Chapter 13
The maid lifted the spoon with trembling hands, but couldn't bring herself to touch it to the bowl, squeezing her eyes shut instead.
She seemed to be holding onto some vague hope that if she just endured long enough, she'd be spared. Maybe she was hoping someone would appear and stop this.
Talia snatched up the knife lying on the table. Then she gave the man a cold, merciless instruction.
"Pin this woman's fingers to the plate. Since she's so intent on disrespecting my generosity, I suppose I'll need to cut off a finger as an example."
The man immediately seized the woman's hand and spread it flat on the silver plate. Talia gripped the tip of the woman's index finger and raised the carving knife high.
At that, the maid shrieked in terror.
"I'll eat it! I'll eat it! I'll eat all of it!"
The woman hurriedly plunged her spoon into the bowl. Then she began desperately gulping down the broth with the bird's carcass in it.
As though believing she could endure it if she didn't actually taste it, she swallowed the pieces without chewing, gulping them down whole. But before she'd made it through even five spoonfuls, she brought everything back up.
Even watching that, Talia pressed her on.
"Eat every last bit. I want to see the bottom of that bowl."
The woman's terrified eyes, between retching fits, flew up toward Talia. It was no longer the look of someone viewing something contemptible. It was the look of someone facing something horrifying and terrifying.
Talia signaled with her eyes for her not to stop. The maid sobbed miserably, eating and vomiting, eating and vomiting again.
Unable to bring herself to put the rotting bird itself in her mouth, she forced down only the broth, over and over, only to bring it back up each time... Her face, smeared with blood, tears, and vomit, turned ashen gray, and then her eyes rolled back, showing only white. Her body collapsed onto the carpet with a wet, heavy thud.
Talia looked down calmly at the maid, foaming at the mouth and convulsing violently, then jerked her chin arrogantly toward the servants, who stood frozen stiff.
"Clean all of this up."
Then, tossing the dirty plate at their feet, she added,
"And bring me fresh food. This time, make sure it's actually edible."
From that day on, the servants' vicious torment stopped as though by magic.
The maids began treating her with the same wary caution one might use around something dangerous, and some of the servants openly displayed sheer terror. They no longer shot her contemptuous looks or whispered cruel remarks loud enough for her to hear. Whenever Talia appeared, everyone clamped their mouths shut like clams and hurried to bow their heads.
And rumors of the Second Princess's vicious nature began spreading through the imperial palace. Those who heard about how brutally she'd tortured an innocent maid—someone who had served the imperial family faithfully for over a decade—clicked their tongues at the young girl's cruelty.
The priests muttered that a viper's offspring had crept into the imperial family, and the empire's loyal ministers voiced concern that this savage princess might tarnish the dignity of the crown.
But there was someone who found Talia's brutality quite satisfying.
It happened one day, just as winter approached. The Empress, dressed in a gown the same deep blue shade as her own eyes, came to visit the annex.
Descending the stairs with a stiff expression to greet her, Talia found herself stopping in her tracks without meaning to. The instant she saw Senevier, an unbelievable wave of longing choked her throat.
This was the mother who had turned her back so mercilessly. Watching that slender back walk calmly away, after coldly shaking off her grasping hand, Talia had firmly vowed never to love this woman again.
But the moment Senevier crossed the wide hall and pressed a kiss to her cheek, that resolve crumbled like a sandcastle before the tide.
"Hello, Talia. You look truly beautiful today."
Senevier's body carried the sweet scent of roses, lilac, and ripened fruit. It was pathetic, how desperately she'd missed this dizzying fragrance.
Senevier looked down at her daughter's dark, unyielding expression and offered a coaxing smile.
"I suppose you're upset with me for not visiting in so long. Forgive me. It took some time to prepare a special gift for you."
Talia's expression turned uneasy.
"A gift...?"
"I heard how effectively you've disciplined your unruly servants. You've pleased your mother's heart, so you deserve a reward."
She spoke in a lilting, canary-like voice, then turned gracefully. Only then did Talia notice a boy slowly crossing the hall toward them.
Talia stopped breathing. Barkas was approaching, dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Guard—he must have formally received his knighthood in the months since she'd last seen him.
Sunlight streaming through the window shattered across his ash-blond hair, scattering light in every direction. The sight seemed to pierce her vision like shards of glass.
Senevier stepped up beside the boy and spread one hand out, as though showing off a trophy.
"A handsome knight, to protect you from now on."
The boy stopped before her and offered a formal bow.
Those eyes, which had once held a silver crown, now shimmered coldly, filled only with blade-sharp fury and a faint trace of humiliation. Anyone with sense could tell he hadn't come here of his own will.
Looking down at her with the eyes of someone regarding an inanimate object, the boy spoke.
"Barkas Raedgo Sirchan."
His voice was dry enough to send a chill down anyone's spine.
"I've been assigned to serve at Your Highness's side until your coming-of-age ceremony."
His tone suggested he hoped that day would come as soon as possible, so he could be freed from this humiliating duty.
Talia looked up at his cold, mask-like face with a hopeless gaze. His icy stare, dry tone, and rigid demeanor were, once again, reducing her to something insignificant and contemptible.
She fought with everything she had not to shrink back, but there was no way to stop the shame burning hot up the back of her neck.
In that moment, Talia understood with absolute clarity.
This beautiful boy would not be her hope. He would be her suffering.
And a severe one, at that.
* * *
After days of steady rain finally cleared, intense sunlight began to blaze down, as though heralding the season of fire.
Crossing the bustling courtyard in search of her fiancé, Aila wiped away the sweat beading on her forehead and narrowed her eyes against the glare.
The wide clearing usually used for military training was now packed with dozens of supply carts, harness merchants, sturdy draft horses specially bred to pull wagons, and soldiers hauling all manner of equipment needed for the journey.
Frowning briefly at the marketplace-like chaos, Aila soon spotted Barkas near the outer wall, checking on the condition of the war horses, and her eyes lit up.
Instead of the white combat uniform symbolizing the Roem Knights, he wore a black tunic embroidered with an intricate design, layered beneath a breastplate forged from black iron. He looked less like an imperial knight and more like a noble lord of the East.
Aila watched him with a proud smile. Once this mission was complete, Barkas would leave the Imperial Guard and begin the formal process of succession to become Grand Duke Sirchan.
And she would study alongside him, preparing to become the lady of the Grand Duchy. That had been their destined future ever since he'd first come, following his mother, into the gardens of the Empress's palace.
But Aila sometimes found herself gripped by doubt over whether that day would truly ever come.
Barkas was always courteous, and sometimes even affectionate—but Aila knew there was a distance between them that never quite closed. Having quietly suffered over that very distance for so long, Aila could hardly believe that, in just a few months, he would become her husband.
Comments