Chapter 5
"You truly can't seem to learn that there are lines you shouldn't cross."
Barkas said in his characteristic flat, toneless voice. But his handsome face had hardened into something fierce, his patience visibly worn raw.
Talia twisted her arm, trying to wrench free of his grip. But the trained knight's iron hold was like a shackle. Standing between her and the Crown Prince and Aila like a loyal shield, Barkas pulled her even closer and ground the words out inches from her face.
"Just how low do you intend to sink before you're satisfied? You've already shown everyone the bottom—is even that not enough for you?"
"I showed everyone the bottom?"
Talia lifted her chin high and let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Noble young Lord Sirchan, do you honestly think you know the first thing about the bottom of the human soul? Don't flatter yourself."
She pressed herself close against him, curving her lips into a sultry smile. Unlike other men, who grew dazed and confused by nothing more than her gaze or scent, Barkas showed not the slightest flicker of disturbance. Only eyes weary to the point of disgust.
Talia felt the urge to drive her carefully sharpened nails—tended every single night—straight into those ice-cold eyes.
"From where you're standing, I probably look about as low as it gets. But I still have a long way to go before I hit rock bottom."
She said, staring directly into his eyes. A bottomless pit lurked within them.
This man is going to shove me into that pit sooner or later. So before I fall, I'll leave long claw marks across their futures, at the very least. That's only fair.
Her deep blue eyes gleamed with venomous brilliance. As Barkas looked down at that malice-filled face, something dangerous stirred in his own gaze too. They were glaring at each other as though ready to kill, when a pitiful, heart-wrenching voice came from behind him.
"Barkas."
The man, who had been glaring at Talia as if trying to pierce right through her, immediately turned toward his fiancée.
Aila wore an expression pitiful enough to break anyone's heart. She tugged gently at the edge of Barkas's coat with her fingertips and said in a pleading tone,
"I... want to change out of this dress. Would you take me out of here?"
"...As you wish."
Barkas wrapped one arm around Aila's shoulders and turned away immediately. As though Talia had been wiped entirely from his mind, his gaze never once glanced back over his shoulder as he led his fiancée out of the banquet hall.
Talia felt the madness that had gripped her drain away all at once.
Despair, agony, and jealousy flooded in to fill the empty space it left behind. But even through the gut-wrenching pain, she forced herself to maintain a composed front.
Putting on a triumphant smile, as though she'd won some great victory, Talia walked toward the terrace where the wine and food were laid out. People scattered out of her way in droves, as though avoiding something unpleasant.
Paying them no mind, she picked up a fresh glass with an elegant motion. But before she could take even two sips, Count Serian, who had been watching their confrontation from a distance, hurried over and snatched the glass from her hand.
"You should leave the banquet immediately."
"Why?"
She said calmly, reaching for a plate of pomegranates.
"Didn't you hear the First Princess tell me to enjoy the banquet to my heart's content? I haven't finished enjoying myself yet."
"I admire Your Highness's nerve, but there's a dangerous beast glaring at your back right now, looking ready to pounce at any moment."
The Count gestured with his eyes toward the Crown Prince. Just as he'd said, Gareth's face looked like he was ready to draw a blade on the spot.
The thick veins in his sun-bronzed neck stood out taut, and the muscles of his clenched jaw twitched faintly. He was clearly barely restraining an explosive temper.
Normally, Talia would have provoked her brother further, egging him on toward some terrible act. But right now, she had no energy left for that.
Talia dropped the bravado and placed a hand on Count Serian's forearm. He guided her out of the banquet hall swiftly enough that it wouldn't look like fleeing.
A carriage was already waiting in front of the garden. As the guard knight opened the door as though he'd been waiting for her, Talia stepped up onto the footboard. Just as she was about to settle into the cushioned seat, someone shoved her roughly.
Talia fell to the floor and looked up. Gareth had pushed past her guard knight and thrust his head into the carriage, shooting her a murderous glare.
"We're barely tolerating your existence."
He growled, wrapping his calloused, rough hand around her throat. The guard knight, unable to lay a hand on the Crown Prince, could only shout uselessly, demanding to know what he thought he was doing.
Ignoring the knight's frantic protests, Gareth tightened his grip around her throat with both hands. Talia instinctively kicked her legs and drove her nails into the back of her brother's veined hand. But he seemed so blinded by rage that he didn't even register the pain.
Gareth ground the words out against her ear.
"And for a very long time, too—we've endured, and endured, and endured."
The Crown Prince's vivid green eyes blazed like flame.
"So you don't need to scratch any deeper, little sister. We already hate you plenty as it is..."
Gareth finally released his grip and straightened up.
Talia clutched her throat with both hands and drew in ragged, desperate breaths. Coughing seized her over and over, making it hard to breathe. Her face flushed dark red as she gasped for air, and the Crown Prince's venomous voice pierced her eardrums.
"Remember this. However much your mother struts around, however much a filthy bastard like you gets to run wild through this palace—it's only for now."
Then, with mock courtesy, he closed the carriage door himself and walked away.
As Talia staggered to sit herself up, she noticed two of her carefully sharpened nails had broken. Sticky blood had welled up at the dangling tips. Stroking them with strange satisfaction, she murmured in a voice worn hoarse,
"...Guess I'll have to grow them out again."
This time, I'll sharpen them even finer. Sharp enough to dig all the way to the bone.
A breathy, hollow laugh escaped her lips.
She didn't even know why she was laughing.
The useless guard knight, who'd flung the door open in a panic to check if she was alright, stared down at her with a stunned expression. In his eyes, she probably looked insane. Maybe that thought wasn't wrong. She'd clearly gone mad a long time ago.
She lay sprawled across the dark floor of the carriage, giggling softly to herself for a long while.
* * *
The whole imperial palace was in an uproar. In just a few days, the First Princess and Crown Prince would set out on their pilgrimage. For descendants of Darian—the great emperor who had once unified the warring kingdoms into one—this was a rite that had to be completed after reaching adulthood.
Typically, women made the journey before marriage, and men after turning twenty. But per the Crown Prince's insistence that it was only natural for two people born at the same hour to receive the gods' blessing on the same day, preparations had been made for both of their journeys together.
And to escort the two people who held the highest rank in the empire after the Emperor and Empress, an elite unit of the imperial knights had been assigned. Naturally, the man placed in overall command of this expedition was Barkas, who held the position of Commander of the Imperial Guard. Thanks to that, Talia often caught glimpses of him through her window at the annex, bustling busily around the castle courtyard.
Today too, he stood in the steadily falling rain, inspecting weapons, the condition of the horses, and various pieces of travel equipment. Talia lay sprawled across her windowsill, watching him without so much as blinking.
Barkas tilted his head up to check the sky, as though gauging the time. The sight of silver rain gently falling across his face filled her vision completely.
It had been raining like this, too, on the day she fell in love with him.
Talia let herself sink into the memory of that day.
Comments