TFM 75

Chapter 75

***

"It may look a bit rough on the outside, but the interior is decorated so lavishly that it could rival any castle in the central region. You won’t find it uncomfortable to stay here."

The man, who had been watching her expression, spoke soothingly. Talia merely gave him a skeptical look.

Has this country bumpkin ever even set foot inside an imperial palace or a castle inhabited by the great nobility?

Perhaps sensing her disdain, a vein on the man’s forehead throbbed slightly. He added, emphasizing each word.

“Raedgo Castle was built by the dwarves during the Era of the Ten Kingdoms. It boasts a scale and level of comfort rivaling the imperial palace... ...."

"I know that. It’s the fortress your Kan people had the dwarves from the northeastern region built as slaves, isn’t it?"

At those words, spat out like a barbed remark, the man’s mouth clamped shut.

Talia continued coldly, intending to prevent this seemingly frivolous man from speaking out of turn.

“You’ve blabbed on about things I didn’t ask about. Now would you mind stepping aside?”

“Oh, really.”

The man, wearing an exasperated expression, shook his head.

“Your Highness, do you happen to know the meaning of the word ‘sociability’?”

“And do you know what ‘useless meddling’ means?”

Talia’s voice took on a sharp edge.

“Or the meaning of the word ‘rudeness’?”

Realizing that further conversation would be a waste of time, the man whipped his reins and fled the scene as if escaping.

Talia snorted derisively at his retreating back and promptly shut the window.

People who approach you pretending to be kind for no reason usually have ulterior motives.

Moreover, that lady from the East was merely pretending to smile with her mouth, while her eyes were scrutinizing every detail of her and passing judgment.

She was probably trying to figure out what kind of person the future Grand Duchess would be.

Talia snorted derisively, drew the curtains over the window, and sank deep into her seat.

She couldn’t let her guard down for even a moment. The Shiokan clan surely viewed her with disdain.

The former Empress Bernadette and the Grand Duke of Shiokan were cousins and had been quite close. The Kan clan surely harbored strong resentment toward the fact that the daughter of the current empress—with whom they were politically at odds—had become the next Grand Duchess, rather than their own blood relative, Ayla.

Talia clutched her throbbing head. Perhaps she would be treated even more unpleasantly than she could have imagined.

Hadn’t she already endured all sorts of humiliating treatment even at the Imperial Palace, where Senevere stood firmly in command? Raedgo Castle would be no different—if anything, it would be even worse.

Talia scraped her lips with her fingernail; they were chapped and crusted over from constant biting.

Her throat, parched from the fever, stung. She pulled a water bottle from the chest of drawers on one side of the carriage and took a long swig to moisten her dry mouth, when a loud trumpet blast sounded from outside.

Talia peered through the curtains once more.

Before she knew it, the carriage had reached the fortress.

As if undergoing an identity check, the carriage slowed briefly before finally passing through the massive castle gates.

Talia, who had been surveying the surroundings through the window, let out a gasp of surprise.

The words of Tyron, the man from the East, had certainly not been an exaggeration. Contrary to its rugged exterior, the interior of the castle was filled with a beauty born of precise calculation.

She surveyed the astonishingly clean and well-maintained roads, the spires soaring as if to pierce the sky, and the intricate architecture, one by one. It seemed as though every structure had been meticulously carved by a single master craftsman.

The citadel, crafted from a combination of gray stone and black marble, rose to varying heights, creating an exquisite aesthetic, while arched stone bridges connected the buildings like arteries.

As she gazed at them with admiration, a fountain situated in the center of the square came into view.

Talia’s eyes widened. The fountain, far larger and more magnificent than the one installed at the Imperial Palace, was vigorously spouting streams of clear water.

There was no doubt that this fortress was supplied with an abundant water source.

The water overflowing from the fountain flowed along the grooves carved into the pavement and into the canal.

Overwhelmed by the scenery inside the castle—meticulously woven from stone, marble, steel, and water—she couldn’t stop taking it all in.

Just then, the column of cavalrymen marching in formation came to a halt in front of a structure that appeared to be the main keep.

