41.
The veins on the Crown Prince’s thick neck bulged.
Seeing him ready to throw a punch at any moment, Edrick moved to stand beside Talia. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who sensed the danger; Varkas, who had been standing silent as a shadow, stepped firmly between them.
“The schedule is significantly delayed. Let us proceed with the ceremony now.”
The Second Imperial Princess stiffened, then turned her head to look at Lord Siorcan.
It lasted only a split second, but Edrick, his every nerve on high alert, perceived how her body grew rigid. It seemed even this headstrong woman knew that when Lord Siorcan turned serious, she had to tread carefully.
She clamped her mouth shut and looked away. The Crown Prince, who had been fuming as if he might explode, gritted his teeth and stepped back toward the altar.
Seeing the situation settled, the Head Priest—who had been pulling his neck in like a turtle while watching the tension—cleared his throat and resumed the ceremony.
Edrick stood a short distance away, watching as the three royals received the blessing prayer in turn.
When the Crown Prince first stepped before the altar and bowed his head, the Head Priest lifted a silver chalice, poured holy water over him, and whispered words of blessing in an ancient tongue.
Next, the First Imperial Princess and her future husband, Lord Siorcan, stepped up to the altar. Finally, Talia bowed her head before the priest.
Edrick stared at Talia, whose eyes were downcast, as if she were a stranger.
The light spilling from hundreds of candles cast a mystical radiance over her tawny-gold hair and pale skin, making her appear as a being from another dimension.
As he watched her in a daze, the priest poured holy water over her head.
The transparent stream soaked her golden, silk-like hair, ran down her smooth forehead and cheeks, traced her straight nose, and gathered at the tip of her chin.
The priest placed his hand over her, pouring his divine power into her.
“May the grace of God be with you for eternity…”
The prayer, which had felt endless, finally ceased.
As the priest rang the silver bell, the Crown Prince was the first to rise and cross the nave.
As the First Imperial Princess and Lord Siorcan followed, Talia Roem Gwirta slowly straightened. Then, with her chin held high, she strode across the nave with the bearing of a queen.
Everyone was unable to look away from her imposing figure.
The incarnation of discord. A sinister and ominous existence.
As if they had realized for the first time in that moment that the woman they had always regarded that way was, in fact, an Imperial Princess of the Empire…
* * *
Perhaps because the altitude had risen sharply, the air, which had been sweltering as a boiling bath, turned cool.
Breathing in the dry, crisp air, Talia looked up at the sky, where the sun had dipped low beyond the window.
A deep blue night was encroaching from the east. Today, too, was coming to an end without anything happening.
Her throat felt as hot as if she had swallowed a lump of fire.
Talia opened the storage box in the carriage and took out a small silver knife she had brought from the monastery. The pale-glistening blade seemed to whisper that it had grown tired of waiting.
Stashing it in her pocket, she stepped out of the carriage cautiously, and the bustling scene of the campsite came into view.
She pulled the hood of her gown over her head and scanned her surroundings. It seemed they were throwing a grand banquet to lift Gareth’s foul mood.
The servants were busier than ever, moving between tents to transport food and alcohol, and several soldiers were already heavily intoxicated.
Talia fiddled with the blade in her pocket and moistened her dry lips. She welcomed the noisy atmosphere; it would make it easier to handle the business at hand. She carefully crossed the encampment.
Just then, the Imperial Guard who had spotted her ran over, beaming.
“Your Highness!”
Talia furrowed her brows.
Why did this man wag his tail at her so persistently? His inexplicably friendly attitude made her feel repulsed.
Talia, who had been glaring at his harmless face—as if he truly harbored no dark intentions—snorted and breezed past him. Yet, the man did not back down despite her cold response.
“You must have been feeling very stifled, right? Come this way, please. The servants are preparing food. If you watch the cooking process, won’t you be able to set your mind at ease, Your Highness?”
She ignored the chatterbox guard and turned toward the sound of music.
It didn’t take long to find Gareth, who was enjoying a feast in front of a lit fire before a lavish tent.
She stopped at a distance. To lift the spirits of the Crown Prince, who sat with a sullen face, his attendants were doing everything in their power. Servants dressed as jesters performed tricks with daggers, musicians played sticky, languid tunes, and maids flirted while serving him. Watching the scene with a sneer, the Imperial Guard blocked her path.
“It would be best if you went that way.”
Talia looked up at his serious face in silence. He had worn this same expression at the temple, keeping watch by her side as if he would protect her from danger.
Talia snorted inwardly. *As if I’d fall for that.*
“Mind your own business.”
Talia snapped and changed direction, walking toward the tents lined up near the riverbank.
Her target was not Gareth to begin with. Talia tried to look as natural as possible while searching for Aila’s camp. Before long, she found her half-sister enjoying a meal, surrounded by a group of maids.
She hesitated.
Aila was surrounded by knights. To them, she was a person of interest; if she tried to approach carelessly, she would be stopped immediately.
She bit her lip nervously.
How could she approach without raising suspicion?
As she was lost in thought, the chattering Imperial Guard suddenly went quiet.
Talia lifted her eyes. The man was looking down at her with suspicion. It seemed he was questioning her behavior, which was different from usual.
She feigned a casual expression and sat on a table nearby. To divert the guard’s attention, she blurted out,
“I’m hungry. Bring me something to eat.”
The guard’s face brightened instantly. He was a man so simple it was absurd.
“Please wait just a moment! I will have it ready for you at once.”
With the annoying watcher gone, Talia rolled her eyes under her deep hood to monitor Aila again. Aila was laughing at the maids’ jokes.
Could she really end that wretched woman’s life?
Her mouth went dry. Perhaps she might be subdued by a knight before she could even try. She wouldn’t be able to brush it off as a prank then.
Fiddling with the blade, she pondered whether this deed was truly worth sacrificing her life.
Even if Aila disappeared, she would never possess Varkas. He would continue living as he always had, and she would vanish, becoming dew on the executioner’s block. The only result would be a miserable death.
*But still…*
Was watching Varkas become Aila’s husband really better than death?
While Aila, now the Grand Duchess Siorcan, bore and raised his successors, she would wither away in pain.
Perhaps she would be forced to marry a man chosen by someone else. If that happened, she would surely hang herself rather than endure the filthy touch of a man.
A body destined to die regardless of the path she chose. Perhaps it would be better to end it today, taking Aila along as her companion on the journey.
When her resolve finally hardened, Talia stood up. She tried to approach Aila’s side, but suddenly, a familiar figure caught her eye.
*That woman is…*