Chapter 100
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 100
Lucas didn’t hesitate; he turned and bolted.
Daren, who had been watching the scene from nearby, clicked his tongue, a worried shadow crossing his face.
“Weren’t you being a bit too harsh? What if he ends up harboring a grudge against Your Excellency?”
“Lucas is currently the sole heir to the Grand Duchy. If anything happens to me, he is the one who must lead the family,” Barkas replied dryly. “In fact, I should be asking what you were thinking, leaving him in such a state until now.”
“Your Excellency is so young and robust; I saw no urgent need to groom the second young master as the heir.” Daren shrugged nonchalantly. “Besides, now that you are married, won’t you be having a direct heir of your own soon enough?”
Barkas offered no response. He simply uncorked the canteen hanging at his waist and let the liquid moisten his parched throat.
Through the bustling throng of soldiers, fourteen wagons and a large, four-wheeled traveling carriage came into view. A quarter-dwarf carrying a large basin approached the carriage, likely intending to attend to his wife’s needs.
Suddenly, a bitter, metallic tang—like the taste of rusted iron—spread through Barkas’s mouth.
Ever since her leg was injured, Thalia had become obsessively private about her body. She refused to let anyone touch her leg except for her own maid and the healer her mother had provided.
The memory of her spiraling into a panic every time he tried to examine the wound himself made the metallic taste in his mouth sharpen.
He swallowed another mouthful of the strong liquor, letting it burn down his scratchy, sand-filled throat, and consciously changed the subject.
“Was there anything unusual within Dorkaen Castle?”
“Nothing particularly suspicious. It seems he invited us merely in hopes of establishing a connection with the Grand Ducal House.”
Daren stroked his beard and continued calmly. “While Your Excellency was in a private audience with the Lord of the Castle, I took the liberty of inspecting the training grounds. It appears his claim about being short on soldiers is true.”
“Is there a specific reason for the decline in his forces?”
“I suspect financial difficulties.” Daren let out a heavy sigh. “The Lord of Dorkaen seems to possess little talent for managing a territory. He failed to pay wages properly, causing many warriors to leave. On top of that, raiders have been rampant, leading to severe losses in manpower. I doubt the man has the means to even dream of rebelling against the Grand Duke.”
Barkas gazed at the meadow, now stained by the deep hues of the sunset, lost in thought.
His assessment didn’t differ much from Daren’s. While his father had been bedridden, the local lords had each been bolstering their own forces and expanding their influence. To a lord who lacked a proper military, the existence of increasingly powerful neighbors would have felt like a looming shadow.
For the sake of his own safety, the man had likely decided it was better to swear fealty to the new Grand Duke.
The question was whether such a man would be of any use to him.
“Do you intend to support Darken to keep the other vassals in check?”
As Barkas was mentally weighing the options, Daren posed the question. Barkas slowly shook his head.
“I’ll decide after I’ve met the rest of the regional lords.”
“A wise decision.”
Ending the conversation, Barkas moved toward the center of the campsite.
The soldiers were already gathered around the campfires, eating their rations. After surveying the perimeter, he turned his steps toward his own tent.
As he stepped into the dim interior, the heavy scent of rose oil and a cloying, suffocating sweetness pricked his nose.
Stopping at the entrance, Barkas turned his gaze toward the bed illuminated by flickering candlelight. He saw a woman draped over the blankets, dressed loosely in a blue linen nightgown.
In that instant, a chill seeped between his ribs.
He strode to the bedside and pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. A faint cold sweat clung to her skin, which was as smooth as glazed porcelain.
Is she in pain again?
Knitting his brows, Barkas stood up and rummaged through a cabinet. If she was suffering even in her sleep, it seemed best to burn some medicinal herbs for her.
He began stuffing a bundle of dried herbs into a small incense burner the healer had prepared. Just as he was about to light it, a thin voice reached him from the bed.
“...Barkas.”
He turned his head to find a pair of hazy eyes, still clouded with sleep, watching him. Seeing her looking as if she were intoxicated, he narrowed his eyes.
Did she already burn the sleep-inducing herbs?
He leaned over her and sniffed at her collar, but he couldn’t smell any smoke. Instead, the scent of her skin—so sweet it felt as if it were clogging his throat—filled his lungs.
The overwhelming intensity of the stimulus momentarily blurred his mind. It felt as if senses that had long since gone numb were suddenly jolted awake.
Struggling to shake off the strange sensation, he carefully lifted his head. He noticed her shoulders hunched tight, as if his proximity made her uncomfortable. Ignoring the sting of rejection, he asked in a deliberately calm tone.
“Do you have a fever?”
She pulled the blanket up to her chest and replied curtly.
“I’m fine. I just drifted off for a moment.”
“Did you eat properly?”
“I ate a little while ago.”
She gestured with her chin toward a tray placed beside the bed.
He looked down at the bowls and knitted his brows. There was hardly any sign that she had touched the food. She had likely only had a bit of honey wine or a few pieces of fruit again.
Feeling the strange sensation that had been rattling his nerves turn into instant irritation, he ran a hand roughly through his hair.
Thalia watched him, gauging his mood. Her restless, anxious demeanor only made his nerves sharper. It seemed best for him to stay outside until she fell back asleep.
He turned back toward the tent entrance.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Bar... Barkas!”
At that moment, a hurried hand reached out from behind him.
He turned back, his eyes wide with surprise. Thalia was clutching the cuff of his coat tightly, her eyes darting about as she forced out a cracked voice.
“My... my leg hurts.”
When he didn’t respond, Thalia swallowed hard and continued with difficulty.
“Give me... the medicine.”
Barkas blinked blankly, his gaze dropping to her lips. The swollen, red flesh looked exactly like crushed pomegranate seeds.
The sensation of taking them into his mouth and tasting them flashed through his mind. The vivid memory of her damp inner flesh wrapping softly around his tongue returned to him.
Suddenly, a searing thirst rose from deep within his throat. He walked slowly to the shelf and took out a small glass bottle. As he sat on the edge of the bed, a deep sense of anxiety flickered across her face.
He held out the medicine bottle as if testing her.
“This?”
A pink flush spread over her skin, which was so translucent it was almost see-through. With her ears and the nape of her neck stained red, she darted her eyes away before nodding slightly.
He immediately opened the cap and took the viscous liquid into his own mouth.
As he cupped the nape of her neck—so slender it felt as if it might break—he felt a fast, frantic pulse.
It reminded him of the time he had held a small bird in his hand. Just as he had felt the heart thumping powerfully beneath the soft, fragile skin, a sense of urgency rushed over him.
He cupped her delicately carved jaw and pressed his lips against the plump flesh that looked as if it had been fashioned from drops of blood.
As he slid his tongue into the minutely opened gap, a soft moan, like the mewl of a kitten, tickled his throat.