Chapter 4
Being a man who disliked drawing more attention than necessary, he raised a hand to stop the attendant from calling out his name, then descended the stairs with an elegant, upright posture.
But despite that effort, everyone's attention fixed on Barkas. Even the crown prince's presence seemed to dim in the face of his entrance.
Talia devoured the sight of him greedily, from head to toe.
He was dressed, as always, immaculately in the ceremonial uniform of the Imperial Guard. The one difference from usual was that instead of the golden armor symbolizing the Roem Knights beneath his ornate coat, he wore a black breastplate engraved with the crest of a black horse.
That meant he'd come to the banquet as the heir to Grand Duke Sirchan and as Aila's fiancé.
Just as Talia expected, Barkas headed straight for the center of the hall, where Gareth and Aila stood.
"I greet the Crown Prince."
He offered Gareth a bow measured to precise formality—neither too much nor too little—then turned toward Aila, who smiled shyly.
Her fingertips trembled. Talia gripped her wine glass so hard her knuckles went white.
When Barkas extended a hand toward the "true princess," Aila took it demurely. In that instant, a wrenching pain twisted through her insides.
Don't touch her. Don't you dare touch Barkas.
She wanted to scream it, though she had no right to. Talia had to bite her lip to keep from making a terrible scene.
"Wouldn't it be better to leave the banquet now, as you are?"
The man beside her, watching her face carefully, suggested cautiously. Coming from someone who genuinely seemed to relish chaos, the suggestion snapped her back to her senses. She hadn't come here to make a miserable, humiliating exit.
Talia composed her momentarily crumbling expression and crossed the hall with graceful steps. The crowd surrounding the Crown Prince, the First Princess, and the noble young lord of the East naturally parted to let her through.
They too, deep down, were clearly hoping for an exciting scene to unfold. Talia intended to satisfy their expectations perfectly.
"Hello. My respected brother, and... my beloved sister."
She deliberately ignored Barkas's presence and offered the two of them a slow, drawn-out greeting. If she faced his face head-on, she felt certain she'd lose her tenuous grip on composure entirely.
Keeping her back to Barkas, she fixed her gaze solely on Aila's face and spoke in a mocking tone.
"I'm glad to see you've recovered so well. You did put on quite an unpleasant display before, after all."
"Thank you for your concern."
Aila replied, a gentle smile touching her lips, without a trace of shadow in it.
For a moment, gooseflesh rose across Talia's entire body.
This woman surely wasn't unaware that it was her own half-sister who had drugged her wine. And yet there wasn't a speck of anger in the eyes looking back at her. It was the kind of gaze one might give to some common, ordinary object scattered about—
Like a wine glass, a plate, or a candlestick lying around the hall... How could anyone feel anger toward things like that?
Aila's composure—calm to the point of complete indifference—filled Talia with bitter regret.
She should have fed this woman a real poison, not some emetic. Even if it meant facing the most horrific execution for it... even if it meant burning in hellfire for all eternity...
Compared to this woman, even her brother, who wore his raw fury openly, felt almost human by comparison.
"How dare you show your face here."
Gareth leaned in close toward her, grinding his teeth audibly. His glittering eyes swept over her from head to toe, thick with disgust.
"And dressed so vulgarly, too! Did your mother order you to come whore yourself out to win over my loyal men?"
"That's a harsh way to describe my outfit."
Talia spread the skirt of her dress wide, deliberately, for all to see.
"This is the dress my mother wore the very first time she met His Majesty the Emperor. It's a very meaningful gown."
For a moment, silence fell over the hall.
Fury flared and burned in the Crown Prince's eyes. Unfortunately for him, Talia loved nothing more than playing with fire.
"Our father must have adored this dress very much. Don't you think?"
The Crown Prince's shoulders shot upward. It looked as though he might raise a hand to her face out of sheer rage.
But his sharp-witted sister would never allow such a thing to happen. With perfect timing, Aila placed a hand on Gareth's forearm to restrain him, then turned to her half-sister with a crystal-clear smile.
"Yes. It truly does suit you well."
Astonishingly, there wasn't a trace of malice in her voice. The calm, matter-of-fact tone—as though simply stating an observable fact—only stoked Talia's fury further. Perhaps this woman believed that reacting to the provocations of a lowly bastard at all would be beneath her own dignity.
Aila cast a composed glance at her twin brother, as if telling him to stay calm, then stepped closer to her fiancé. She leaned gently against his side and spoke with an expression of pure happiness.
"In any case, thank you for coming. Today is a very meaningful day for us—especially for me. I wanted to receive congratulations from as many people as possible."
Aila's slender hand settled softly onto the arm of the man standing there, silent and still as a shadow.
Talia stared down at that hand as though she wanted to tear it apart, piece by piece. She couldn't bring herself to lift her eyes any higher. If she caught even a glimpse of him smiling at Aila, she felt certain she wouldn't be able to hold onto her sanity.
Aila spoke on, her voice soft as a feather.
"Our wedding date has finally been set. On the first day of the Wind Season, I'll be going east to become a member of House Sirchan. Of course, before that, I'll need to go on pilgrimage first to receive the saints' blessing. We'll have to leave before the weather turns too warm, so... this might be the last time I see you."
She feigned an expression of wistfulness with remarkable skill.
"I'm glad we got to meet like this before I leave the palace. I at least wanted the chance to say a proper goodbye."
Then, as though wanting to end the conversation there, she leaned softly against Barkas's shoulder and added warmly,
"Please, enjoy the banquet in our honor for as long as you like."
Aila turned gracefully away, a magnanimous smile still on her lips. Talia, staring at her fixedly, suddenly spoke up.
"If today really is the last time... then I simply must wish my sister well on the road ahead."
As she took a step toward Aila, the man who had been silently observing the two women's silent war reacted instantly. Seeing him thrust his arm forward to shield his fiancée, Talia's vision flared red.
Before Barkas could fully block her path, Talia swiftly poured the wine over Aila's chest.
The dark-hued wine bled across the pearl-studded bodice of the pristine white dress, staining it red as it trickled down the skirt. It looked exactly like someone bleeding from a stab wound to the heart.
"I'll pray every single day that you end up looking just like this very soon, dear sister."
At the horrifying curse, everyone in the room drew in a sharp breath.
Even Aila's ever-composed face went ashen white. Her expression of genuine terror looked so absurd that Talia nearly burst out laughing.
But the pleasure lasted only an instant. A powerful hand seized her wrist and yanked her forward roughly. The force of it left her no choice but to face, head-on, the man's face she'd so carefully avoided until now.
A pair of pale, glowing blue eyes glared down at her, blazing with cold, razor-sharp fury.
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