Talia turned her gaze forward.

In front of the beautiful citadel—a fusion of the Roem Empire’s delicate architectural style and the Easterners’ unique aesthetic sensibility—people dressed in splendid attire stood lined up in rows.

Varkas, who had halted his horse there, dismounted and shouted something in the Eastern language. Immediately, those waiting on the steps rushed down and surrounded him.

‘Are those Varkas’s relatives?’

As she scrutinized them with a curious gaze, Varkas, having pushed aside the commotion, walked straight toward her carriage.

Talia hurriedly drew the curtains over the window. Just as she was about to lie down on the seat and pretend to be asleep, the carriage door burst open without warning, and Varkas stepped inside.

Talia looked up at him, her face tense.

Just as he had always done since leaving the Roem Knights, Varkas wore black iron armor with an Eastern-style cloak loosely draped over it.

His massive frame, heavy with the scent of dry grass, instantly filled her field of vision.

“How are you feeling?”

Varkas removed his gauntlet and placed his hand on her forehead. Perhaps sensing her fever, a faint furrow appeared between his smooth brows.

“Your fever hasn’t gone down yet.”

“………I’m fine. It’s not like it’s been just a day or two, after all.”

Talia looked down, her expression uncomfortable.

Perhaps she had grown somewhat accustomed to it by now; she no longer jumped in surprise every time he touched her, but she couldn’t help feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, and he took the coat draped over his shoulders and wrapped it around her. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he slid his arms under her knees and tried to lift her up.

Talia immediately twisted her body to the side and hugged her knees.

“Don’t do that! Do you intend to embarrass me even in front of your own family?”

Varkas’s eyes narrowed. He tilted his head to one side as if he couldn’t understand.

“Why is it shameful for a husband to look after his wife?”

Talia stared at him, speechless.

She had known all along that this man was a man bound by a sense of duty. But she hadn’t expected him to try to fulfill his obligations even in a marriage arranged under pressure from the emperor.

She glared at him with a fierce look.

“Is that what Ayla taught you? That a husband must look after his wife?”

His brow furrowed at her sharp tone.

After a brief pause, as if deep in thought, Varkas replied dryly.

“Didn’t you swear that very oath before the altar? That you would care for your husband as you would your own body?”

“That’s funny. You don’t even spare your own body.”

“….”

“And I have no intention of playing the role of an ‘obedient wife’ just because some priest babbled about it. So you can stop pretending to be a devoted husband, too.”

She snapped at him sharply, then staggered to her feet, intending to walk out. But Varkas, who had approached from behind, snatched her up into his arms.

Talia glared at him, her face flushed with anger. But before she could snap back, Varkas spoke first.

“Do I look stupid enough to expect you to be ‘obedient’?”

“What do you mean by that………………!”

“It means I don’t expect anything from you, so do whatever you want. ”

He spat out the words dryly, then adjusted his grip on her struggling body with one arm.

“I, too, intend to do as I please.”

With that, he pulled the hood of his cloak over her head and hopped down from the carriage.

Talia squinted against the blinding sunlight.

As her vision, which had momentarily gone white, cleared, she saw unfamiliar faces staring at her with expressions mingling wariness and curiosity.

Talia blushed with shame. Far from displaying the dignity befitting a princess, she felt a wave of humiliation wash over her at the realization that she was being carried away, held limply like a helpless child.

“Is this the woman who pushed aside the First Princess and took my brother’s wife’s place?”

As she unconsciously hid her face against his shoulder, a clear, androgynous voice reached her ears.

Talia turned around.

A boy with tousled black hair and large, golden-brown eyes was looking at her, his hands clasped behind his back.

He looked to be about fifteen. His youthful face, still covered in a light fuzz of downy hair, came right up close to hers.

The boy peered intently at her with a curious gaze, as she peeked out from behind her hood.

“Your eyes look just like lapis lazuli.”

Then, without warning, he reached up and tried to pull the hood off her head.

She froze in shock at this unprecedented rudeness, but Varkas grabbed the boy’s wrist.

“Lucas.”

The voice so cold it startled her echoed from above her head.

***

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