Chapter 72
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 72
The maids filed silently out of the hallway.
Thalia followed behind them, her every step a calculated effort to remain steady. By the time she reached the stairs, moving at a pace slower than a crawl, a cold sweat slicked her back. She stared down at the steps with bleak, weary eyes.
Just then, she spotted Barkas striding into the mansion.
Thalia forgot how to breathe as she took him in. Instead of his usual Roem Knights uniform, Barkas wore a black breastplate engraved with the crest of House Sieorkan. A dark gray cloak made of thick beast hide was draped loosely over his broad shoulders.
Her heart tightened at the sight. He looked exactly like the Khan cavalry warriors who had once struck terror into the hearts of the entire Robiden Continent.
He climbed the stairs with long, powerful strides and came to a halt directly in front of her.
Perhaps he had come in a great hurry, for his usually immaculate hair was disheveled in a way she had never seen before. He leaned toward her, his eyes—sharp as polished steel—boring into hers.
"How are you feeling?"
Thalia could only blink blankly. Normally, she would have snapped at him to mind his own business, but strangely, her throat felt like parched earth. After a long, heavy silence, she finally managed to squeeze out a response.
"…I’m fine."
His eyes narrowed. He seemed suspicious of her uncharacteristically quiet demeanor. After staring intently at her face, Barkas pulled off his glove and reached out to touch her forehead.
Reflexively, Thalia slapped his hand away.
Smack.
A fierce silence descended following the sharp sound. She clutched her stinging fingers, warily gauging his reaction. He didn’t seem particularly offended—or rather, she couldn’t tell. Had she ever been able to read his expression properly, even once?
Thalia lowered her gaze and mumbled in a tight, defensive voice.
"Y-you startled me, touching me so suddenly."
Then, those long, pale fingers invaded her vision once more. Thalia pulled back, but he did not allow her to push him away a second time.
After finally brushing the hair back from her forehead to check for a fever, Barkas moved to the knot of her cloak, tightening the fastenings securely right up to her neck. Then, without giving her a chance to protest, he swept her up into his arms.
"You had better get used to my touch from now on," he said bluntly.
Thalia’s eyes widened. Her heart gave a frantic, painful flutter. What did he mean by that?
No. Don’t. Don’t hope.
He was merely looking after a pitiful cripple. As she tried to crush the lingering feelings that were growing like weeds in her heart, Barkas adjusted his hold to make her more comfortable and began his slow descent down the stairs.
Fearing she might fall, Thalia instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. Barkas supported her back with one steady hand, stepping down with careful deliberation.
A moment later, they emerged into the garden, where a group of unfamiliar men awaited. Thalia scanned them, her expression clouded with confusion. At a glance, they didn’t look like soldiers of the Roem Knights. Every one of them carried a long halberd on his back and wore a loose, robe-like coat over dark armor.
One of the men stepped forward to meet Barkas.
"Is this lady to be the next Grand Duchess?"
Thalia observed the man cautiously. He was young, with skin bronzed by the sun to a deep honey tone, dark brown hair, and piercing black eyes. He studied her with curious eyes as she peeked out from the folds of her cloak, then offered a polite bow.
"It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness. I am Tyron El Drakan."
Only after hearing that name did Thalia realize the men lined up before her were Easterners. These were vassals of House Sieorkan, come to escort their lord home.
She tried to pull down the fabric covering her face to return the greeting, but Barkas intervened. He pulled the hood back over her head and spoke nonchalantly as he moved past the man.
"We leave shortly. Have the horses ready."
"Will it be all right if we do not stop by the Imperial Palace?"
"The handover of the knights is already complete," Barkas replied firmly. "There is no reason to remain here any longer."
He cast a cold look at the servant standing dazed by the carriage. "What are you doing? Open the door at once."
The startled servant immediately threw the door open. Barkas stepped inside and set her down on a seat covered with thick, plush cushions. He meticulously straightened her clothes before speaking.
"We plan to travel for several hours without rest. If you feel unwell, signal the driver."
Thalia looked up at him, her eyes searching. She had no way of knowing why he was in such a rush. Was someone chasing them?
The faces of Gareth and Aila flashed through her mind. Were the two of them plotting something? Aila’s venomous voice, warning her that she would regret this, echoed in her ears.
Thalia bit her lip. It had always been her role to weave schemes and traps. But now, the positions were reversed. If Aila loved Barkas even half as much as she once had, she would do anything to get him back. Perhaps she would send assassins to ambush them. Maybe Barkas was worried about that, and so…
"Your Highness."
As if sensing the chaotic thoughts swirling in her head, he lifted her chin to meet her eyes.
"I told you before. You don’t need to think about anything."
His low, melodic voice resonated in her mind like a hypnotic spell. Thalia looked flustered. What was his intention? Was he trying to silence her in advance so she wouldn’t cause trouble? Or… or was it something else?
She quickly put the brakes on her thoughts before they could stray too far. He was the man who had turned her mind into a battlefield and then left as if nothing had happened. The man who had thrown her into an unfamiliar place and hadn’t shown his face for an entire week. The scars within her were too deep to harbor vain hopes over a few meaningful words.
Thalia pushed his hand away.
"…Stop saying strange things. Just leave if we’re going."
Despite her sharp snap, he didn’t flinch. A gaze of unreadable depth brushed over her forehead. Thalia moistened her dry lips. Only when her throat felt tight did he slowly stand up and exit the carriage.
Only after hearing the door click shut did Thalia exhale the breath she had been holding. She crept toward the carriage wall and peered through the window frame, watching Barkas converse with the Easterners.
Among the men with dark hair and sun-kissed skin, he stood out like an outsider. Yet, she realized that perhaps he wasn’t so different from them after all. He had left his homeland at a young age and spent most of his life in the Imperial Palace. To him, the East must also be a foreign land.
Suddenly, the image of a young boy sent alone to a hostile country formed in her mind. That image soon shifted into her own reflection—the girl she had been when she first arrived at the Imperial Palace.
Had the six-year-old Barkas been as lonely as she was? Had he felt just as lost and suffocated, as if he had stepped into the belly of a monster?
While she was lost in thought, the carriage began to move. Thalia watched the scenery—both foreign and familiar—flow past like a river.
A bitter smile escaped her. Was she really in a position to worry about the man who would rule the East? From now on, she would be in a strange land, entirely alone. She was about to start a new life in a place where she had no one to lean on, yet here she was, worrying about someone else.
Then again, when have I ever had a place to lean on?
Thalia curled into a ball in the corner of the carriage and buried her face in her knees. The Imperial Palace had been no different; she had never truly belonged there either.
To Senevia, she was nothing more than a useful tool. To the Emperor, she was an uncomfortable presence—a living reminder of his past mistakes. To her half-siblings, she was a filthy stain that had to be wiped away.
Suddenly, she wondered. What would she become in the East?