a coquettish smile.
“Brother said he wanted to see me, so how could I stay away? Unable to resist the earnest request of the great Crown Prince, I have even groomed myself with such care.”
She ran a hand down her dress for all to see. Gareth glared at her, incredulous.
“What kind of nonsense…”
“Surely you don’t mean to tell me you don’t know my perverse nature? Sending the Commander-in-chief of the Roem Knights himself to deliver those words—wasn’t that your way of saying you were dying to see your younger sister?”
Her cobalt eyes, untainted by any impurities, narrowed wickedly.
“Since the Crown Prince has requested it so earnestly, I must, as a younger sister, naturally live up to your expectations.”
He had to muster every ounce of self-restraint to keep from striking her. As if to provoke him further, Talia continued slowly.
“Ah, it’s nice to see Brother’s face like this. Are you enjoying yourself, Brother?”
“……I was enjoying myself until you showed up.”
At his words, spat out through gritted teeth, Talia burst into laughter.
“Then it was worth the trouble of coming here with my tired body.”
Gareth clenched his jaw until he felt he might crack a bone. Every time she laughed like that, it was hard to resist the impulse to crush that strangely beautiful face. Clenching his fists so tightly his shoulders trembled, Gareth spoke as if chewing on every word.
“Just how much more do you intend to play around? Are you testing how long I can tolerate you?”
“Oh, what a hurtful thing to say…”
The girl leaned in, placing her elbows on the table. The candlelight poured over her thin, protruding shoulder blades. The monks’ eyes were fixed on her exquisite, ivory-carved form.
Viper of a woman. Swept by intense disgust, Gareth breathed roughly. Sensing his anger had reached its limit, the corners of Talia’s mouth curled upward.
“I merely accepted your invitation. I don’t know why you’re fuming as if I’ve done something wrong. Don’t you think it’s a bit much to treat your adorable youngest sister this way?”
She turned toward the Abbot, as if seeking an ally. The monk’s face stiffened in embarrassment. Finding the reaction amusing, the girl curved her eyes in an alluring, harlot-like display that made Gareth’s stomach turn. He grabbed her arm roughly.
“It seems you’re in heat; if you need a bed partner, pick one from among your own attendants. Don’t think about playing games with the monks… If you soil the name of the Imperial family with filthy scandals, I will make sure you cannot walk around with that pretty face ever again.”
At his chilling threat, the girl’s eyes flashed.
“And just how do you plan to do that?”
Talia, who had tilted her head forward as if spoiling for a fight, spat out sharply.
“Because Brother says it like that, I’m simply dying to live up to your expectations.”
He couldn’t take it anymore. He reached out to twist her thin, delicate neck.
At that moment, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
“Your Highness.”
Gareth flinched and jerked his head up. Varkas Laedgo Siorcan was looking down at him with a tranquil face.
It was that same emotionless mask, devoid of a single trace of sentiment. Yet, for a split second, Gareth felt as if he were being threatened. Even though that was impossible.
“Everyone is waiting for Your Highness’s congratulatory speech.”
Varkas pressed down firmly on Gareth’s shoulder, a silent command not to be drawn into Talia’s game.
Gareth shook the hand off roughly, his fingertips trembling with the violence he hadn’t been able to release. Clenching his fists to hide it, he glared at the girl.
Talia Roem Gwirta was clearly doing this on purpose. He must not be swayed. Repeating this to himself to calm his seething rage, Gareth let go of her arm as if discarding trash. He picked up his glass and shouted, his voice a strained performance.
“I have wasted time with useless bickering. Now, let us eat. Once again, I express my gratitude to the Abbot for preparing such a fine gathering… I wish for today to be a meaningful day for everyone.”
The monks, who had been watching the exchange with frozen expressions, hesitantly lifted their glasses. Only Talia sat with her arms crossed, watching the scene with a sneer.
Just as his temper flared again, Varkas leaned over Talia’s head.
“Please maintain the basic etiquette of a guest, Imperial Princess.”
He gently pried the girl’s hand open and placed the silver goblet into it. Talia stiffened, startled by the contact, and glared at him with venomous eyes.
Gareth thought she would throw the glass. Because they had clashed since childhood, Talia was particularly desperate to get under Varkas’s skin.
However, contrary to his expectations, Talia—who had been glaring like a poisoned cat—soon straightened her posture. Gareth narrowed his eyes. It was unlike her to back down from a warning. Was she not the girl who ran wild without boundaries? It would have been more like her to foam at the mouth and lunge at him rather than submit to Varkas’s pressure.
‘What kind of scheme is she hiding?’