When the sturdy body, pale and shining in the light, filled her field of vision, it was as if her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth — she could not move.
She swallowed dryly and slowly swept her eyes over him.
Perhaps he had just washed off the dust raised during the march; his faint blond hair, slightly darker than usual, was shaking off water, and there was still moisture on his sculpted shoulders and broad back. Talia watched the droplets sliding down along the taut curves of his muscles and, flushing, hastily lifted her gaze.
The generously cut trouser legs were also soaking wet, clinging to his long, strong legs.
The last time she had seen him so unguarded was when she turned fourteen, when — in a spiteful whim — she had ordered him into a lake.
Talia moistened her cracked lips and tried desperately to assemble the shattered words in her throat.
At that moment, a dry laugh sounded nearby.
"From your mouth to hear the word 'hierarchy' — that's enough to make a dog laugh."
The mocking tone swept away her confusion like an ebbing tide and left only irritation. She narrowed her eyes and snorted.
"Hierarchy exists so those above can wag it at those below. And you knights are in a position to obey royals like me. Make sure your men understand whose orders take precedence. Unless they want to be flogged for disrespect."
Barcas, pushing his arm into the sleeve of his shirt, shot her an ice-cold look.
Talia stiffened. From experience she knew how mercilessly this man could wield his tongue when he decided to. She watched him as if watching a venomous snake, ready for when the strike might come.
But Barcas said nothing. He picked up the robe hanging on the wall and, without giving her so much as a glance, walked out of the tent.
Talia, who had been staring in dismay, immediately hurried after him. If he had poured out cruel words or scowled angrily, she might not have been so enraged. But being treated as if she were a pebble on the roadside and ignored — she could not bear that.
She caught up quickly and snapped at him loudly.
"You always have to let my words slide off your ears to feel relieved, don't you?"
Her ringing voice made the soldiers who were busy moving supplies stop and look over.
But Barcas did not even pretend to listen. He simply walked on, eyes fixed ahead, as if she were worthless. Seeing that made her head swim with rage.
Talia grabbed his sleeve roughly. Perhaps he did not want his clothing torn in front of the men; in any case he stopped.
To that blank face she spat each word as if chewing and spitting it out.
"You must have been rejoicing inside — finally you don't have to follow orders from that detestable girl. It must feel so good, right? That's why you pretend not to hear me!"
"If your words made sense," he replied coldly, detaching her fingers from his sleeve, "I might at least pretend to hear them."
She ground her teeth. The way he flicked his shirt as if to brush off filth stung.
Perhaps it would be better if this man simply disappeared from the world. Then she would never have to feel this humiliating way.
She shot him a hostile look, then suddenly let out a rough laugh.
"Don't my words sound like words to you? Then shall I speak as beasts do, like your barbarian ancestors — will that make you understand?"
The servants watching them paled at the overstep. Yet Barcas merely looked down at her silently. Talia kept talking, heedless.
"If you want, I can even mimic the cries of a horse. I think you'd get that more easily. You always liked horses more than people, didn't you?"
"Talking to a horse is easier than talking to you," Barcas sneered.
Talia trembled with indignation. Seeing that, Barcas twisted his mouth as if he found it ridiculous.
"You blush at a little counterpunch, yet you don't hesitate to pick at other people's sore spots... Do you think others can't stoop as low as you, so you behave as if you have the right to humiliate them?"
She shot him a vicious look, wanting violently to retort, her throat swelling with things unsaid.
Who do you think you are to know me?
No one knew human meanness better than she did — precisely because she had learned how cruel people could be, she had decided to become cruel first. If she did not crush them, they would crush her. Saying that aloud would only reveal her weakness.
She stepped back, regaining a cool, unruffled expression.
"I didn't come for pointless back-and-forth. As I already said — I want my camp moved. Order your knights to pack up right now."
Barcas drew a long breath as if gathering the patience he had left.
"I will not hum to the tune of your whims. Stop wasting time and go rest."
"It's not as if I'm asking you to move the entire army! Why can't you comply?"
"I have no obligation to explain every decision I make."
"I am the emperor's daughter! When I order, you will obey—"
"Enough."
A deep shadow dropped across her head. Talia flinched and hunched her shoulders. Barcas had abandoned even formalities; he bent over her and said in a voice as cold as frost,
"I've already spent the day's allotment of patience on you. Know when to stop."
Despite the rough tone, the face with which he looked down at her had an almost noble quality. Even when his anger sharpened, he did not lose composure. That only made her feel more miserable.
"Escort Her Highness back to her quarters."
He straightened and gave the nearby knights an order. Those who had been watching their stand-off immediately obeyed.
"Please, Your Highness," the knights intoned.
Talia glared at the men blocking her, then turned her gaze back to Barcas. He was already some distance away, walking without the slightest falter, every step elegant. She watched his retreating figure with clenched teeth.
He had not once asked why she wanted the camp moved. He had no interest in her thoughts.
As expected — it would be best if he were dead.
She felt ridiculous for ever worrying over his safety.
After all, when this journey ended he would belong to another woman. He would never be hers. Even if she woke tomorrow to find his corpse, what would it matter?
With a rough movement she turned on her heel.
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