Contrary to her expectations, the journey went smoothly.
Night after night, thick and tar-like darkness returned, yet each dawn arrived without a single drop of blood spilled. By the time the sun climbed high into the sky, they packed their belongings and set out once more.
The soldiers, exhausted by the relentless heat, began to lag, slowing their progress somewhat. Still, the pilgrimage continued without any serious disruption.
On the fifth day since departing from the imperial palace, the procession led by Gareth and his royal guard reached the small northwestern town of Sortica. After spending a night there, they moved on again, heading north.
During that time, Talia kept a sharp eye on the attendants sent by Senebier. They wore masks of exaggerated loyalty, but Talia never relaxed her vigilance for even a moment.
They were only waiting for the right opportunity. It was obvious that something terrible would happen soon — as sure as day follows night. Wherever Senebier's hand was involved, a sinister scheme always lurked close behind.
If not today, then tomorrow; if not tomorrow, then the day after… Soon, something dreadful would unfold before her eyes.
Talia couldn't tell whether she feared that moment or secretly longed for it.
Whenever she saw Barcas — the man who treated her with such icy indifference — being endlessly gentle toward Aila, she found herself wishing for a disaster to strike right then and there.
If both of them were reduced to something unrecognizable, perhaps then she could breathe easily. Seeing his corpse would be a hundred times better than seeing him stand at Aila's side.
But when night fell, suffocating fear crept in. No matter how many times she told herself she didn't care if that man died, it never eased her heart.
Restless and trembling through the night, Talia burst out of her tent before dawn.
Guided only by the dim gray light of early morning, she went searching for him. Only by seeing Barcas alive and breathing could she finally breathe herself.
She hurried along a narrow path overgrown with bushes — until she froze at the sound of a horse snorting.
Pushing through the thick foliage, she saw a gray stallion with a black mane.
Barcas was there, leading the powerful beast down to a spring. Kneeling on one knee, he tugged the reins so that the horse dipped its head to drink. Then, with his other hand, he lifted a handful of water and gently poured it over the animal's long, muscular neck.
Sunlight filtering through the dense leaves turned his hair to a soft silver. Watching that sight, Talia closed her eyes in despair.
No matter how many times she cut it away, her love for Barcas grew back like a tumor, devouring her from within. She could see no way out of the mire.
How could she rid herself of this feeling?
Leaning her back against a large tree, she stared blankly up at the sky, then turned weakly to leave — and stopped when she saw Aila walking down the same path. Talia quickly hid behind the tree.
Aila must have come straight from her bed. She wore only a thin gown over her dress, her long hair spilling loosely over her shoulders. She looked as disheveled as — no, even more disheveled than — Talia herself.
And yet Aila still appeared graceful and refined. Talia thought bitterly that perhaps there was something in that woman's blood she herself would never have, even in death.
"There you are," Aila said softly, her cheeks tinged with pink warmth as she approached him. She sat lightly on a flat rock by the spring.
Barcas's gaze turned to her. Aila's eyes curved gently, as if that quiet glance alone made her happy. Cautiously, she slipped off her shoes and dipped her feet into the water, splashing lightly.
The sound of the horse snorting, the rippling water, and Aila's bright, birdlike laughter mingled with the cool dawn air.
Talia had to fight the urge to run out and seize her half-sister's hair. She wanted to tear apart the smiling lips that turned toward him, to rip out the tongue that prattled to him — but she restrained herself. She couldn't bear to see Barcas trying to protect Aila from her.
Before long, when Aila had played enough in the water, she reached out her hand toward him. Instead of taking it to help her up, Barcas bent down and wiped her feet. Then, like a devoted servant, he carefully slipped her shoes back on.
The sight pierced Talia's chest like a knife.
She turned and ran. Branches and leaves clawed at her arms and legs, but she felt no pain. It was as though all her senses had broken down.
Breathing harshly, she tore through the winding forest path like a racing horse — until her foot caught on a jutting tree root, and she fell forward.
Buried among the undergrowth, her chest heaving, Talia suddenly burst out laughing.
What would Senebier say if she saw her like this? Probably wrinkle her perfect brow and shake her head. Talia could almost hear her mocking voice whispering from somewhere nearby.
"You have two choices, my dear.
One — seize the man you want by any means necessary.
Or two — lose him, but at least lose with a shred of dignity."
It was as if she wanted Talia to become a temptress and seduce him. But Talia could never become like Senebier — not even in death.
Senebier would have stopped at nothing to claim what she desired. But Talia… Talia could only pray for this torment to end soon, unable to think of what else to do.
She gazed up at the fragments of sky through the branches, then slowly rose to her feet.
When she emerged from the shadowy forest, weary and dragging her steps, she saw several knights moving about in confusion. Passing them, she approached her carriage — only to have one of the imperial guards, Rubon or whatever his name was, quickly block her path.
"Where on earth have you been, Your Highness, without a word? I've told you repeatedly — you mustn't wander off alone without an escort—"
The arrogant lecture stopped short when the knight finally took in her disheveled state.
"What… what happened to you? Were you attacked somewhere?"
Talia brushed past him and stepped onto the carriage platform.
But the man didn't stop talking. Gripping the doorframe firmly, he went on in a hard voice,
"It is my duty to protect you, Your Highness. Therefore—"
"Anyone listening would think you actually care about me," Talia cut him off with a derisive smile.
"Did someone order you to keep your eyes on the mad princess every second of the day? If you're going to spy on me, at least do it properly. Don't blame me for what you miss while you're standing around like an idiot."
The knight clamped his mouth shut, unable to reply.
Talia slammed the door in his face.
He swore loudly when his fingers got caught in the crack. The gauntlet had spared him real injury, but judging from his grumbling, it had still hurt plenty.
As always, Talia ignored the complaints and noise outside.
If she had ever truly listened to all the words spoken around her, she would have gone mad long ago.
After becoming a princess, the first thing she learned was how to let words pass through her ears.
She drew the thick curtains over the glass window that glowed faintly with the light of dawn and curled up tightly, like a hedgehog.
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