The maid, her hands trembling uncontrollably, lifted the spoon but couldn't bring herself to touch it to the bowl. Instead, she clenched her eyes shut as if, by sheer endurance, she could escape what was about to happen. Perhaps she even hoped that someone might appear and intervene.
Talia seized the knife on the table. Her voice was cold and merciless as she gave her command.
"Hold this woman's fingers to the plate. Since she dares to scorn my generosity, I'll make an example of her by cutting off one finger."
The man immediately pinned the maid's hand flat against the silver platter. Talia gripped the end of the woman's index finger and raised the carving knife high into the air.
The maid shrieked in terror.
"I'll eat! I'll eat it all! I'll eat everything!"
Frantically, she dipped the spoon into the bowl and began to shovel the broth containing the dead bird into her mouth. She gulped it down greedily, as though hoping that swallowing without tasting would make it bearable. She barely chewed, forcing it down in large lumps. But before even five spoonfuls had passed, she vomited everything back up.
Even so, Talia pressed her cold demand.
"Eat it all. Every last drop. I want to see the bottom of that bowl."
The maid's terrified eyes locked onto her—not eyes of contempt anymore, but the wide, horrified gaze of someone staring at something monstrous.
Talia, with nothing but a glance, ordered her to continue.
Weeping bitterly, the maid obeyed—eating, vomiting, and eating again. She forced the broth into her mouth over and over, but could never swallow the rotting bird itself. Time after time she gagged it back up. At last, her face—smeared with blood, tears, and vomit—turned ashen. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed onto the carpet with a heavy thud.
Talia looked down at the maid, who was foaming at the mouth and convulsing, then gave a haughty nod to the petrified servants.
"Clean all of this up."
She flung the filthy dish at their feet.
"And bring me new food. Something proper this time."
From that day on, the servants' relentless torment ceased as if it had never been. The maids treated her with the caution one might show a dangerous weapon. Some servants trembled with outright fear. No longer did they glare at her with scorn or whisper cruel words loud enough for her to hear. Whenever Talia appeared, they shut their mouths like clams and bowed their heads.
Soon, rumors of the Second Princess's cruelty spread throughout the Imperial Palace. Tales of how she had mercilessly tortured an innocent maid who had served the Imperial family faithfully for over ten years shocked everyone. People shuddered at the malice of such a young girl.
The priests clicked their tongues, saying that a viper's hatchling had crawled into the Imperial family. Loyal subjects of the Empire fretted that such a vicious princess would disgrace the authority of the throne.
But there were those who were pleased by Talia's brutality.
It was on a day just before winter. The Empress arrived at the detached palace, clad in a dress the same deep, dark blue as her eyes.
Descending the stairs with a stiff face to greet her, Talia froze in place the moment she saw Senebier. To her disbelief, her throat tightened with yearning.
This was the mother who had so cruelly turned her back. Talia had watched her slender figure recede, her hand slapped away with cold indifference, and sworn never again to love that woman.
But when Senebier crossed the great hall and kissed her cheek, that vow crumbled like a sandcastle before the tide.
"Hello, Talia. You look truly beautiful today."
The Empress smelled of roses and lilacs, and a sweetness like ripe fruit. To realize she had longed for that intoxicating fragrance with all her being was nothing short of despair.
Senebier gazed down at her daughter's dark face and coaxed a gentle smile.
"You must be upset that I've come after such a long absence. Forgive me. I've been preparing a very special gift for you."
A look of unease crossed Talia's face.
"A… gift?"
"I heard how effectively you disciplined those insolent servants. That gladdened your mother's heart, and so you deserve a reward."
Her voice sang like a canary as she turned with elegance. Only then did Talia see the figure of a boy approaching slowly across the hall.
Talia's breath caught.
In the span of a few months, he must have been formally knighted, for he now wore the uniform of the Imperial Guard. Barcas was walking toward her.
Sunlight pouring through the windows scattered across his ash-blond hair, breaking into shards of brilliance that stabbed at her eyes like glass splinters.
Senebier stepped beside the boy and spread her hand as though showing off a prized trophy.
"Here is the handsome knight who will protect you."
The boy stopped before her and offered a bow.
Once, his eyes had shone with the dream of a crown. Now, they flickered only with dagger-like anger and the faint glimmer of humiliation. It was clear enough that he had not come here by choice.
Looking down at her as if she were an inanimate object, he introduced himself.
"Barcas Laedgo Siercan."
His voice was dry enough to chill the spine.
"I will serve at your side until Your Highness's coming-of-age ceremony."
The implication was obvious: he longed for that day to arrive swiftly, so he could be free of this humiliating duty.
Talia lifted her gaze to his masklike, frigid face, her eyes bleak. His icy stare, his curt words, his rigid bearing—all of it reduced her once more to a worthless, despised being.
She fought desperately not to shrink back, but the heat of shame flushed her neck and ears until she could scarcely endure it.
And in that moment, Talia understood with painful clarity.
This beautiful boy would not be her hope.
He would be her torment.
A torment most cruel.
After days of drizzling rain, the skies cleared. The sun blazed down, heralding the season of fire.
Crossing the bustling courtyard in search of her fiancé, Aila wiped the sweat from her brow and narrowed her dazzled eyes against the glare.
The wide training ground, usually used for military drills, was now crammed with dozens of baggage wagons, tack merchants, massive draft horses specially bred for hauling loads, and soldiers carrying every manner of equipment needed for long journeys.
For a moment, she frowned at the chaos resembling a marketplace. Then, spotting Barcas checking the condition of a warhorse near the outer wall, her eyes lit up.
He was dressed not in the white combat uniform of the Roem Knights, but in a black tunic embroidered with intricate patterns, over which he wore a breastplate of dark iron. He looked more the noble lord of the East than an Imperial knight.
Aila smiled with pride as she watched him. Once this mission was over, Barcas would leave the Guard to begin the succession process to become Grand Duke of Siercan. And she would study to become the lady of that house by his side.
This had been her destined future ever since the day he had followed his mother into the Empress's gardens.
Yet sometimes, Aila found herself plagued with doubt as to whether such a day would ever come.
Barcas was always courteous, sometimes even kind, but Aila knew there remained a distance between them that could not be bridged. That distance had been a constant ache to her, and even now, it was hard to believe that in a few months' time he would be her husband.
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