34.
— — —
The door would not budge.
Talia, having rattled the doorknob until her grip burned, realized the latch had been secured from the inside and gritted her teeth.
‘Damn you, Aila…….’
The rage she had been stifling all night surged, hot and volatile, threatening to shatter her composure. She gnashed her teeth against her own blood-crusted lips, glaring at the unyielding wood before turning on her heel.
Perhaps it was for the best. To act impulsively without preparation was a fool’s errand; she would only be throwing her life away in vain. She needed to be clinical, precise. She would bide her time; the road ahead was long, and opportunity would eventually reveal itself.
Regulating her ragged breathing, she moved swiftly through the corridor. She was heading toward the stairs when a sharp, clattering sound echoed through the gloom.
She ducked instinctively behind a pillar.
As the faint, grey light of dawn began to seep into the hallway, a shadow stretched across the floor. Talia held her breath, peering cautiously around the stone. A woman with a slender frame stood before the door adjacent to her own room.
Talia narrowed her eyes. It was a middle-aged attendant, her dark brown hair pulled back, her features deliberately plain. It took a moment for the realization to click: this was one of the servants assigned to her by her mother.
The woman closed the door with agonizing care, pulled a deep, dark brown hood over her head, and slipped into the shadows of the hallway without a sound. Talia followed, moving like a ghost.
The woman exited the building, her feet making rhythmic, agile prints in the muddy dirt path. Her poise was unmistakable; she had clearly received intelligence training. After casting a wary glance around the yard, she stopped near the pavilion behind the main building.
Talia watched from behind an arcade pillar, her muscles coiled. The attendant paced nervously, then suddenly straightened, her gaze darting toward the darkness. A man in a black priest’s cassock emerged.
Talia’s eyes widened. She recognized him—one of the monks from the banquet.
The monk, a man in his forties, drew a small medicine bottle from his chest. The attendant took it, checked the contents with a quick flicker of a lid, and shoved it deep into the sleeve of her robe. Without a word, she turned and retreated.
Talia scrambled back toward the living quarters, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She burst into her bedroom and slammed the door, her legs giving way until she crumpled to the floor. She pressed her back against the wood, listening to the heavy silence outside. A moment later, she heard the distant click of another door closing.
Talia swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry.
What had she just witnessed? Who was that monk? An accomplice to her mother’s secret schemes? If so, what was in that bottle—poison?
She forced herself to breathe, though her throat felt constricted by an invisible cord. If it were standard poison, they would have no need for such clandestine methods. This was likely something forbidden, something that could never be brought into the capital by normal means.
‘What on earth are they plotting?’
She ran through a dozen frantic guesses, but the puzzle pieces refused to settle into a coherent image. Yet, one truth remained: something monumental was coming.
Imperial Princess Talia Roem Gwirta never failed to achieve her ends. If her mother had decided to eliminate her long-standing obstacles, the Crown Prince was already a ghost. And if fortune favored her, Aila would vanish from this world as well.
A thrill, sharp and electric, raced through her veins. Talia allowed a slow, satisfied smile to bloom on her lips.
* * *
The long, tedious journey resumed.
The escort, a sprawling column of hundreds of knights and infantry, moved in silence beneath a brutal, white-hot sun. At this pace, they would cross the border of the former Osiria Kingdom in ten days.
Edrick Lubon, having measured the distance on a crumpled map, glanced at the carriage. It sat in the center of the line, silent and stifling as a coffin.
As always, the Imperial Princess had drawn the heavy curtains shut, refusing to emerge.
He guided his horse toward the carriage, watching the faint, still shadows behind the fabric. The heat was so oppressive that even the horses were heaving with exhaustion. He worried she might be found boiled to death in that sweltering, airless box.
“Your Highness, perhaps you should air the carriage out for a moment?”
“……Get lost.”
Edrick exhaled. At least she was still alive.
He sighed and rode toward the vanguard, where the Crown Prince sat atop his Mount Nornek golden horse. Gareth looked wretched, his face flushed a violent, blotchy red as he barked irritably at Lord Siorcan, demanding to know when they would stop.
‘This is going to be a long journey.’
The terrain ahead was nothing but scorched, rugged wasteland and mountain trails. Would the pampered Crown Prince truly endure such grueling conditions?
Edrick shook his head and pulled his horse alongside Varkas.
The Grand Duke ignored the Crown Prince’s whining, his eyes fixed on the horizon with a cold, analytical gaze. He seemed utterly indifferent to the fact that the next master of the Empire was currently hurling insults at his back.
Admiring such chilling composure, Edrick spoke with practiced caution.
“Lord Siorcan, the men are flagging in this heat. It is a bit early, but perhaps we should find a place to rest?”
Varkas turned his head.
Edrick stiffened. He had never seen the man raise his voice or lose his cool, yet simply standing in Varkas’s presence triggered a visceral sense of pressure.
Edrick swallowed and added, his voice faltering, “Forgive me if I’ve overstepped. The rear is lagging quite a bit……”
“There is a lake half a *gak* ahead. We will break there.”
Varkas cut him off. Edrick stood frozen for a second before bowing his head. The Crown Prince, watching the exchange with a sneer, shouted, “You wouldn’t even pretend to hear me, but you take the advice of a mere fledgling?”
“I was silent because no response was necessary, but I have been listening to your Highness’s words with equal attention.”
“Who gave you the right to decide what is necessary!”
Gareth’s voice boomed, sharp enough to make Edrick’s eardrums throb.
Edrick suppressed the urge to scoff, turning his horse back toward the rear. It was truly a miracle that the Crown Prince, notorious for his volcanic temper, was nothing more than a petulant child in the presence of the Grand Duke.
‘……I dread to think what will happen when Lord Siorcan leaves.’
Once Varkas Laedgo Siorcan departed for the East, accompanied by the First Imperial Princess, only Gareth and Talia would remain in the Imperial Palace. The thought of the Imperial Knights being left at the mercy of those two made Edrick’s head spin. He let out a weary sigh and returned to the side of Talia’s carriage.
A moment later, a whistle signaled the break.
Edrick brought his horse to a halt, ordering his men to pitch tents. The knights scrambled to set up simple field covers, creating a pocket of shade in the unforgiving sun.
He stopped beside the carriage and tapped gently on the window.
“We are stopping for a break. Please, come out.”
“…….”
“How long do you intend to be pointlessly stubborn? You’ve been locked in there all day. You’ll collapse.”
He spoke with a feigned roughness, prepared to drag her out if he had to, but the carriage remained silent.
Edrick frowned. Had she actually collapsed?
An ominous shiver went down his spine. He reached out and pulled the door open with force. A rush of air, heavy with a sweet, cloying mix of honey and milk, hit his face—hot as a sauna.
Edrick squinted into the dim interior, his breath catching in his throat as he discovered the Imperial Princess slumped limply on the floor.