"Won't you go and speak to him?"
The maids beside her grew impatient with Aila, frustrated that she was only watching from a distance. They were all dying for a closer look at Barcas. Among them were those who looked at him not merely with admiration, but with eyes full of longing.
Aila chose to ignore their presumptuous hearts. She could afford that composure because she knew Barcas would never glance at another woman.
Of course, he's never once looked at me with passion either…
A bitter smile touched her lips.
Barcas simply lacked the ability to feel such emotions.
He had entered the Imperial Palace at a young age, where fanatical fundamentalist priests had drilled into him the doctrines of loyalty to the Empire. The indoctrination was so harsh that he had lost nearly all of his emotions.
Even though his mother had done her utmost to shield him from the severity of the priests' discipline, by then the boy had already been stripped of joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure—along with most of the basic human desires.
Aila remembered the first time she had met him. How frightened she had been of that boy with eyes as empty as the husk of an insect.
Barcas had looked like a wax doll. He was so silent that he rarely spoke more than two sentences in an entire day, and unless someone ordered him to, he would neither eat nor sleep. Having had every instinct ruthlessly suppressed for so long, he seemed to have lost even hunger and the need for rest.
Compared to those days, the Barcas of now almost seemed… human.
Perhaps… perhaps he'll get better and better with time.
She gazed at her fiancé with hopeful eyes. She had promised herself countless times not to expect too much, but every time she looked at him, her heart trembled with longing.
That beautiful boy who had always stood by her poor mother's side… now the man who had grown into the most flawless figure in the entire Roem Empire. How could she not yearn for him?
She knew many women had suffered bitter heartbreak from loving him. But Aila considered herself to be in a far more favorable position than they.
True, their marriage had been arranged for the sake of political alliance. But soon, she would be his wife, and one day, she would bear his heir.
If she poured steady affection into the long years they would share together, surely one day the ice of his heart would melt.
Clinging to that hope, Aila carefully approached him. Sensing her presence, Barcas turned his head, the sunlight behind him casting his face in cold relief.
A chill ran down her spine. His expression seemed to mock all her dreams and hopes.
The man who had fixed her with such an unfeeling gaze turned back and spoke in a flat, monotonous voice.
"What is it?"
She forced her disordered feelings into line and deliberately curved her lips into a bright smile.
"I just came to see if the preparations for the journey were going well."
"They're nearly finished."
He ran a hand along the strong neck of a horse, his tone indifferent.
"The preparations have taken longer than expected, which is concerning. With the heat of the season, the journey will be grueling."
"There was no helping it. It was Gareth's stubbornness that threw the schedule off."
She spoke cautiously, glancing at her fiancé. The thought of her younger brother's reckless behavior made her cheeks burn with shame.
Gareth hadn't just forced his way into the journey—he behaved as if he meant to bring the entire Crown Prince's Palace along with him. Dozens of servants to wait on him, court jesters and a personal chef to relieve his boredom, even a tailor—all insisted upon.
She had been astonished by Barcas's patience, how he endured every unreasonable demand without once raising his voice.
She lowered her eyes apologetically.
"I'm only sorry to have troubled you with all this."
"There's nothing for Your Highness to apologize for. It's something that had to be dealt with sooner or later."
Handing the reins to the stablemaster, he added with indifference:
"Compared to what I had expected, he's behaving rather mildly. For a brother to part from his precious sister, this little mischief is tolerable."
Aila's face clouded. His words stirred the anxiety she had tried so hard to ignore.
She looked up at the gleaming white fortress before her, clutching at her skirts. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving her younger brother behind in this palace of sorrowful memories.
Especially when this place housed that wicked demon who coveted Gareth's place. Could her hot-tempered brother possibly stand alone against that cunning woman?
"If it wouldn't be too great a burden on you, I'd like to visit the Imperial Palace from time to time, even after we're married. Would that be all right?"
Barcas turned his gaze toward her, faint wrinkles forming on his otherwise smooth brow. Seeing this, Aila flushed, realizing how childish her request must sound.
As the future Grand Duchess, it would be no small task to manage the vast lands of the Siercan family and command hundreds of vassals. After marriage, her duty to the House of Siercan had to come before all else.
But after a moment of thought, Barcas simply nodded as if it were trivial.
"As long as such travel does not overburden Your Highness, you may come and go freely. This marriage, after all, was arranged to strengthen the Crown Prince's position."
Aila's expression dimmed. To him, it was a purely political marriage. To her, it was not. A pang of disappointment struck her, though she forced herself to smile brightly.
"Thank you for understanding."
Barcas gave only a slight nod before turning his attention back to inspecting the horse's teeth.
Suppressing a sigh, Aila laid her hand on his arm, forcing him to face her.
"I know you're busy, but couldn't you spare just a little time for me? Before we leave, I have something I want to give you."
He regarded her curiously, then turned and ordered a squire to put away the horses that had been checked. Afterwards, he escorted her to a quieter spot.
The maids, sensing the moment, discreetly withdrew, allowing Aila the chance to enjoy a walk with him alone.
She held onto his firm arm as they strolled along the well-kept path. Entering the vast garden, a gentle breeze caressed their faces.
The palace gardens were at their loveliest. The flowerbeds, carefully tended by servants, were bursting with summer blooms. Perfectly pruned shrubs gleamed with emerald leaves.
Aila took it all in with a sorrowful gaze. This sight always cut at her heart. In time, the palace that bore Senebier's traces had become part of everyday life, and her mother's garden was fading from memory. That was the hardest part of all.
"What is it you wished to give me?"
Pulled from her reverie, Aila looked up at Barcas.
In childhood, he had spent much time in Bernadette's garden. She knew that place had soothed his wounded heart, if only a little.
Suddenly she wondered—did he still long for her mother's garden?
Looking up at his expressionless face, she sighed in resignation and drew a handkerchief from within her cloak.
"I embroidered the Siercan family crest onto this."
His gaze fell upon the neatly folded cloth. Her mouth went dry.
Trying to shake off her nerves, she began chattering in an exaggerated tone.
"It's tradition for a fiancée to give her betrothed a handmade handkerchief before a journey. Of course, since we'll be traveling together…"
"A gracious gift."
He cut off her flustered words and accepted the handkerchief. A faint smile touched his dry lips.
Aila felt her chest swell with emotion. It stung her pride to be so anxious over his every gesture, but the fact that Barcas—so sparing with expressions—had smiled at her filled her with joy.
"I'll treasure it."
He tied the handkerchief to the hilt of his sword as he spoke. She smiled shyly.
At that moment, hurried footsteps sounded not far away.
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