5.
— — —
“You truly have no grasp of the fact that there are lines you should not cross.”
Varkas spoke in his trademark, emotionless tone. However, his refined features were contorted, twisted by an irritation that had scraped his patience thin.
Talia twisted her arm, attempting to break free, but the knight’s iron grip remained as immovable as a shackle. Acting as a loyal shield, Varkas stood between the Crown Prince and Aila, pulling Talia closer and spitting the words into her face.
“Just how far down do you intend to sink? Is showing us the absolute bottom not enough for you?”
“I showed you the bottom?”
Talia, chin lifted high, let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
“Oh, noble Lord Siorcan, do you honestly think you know even the slightest thing about the depths of humanity? Stop acting so high and mighty.”
She pressed her body close to his, wearing a provocative smile. Unlike other men, who would grow delirious from her gaze or the scent of her, Varkas showed not a flicker of agitation. He looked at her only with eyes that seemed utterly exhausted.
Talia felt an urge to gouge those icy eyes with the nails she meticulously filed every night.
“From where you stand, I must look very low indeed. But I have a long way to go before I reach the absolute worst.”
She stared straight into his eyes. In their depths, a distant abyss lurked.
This man would eventually push her into it. If that were the case, she would at least leave long, deep scratch marks on their future before she fell. That would only be fair.
Her deep blue eyes glimmered with malice. A dangerous glint appeared in Varkas’s eyes as he looked down at her spiteful face. Just as they were glaring at each other as if they might kill, an infinitely pitiful voice drifted from behind his back.
“Varkas.”
The man, who had been staring at Talia as if to pierce through her, turned toward his fiancée at once.
Aila wore an expression so wretched it would wring anyone’s heart. Carefully pulling at the hem of Varkas’s coat with her fingertips, she pleaded.
“I… I want to change my clothes. Could you take me away from here?”
“…As you command.”
Varkas wrapped one arm around Aila’s shoulder and turned on his heel. As if Talia’s existence had been erased from his mind entirely, he did not look back once while leading his fiancée out of the banquet hall.
Talia felt the madness that had dominated her drain away all at once.
The void was filled with despair, pain, and jealousy. Yet, even amidst an agony that felt as if her insides were rotting away, she feigned a composed demeanor.
Wearing a triumphant smile as if she had won a victory, Talia walked toward the terrace, where wine and food were laid out. People stepped aside in a rush, as if avoiding something repellent.
She paid no mind, picking up a new wine glass with an elegant motion. But before she could take two sips, Count Cerian, who had been watching their confrontation from afar, hurriedly approached and took the glass from her.
“I suggest you leave the banquet hall at once.”
“Why?”
She said nonchalantly, reaching for a plate of pomegranates.
“Did you not hear the First Imperial Princess tell everyone to enjoy the banquet to their heart’s content? I have not yet had my fill.”
“I admire your audacity, Your Highness, but a dangerous beast is glaring at you from behind, as if ready to pounce at any moment.”
The Count signaled toward the Crown Prince with his eyes. As he said, Gareth wore a face that looked ready to draw his sword at any second.
Thick, bulging veins were taut on his sun-bronzed neck, and his clenched jaw muscles twitched. It was clear he was barely suppressing a temper that threatened to explode.
Under normal circumstances, she would have provoked her older brother even further to goad him into some horrific atrocity, but she no longer had the energy.
Talia stopped bluffing and placed her hand on Count Cerian’s forearm. She left the banquet hall as quickly as she could without looking like she was running away.
A carriage was already waiting in front of the garden. As the Imperial Guard opened the door, Talia stepped onto the footstool. Just as she was about to settle into the cushioned seat, someone shoved her.
Talia slumped onto the floor and looked up. Gareth, having pushed past her Imperial Guard, thrust his head into the carriage and shot her a murderous look.
“We are barely enduring your existence.”
He growled, gripping her neck with a calloused, rough hand. The Imperial Guard shouted, asking what he was doing, but did not dare lay a hand on the Crown Prince.
Ignoring the squawking guard, Gareth strangled her even harder with both hands. Talia instinctively thrashed her legs, digging her nails into her brother’s hand, where the veins were bulging. But he seemed unable to feel pain, his mind consumed by rage.
Gareth spat the words into her ear.
“And we have endured it for a very long time, biting our tongues, holding back, and holding back again.”
The Crown Prince’s vivid green eyes shone like flames.
“So, you don’t need to scratch any further, sister. We already hate you enough as it is…”
Gareth let go and stood up.
Talia wrapped her hands around her throat, taking in a sharp, gasping breath. Coughing fits made it difficult to breathe. As she gasped for air with a flushed face, the Crown Prince’s sinister voice pierced her eardrums.
“Remember this. That your mother flaunts herself, that a filthy illegitimate child like you prowls around the Imperial Palace—it is only for a fleeting moment.”
With that, he closed the carriage door with a veneer of kindness and left.
Talia tried to pull herself up, furrowing her brow upon discovering that two of her meticulously filed nails had snapped. Sticky blood beaded at the tips. She stroked them with a sense of satisfaction and muttered in a voice gone hoarse.
“…I’ll have to grow them back.”
I’ll make them even sharper next time. Sharp enough to pierce straight to the bone.
A dry, hollow laugh leaked from her lips.
She didn’t know why she was laughing.
The useless Imperial Guard, who had rushed to open the door to check if she was safe, looked down at her with a devastated expression. It seemed that, to his eyes, she looked insane. Perhaps he was right. She was certain she had gone mad a long time ago.
She lay flat on the dark floor of the carriage, giggling for a long while.
* * *
The entire Imperial Palace was in an uproar. In a few days, the First Imperial Princess and the Crown Prince were to set out on their pilgrimage—a custom every descendant of Darian, the great emperor who unified the realms, had to fulfill after coming of age.
Usually, women departed before marriage and men after turning twenty, but the Crown Prince had claimed it was only natural for two people born on the same day to receive the blessings of the gods simultaneously, and arrangements were made for the pair.
To escort the two people who held the highest status in the empire after the Emperor and the Empress, an elite unit of the Imperial Palace Knights was deployed. Naturally, the commander-in-chief of this expedition was Varkas, in his capacity as Commander of the Imperial Guard. Thanks to this, Talia could often see him moving busily around the castle courtyard from her window in the detached palace.
Today, too, he was checking the condition of weapons, horses, and travel gear, unbothered by the drizzling rain. Talia stood leaning against the windowsill, watching him without blinking.
Varkas looked up at the sky, as if to gauge the time. The sight of silvery rain covering his face softly filled her vision.
The day she fell in love with him, it had been raining just like this.
Talia reminisced about that day.