Chapter 6
It had been less than two weeks since she'd left House Taren's castle and arrived at the imperial palace.
Her mother had been overjoyed that her daughter's name had finally been entered into the imperial family registry, but Talia simply hated having come to this unfamiliar place. As Senevier's attention became entirely consumed with redecorating the castle, Talia's anxiety only grew worse.
Unlike what her mother had told her, the imperial palace turned out to be a bleak and frightening place. Sharp, judging stares followed her wherever she went, and the attendants here were colder than even the servants back at House Taren.
She felt like a child who'd lost her way. So whenever the chance arose, she would slip out of her room and wander around near the annex.
She especially found herself drifting toward the back garden. Because Senevier, determined to erase every trace of the former Empress, had ordered all the flowers and trees in the castle torn out, the garden had been reduced to complete ruin.
Rose bushes and colorful ornamental shrubs had gradually begun to fill in the empty spaces near the entrances of the main palace and the annex, but the back garden—where landscaping work hadn't yet been completed—was still just a messy pile of dirt mounds. As a result, no one ever went there.
Whenever Talia grew tired of people's whispers and pointed stares, she would spend her time sitting blankly in a corner of that ruined back garden.
That day too, she had escaped to the back garden of the annex, avoiding her overbearing nurse and the maid who liked to jab at her scalp roughly with a sharp comb while "styling" her hair.
Because the rain had started falling around noon, not a single worker was out in the garden. Talia crouched in a corner of the empty, deserted back garden and gazed endlessly at the falling raindrops.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there when a faint whistling sound reached her from somewhere.
Puzzled, she glanced around for a moment before wandering, as if drawn by something, toward the outer edge of the castle grounds, getting soaked in the steady rain. In the spot where a large, ancient tree had stood just that morning, there was now only a deep, hollow pit.
Talia approached the tall mound of dirt piled beside it and looked down. A small bird was flailing helplessly in the mud below, letting out pitiful cries.
Did it fall from the tree?
The bird looked like it could die at any moment.
Heavy raindrops relentlessly pelted its soaked brown body, and thick, dark red mud, like tar, clung stickily to its scrawny legs and pitiful wings. Even its persistent cries had, at some point, faded into a faint, trembling whimper.
Crouched down, watching the scene unfold, Talia found herself stepping into the pit without even realizing it.
It was a foolish thing to do. Even though she'd stepped carefully, the ground—soaked through with rainwater and turned to something like a swamp—swallowed her shoe instantly.
She twisted her body, trying to pull her foot free. In doing so, she lost her balance and slipped into the mud.
Toppling face-first into the puddle, Talia felt the bitter, muddy water seep between her lips and shook her head irritably.
The green dress her nurse had just made for her was ruined, and mud had clumped into her carefully braided hair.
A wave of irritation surged through her.
She pushed herself up and muttered a small curse under her breath.
Who cares about some stupid bird. I can't believe I did something so idiotic...
Grumbling like that, she was about to climb out of the pit when the faint cry sounded again. It was so weak that anyone not listening closely would have missed it entirely, but to Talia, it sounded like the bird was screaming.
In the end, she took a few more steps toward the dark puddle. There, she saw a shabby brown wing submerged in the muddy water, and a small head hanging limp.
...Did it die already?
As she carefully picked up the young bird, she felt its small, drenched body give off a faint, fading pulse. It was still alive.
She cupped the lukewarm little body in both hands and breathed warm air onto it. The limp bird opened its small brown beak weakly and flapped its scrawny wings in a pitiful attempt at movement. It looked like it was struggling with everything it had, just to survive.
Watching it, something tightened painfully in her chest.
Talia didn't know what that feeling was. She couldn't understand why it hurt so much to see this small bird—driven from its home, abandoned even by its own mother, thrashing in the mud—now resting quietly in her hands.
She cradled the bird carefully and brought it close to the warmest spot beneath her throat. Then she looked up at the steep, muddy slope with a helpless expression.
The heavier the rain fell, the softer and more treacherous the dirt mound became. She tried taking a few test steps, but there was no way she could climb up on foot. To get out of here, she'd have to crawl up on all fours, like some kind of animal.
Talia pressed her lips together tightly. She couldn't bring herself to abandon the little bird she'd just saved, but she also couldn't throw away her dignity as a princess and crawl through the mud like livestock.
So Talia simply stood there for a long while, letting the cold, drizzling rain fall over her.
That was when it happened. A boy emerged from within the pale, mist-like rain.
He was very tall, dressed in the black robe monks wore, with a hood pulled low over his head. But through the curtain of white rain, Talia could clearly make out a pair of pale, glowing blue eyes. They were extraordinarily beautiful eyes.
"What are you doing there?"
The blue-eyed boy asked, bending toward her. His voice was cool and detached, mismatched with his delicate, still-boyish face. Talia felt a shiver run down her spine.
At the time, she'd simply assumed it was the cold. But looking back on it now, she thinks she must have had some vague premonition the moment she heard that voice—that this boy, gazing down at her with such indifference, would one day plunge her life into hellish agony...
If she had clearly recognized what that distant, foreboding sensation truly was that day, Talia would have thrown the small bird struggling weakly for breath in her grip straight back into the mud, and crawled up the muddy slope on all fours like some shameless pig, indifferent to filth or dignity.
And then she would have run as far away from the blue-eyed boy as she possibly could. She would have erased even the memory of ever having seen him, forever.
But eight-year-old Talia had no idea, not even in her wildest dreams, that the boy who'd appeared out of the rain would become her despair. So she looked up at him and snapped back in her usual sharp-tongued way.
"Can't you tell? I'm stuck in this pit and can't get out."
The boy's eyes narrowed slightly. He looked like he wanted to ask why she'd gone into a place like that in the first place.
But instead of asking, he walked straight into the pit toward her, sliding down without any concern for how his well-tailored trousers and fine leather boots were getting caked with mud.
Talia stared at him in surprise. She hadn't expected a boy with such a cold, detached face—one that looked like it wouldn't bleed a single drop even if pricked—to do something like that.
He waded steadily through the swamp-like mud toward her. Up close, the boy looked even taller than he had from below. He seemed to be at least a head taller than her.
Closing the distance with long, effortless strides, the boy stopped in front of her and held out one hand.
"Take it."
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