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Chapter 39
In a flash, ‌‌Barcas reached the carriage and deposited her onto the seat as though discarding a sack of grain.
I ‌‌rubbed ‌‌‌my throbbing backside and glared at him with eyes burning with indignation. ‌‌Then I froze upon seeing his expression twisted into something sinister. Barcas, his patience visibly shattered, looked down at ‌‌‌me and spoke through gritted teeth.
"Did I not warn you to stop causing ‌‌‌troublesome incidents?"
My momentary hesitation evaporated as quickly as it came, and I shot him a defiant glare.
"Why ‌‌should I listen to you? What exactly do you think you are?"
"Better than a Princess in name only."
A cold sneer played at the corners of ‌‌‌Barcas's ‌‌mouth.
I ‌‌‌surged to my feet with a cry of anguish. ‌‌The urge to strike that arrogant face was becoming unbearable.
But Barcas was faster. He ‌‌‌‌leaned over me and pinned my arms, his gaze utterly devoid of ‌‌‌‌mercy as he looked down. That cold, pitiless stare traced across my burst ‌‌blood vessels and the darkening bruises that surely marked my neck.
A weary sigh escaped his lips.
"What is it you fail to understand that drives you to such recklessness? No one in this place will actively protect you. If the Crown ‌‌Prince wills it, no one can guarantee your life."
"Why do you even care?"
I cried out sharply.
"Wouldn't you be ‌‌‌relieved if I disappeared from this ‌‌‌‌world?"
"I cannot deny ‌‌‌that."
Though I had anticipated his answer, my heart felt as though it were bleeding.
He continued with cruel composure.
"However, I cannot allow your actions to jeopardize the Crown Prince's position. So, if you wish to harm yourself, ‌do it by your own hand."
I clenched my jaw against the burning sensation rising in my ‌‌‌eyes.
He slowly ‌straightened, and the sharp edges of his expression were replaced by ‌‌‌the impassive mask of a knight. He added in a businesslike tone.
"I shall summon a healing mage. Compose ‌yourself and rest."
I answered by seizing a goblet from the floor and hurling it at him. The silver cup ‌‌struck his chest and clattered to the ground. Barcas, his gaze turning glacial with disgust, turned and left the carriage.
I slammed the door shut behind him. ‌‌The tears I had desperately held back finally spilled down my cheeks. Terrified that my sobs might escape, I clamped my hand over my mouth. The cry caught in my throat threatened to suffocate me. I wished I could simply cease to exist.
* * *
Atop Ulgram Hill stood only the White Temple, erected by Emperor Darian to commemorate Osyria's independence.
Pilgrims paused before it, gazing up at the magnificent structure that gleamed pristine white ‌‌‌‌with reverent wonder.
Despite the passage of centuries, the temple remained nearly perfectly preserved.
They traced the prayers carved into its walls ‌‌‌‌and the statues of various heroes, ‌‌falling into religious ecstasy. Yet the Crown Prince seemed unmoved by the legacy his ‌‌‌ancestors had left behind.
Gareth leaped down ‌‌from his saddle and surveyed the arched entrance with a listless gaze before asking.
"Is this the second sacred site?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
One of the attendants answered in a tense ‌‌voice.
The attendants, well aware that his mood had been deteriorating since the previous day, all wore subdued expressions and watched ‌‌‌only for his cues. Only Barcas maintained his usual ‌‌composed demeanor.
"There is no resident priest here. We shall prepare the ceremony ourselves."
Barcas approached the Crown Prince's side and spoke.
The Crown Prince, regarding him with a gaze tinged with inexplicable hostility, turned sharply and replied.
"Then don't dawdle—be quick about it."
The moment ‌his command fell, the attendants began positioning the carriages near the temple and unloading supplies. The retinues of the First and Second Princesses, who arrived shortly after, joined in the effort.
As soldiers expertly erected tents, servants extracted censers, sacred vessels, silver ewers, and ‌‌candlestands from the chests and began polishing them until they gleamed. Once the basic preparations were complete, the handmaids attended to the grooming of the Crown Prince and the First Princess.
From a distance, Edrick watched the scene unfold before approaching the carriage where Talia ‌‌had barricaded ‌‌herself. He knew he should suggest she prepare herself for the ceremony, yet his lips remained stubbornly sealed.
He stared at the firmly closed door, his hand rising to scratch the back of his head rather roughly. The memory of the Second Princess's condition from the previous evening surfaced, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably.
Edrick let his raised arm fall limply to his side, abandoning his attempt to knock. Instead, his gaze drifted toward the Crown Prince's tent pitched at a distance.
While servants hauled an enormous bathtub before the tent and filled it with water, kindling a fire beneath it, the Crown Prince reclined in his chair with infuriating leisure, sipping wine with unhurried grace. ‌‌‌The sight ‌‌left a bitter taste in my mouth.
'He assaults his own ‌‌‌‌sister so brutally, yet feels not a shred of remorse.'
I had heard rumors that the Crown Prince raised his hand against the Second Princess, but I never imagined it would be to such a degree.
He clenched his fists, recalling the image of a delicate woman—barely substantial in frame—being struck across the face by a man of massive ‌‌build, her neck constricted as she thrashed desperately. Had Count Sierchan not been nearby, a tragedy of unspeakable horror might have unfolded.
Edrick gazed down at his palms, slick with cold sweat, then turned away.
Talia Roem Guerta would undoubtedly refuse to participate in the ceremony anyway. There was no point exhausting himself further.
As ‌he swallowed a heavy sigh and began moving toward the White Temple, ‌‌‌‌a clattering sound erupted from behind him. ‍‌‌‌
"You there."
Edrick spun around, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of Talia standing in the carriage entrance with her arms crossed. The woman descended with an expression of arrogant indifference, as though nothing had transpired, and gestured with her chin.
"Summon the handmaids."
"...I beg your pardon?"
The woman fixed him with an irritated glare as he stood blinking stupidly.
"Are you both ‌ugly ‌‌‌‌and dim-witted? Did your ears stop working too? I'm going to prepare ‌‌‌‌‌‌‌myself, so ‌‌bring the handmaids at once!"
Stunned by language he had never heard from her before, Edrick quickly ‌‌‌‌turned and gathered the servants the Empress had assigned to her.
A sigh of relief escaped him as he watched Talia brandish her tongue with such commanding ‌‌‌‌‌‌vigor. Though the healer had mended her wounds cleanly the previous night, she had endured both starvation and brutal suffering—he ‌‌‌‌‌had feared she might collapse from illness. ‌‌‌‌Yet here she stood, seemingly undiminished.
'Fortunately, she appears unharmed.'
Of course she did. This was the woman who had narrowly escaped death itself, only to mock the Crown Prince without a trace of intimidation. Her spirit would not be so easily broken.
Edrick released a hollow laugh, then instructed the servants to fetch water and commanded his subordinates to don their dress uniforms. Since the Second Princess had finally resolved to participate in the Imperial Family's traditional ceremony, he would ensure she received the proper support befitting her station as a Guard Knight.
‌‌‌

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