39.
Varkas reached the carriage in an instant, tossing her onto the seat as if she were a discarded weight.
Talia rubbed her aching back, glaring at him with eyes full of venom. She froze, however, when she saw his face; it had hardened into a menacing, unfamiliar mask. Varkas looked down at her, his expression testing the very limits of his patience, and spoke through gritted teeth.
“Did I not warn you against causing more trouble?”
Her hesitation lasted only a second before she met his gaze with a defiant stare.
“Why should I listen to you? Who do you think you are?”
“Anything is better than a princess in name only.”
A cold sneer tugged at the corner of Varkas’s lips.
Talia, choking on her own indignation, sprang to her feet. She wanted nothing more than to slap that arrogant expression off his face, but Varkas was faster. He leaned over her, pinning her arms so she couldn’t move, and stared down at her with dry, hollow eyes. His gaze—devoid of even a shred of pity—swept over her bloodshot cheeks and the neck that surely bore the dark, ugly marks of his violence.
A sigh, heavy with exhaustion, escaped his lips.
“Do you truly not know any better, acting out like this? No one here will protect you. If His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince decides to act, no one can guarantee your life.”
“Why do you care?” Talia cried out sharply. “Aren’t you the one who would feel most relieved if I disappeared from this world?”
“I cannot deny it.”
Even though it was the answer she expected, the words hit with the sharp sting of a fresh blade to her heart.
He continued, his tone cruelly calm. “However, I cannot allow the Crown Prince’s standing to be jeopardized because of you. If you are intent on self-destruction, I suggest you do it with your own hands.”
Talia forced her stinging, heated eyelids to remain open.
He slowly stood up. The sharp tension in his face had already vanished, replaced by the stoic, impenetrable mask of a knight. He added in a businesslike tone, “For now, I will summon a healer. After you have recovered, be sure to rest.”
Talia grabbed a wine glass from the floor and hurled it at him. The silver goblet struck his chest and clattered to the ground. Varkas shot her a look of utter disgust and walked out of the carriage.
Talia slammed the door shut. The tears she had desperately held back finally spilled over. She covered her mouth, fearing her sobs would carry through the thin walls. The cry caught in her throat, tightening her chest until she felt she might suffocate right there.
* * *
At the peak of Ulgram Hill stood a white temple, said to have been built by Emperor Darian to commemorate the independence of Osiria.
Pilgrims stopped before it, staring up at the magnificent, snow-white structure with awe. Despite the long passage of time, the temple remained almost perfectly preserved. They gazed upon the prayers carved into the walls and the statues of ancient heroes, falling into a state of religious ecstasy.
The Crown Prince, however, seemed to feel no such inspiration from the artifacts of his ancestors. Gareth leaped nimbly from his saddle, scanned the arched entrance with indifferent eyes, and asked, “Is this the second holy site?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Highness.” One of his attendants replied, his voice trembling.
Knowing his mood had been hitting rock bottom since the previous day, the servants kept their heads bowed, careful not to draw his attention. Only Varkas maintained his usual composure.
“It is said that there are no resident priests here. We shall prepare the ritual ourselves,” Varkas said, approaching the Crown Prince.
Gareth, who had been glaring at him with a strange, hostile intensity, turned sharply. “Then don’t dawdle. Get on with it.”
No sooner had the order been given than the attendants began to unload the baggage. The entourages of the First and Second Imperial Princesses, who had arrived late, joined in. While soldiers erected tents, servants began taking out incense burners, holy plates, silver kettles, and candlesticks, polishing them until they shone. Once the rough preparations were finished, the maids moved to assist the Crown Prince and the First Imperial Princess with their attire.
Edrick watched the scene from a distance, then approached the carriage where Talia was locked away. If she were to participate in the ritual, he needed to tell her to dress accordingly. But strangely, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He stared at the tightly closed door, scratching the back of his neck. When the memory of the previous evening crossed his mind, his stomach twisted.
He lifted his arm to knock, but let it drop powerlessly, his gaze shifting to the Crown Prince’s tent. Servants were busy setting up a large bathtub and building a fire, while Gareth lounged in a chair, sipping wine at his leisure. The sight left a bitter taste in Edrick’s mouth.
*To think he assaulted his own younger sister to that extent, yet feels not a shred of guilt.*
He had heard the rumors, but he hadn’t imagined it would be this severe. He clenched his fists, remembering the sight of the frail woman struggling as she was strangled by a giant of a man. It was only fortunate that Lord Siorcan had been nearby; a tragedy might have occurred otherwise.
Looking down at his sweat-slicked palms, Edrick turned away.
*In any case, Talia Roem Gwirta will surely refuse to participate.*
He swallowed a heavy sigh and turned toward the temple, but a sharp, rattling sound halted him.
“Hey, you.”
Startled, Edrick turned to find Talia standing at the entrance of the carriage, arms crossed. She wore her usual arrogant expression, as if nothing had happened, and gestured with her head.
“Bring the maids.”
“…Pardon?”
She shot an annoyed glare at him as he blinked blankly.
“Are you deaf as well as ugly and stupid? I am going to dress for the ritual, so call the maids at once!”
Dumbfounded by the verbal abuse—the likes of which he had never heard in his life—Edrick blinked, then turned to round up the maids assigned by the Empress.
For some reason, seeing Talia wagging her tongue with such vigor brought him a sense of relief. Although the healer had repaired her wounds the night before, he had worried she might fall ill after enduring such cruelty while starving all day.
*Fortunately, she seems fine.*
Then again, this was a woman who had ridiculed the Crown Prince without a hint of fear, even after narrowly escaping death. It wasn’t likely she would be broken so easily.
With a hollow laugh, Edrick ordered the servants to fetch water and commanded his men to adjust their uniforms. Since the Second Imperial Princess seemed willing to participate in the royal tradition, he intended to properly attend to her as an Imperial Guard.