Warmth in the Dark
The healer who had been looking down at her in silence finally spoke, carefully choosing her words.
"His Grace remained at Your Highness's side the entire time, until word came that raiders had appeared beyond the walls. He left in haste."
At the unexpected news, Thalia went rigid. She had no room left for the shame of having her private thoughts laid bare. She sat bolt upright and seized the healer's robe. A sharp pain flared through her solar plexus at the sudden movement, but in that moment she felt none of it.
"Raiders? When?"
"Approximately four hours ago."
The healer answered with calm composure.
Thalia pressed her urgently.
"How many of them? Is it dangerous? How many troops did he—"
The questions poured out in a rapid stream until the world before her eyes went white. She bit down hard on her lip. Before she could even register what was happening, her body tipped forward. Had a sun-browned, solid hand not caught her by the shoulder, she would have tumbled straight off the bed.
She looked up at the healer with a face sheened in cold sweat. The woman laid her firmly back against the pillows with decisive hands.
"I'll cast a recovery spell. For now, please rest."
"Barcas…"
"His Grace will be fine. The raiders number no more than a few dozen, and he commands the finest mounted warriors in the East."
The healer's measured reply finally restored a measure of reason. Thalia steadied her ragged breathing and stared at the glass window glowing white with light.
If he left two hours ago, he may already have finished putting them down.
Yes. Even during that large-scale campaign before, he came back within half a day as if nothing had happened. There's no need to fretting over nothing.
She repeated the thought to herself, trying to quiet the anxiety, when a lean, calloused hand settled over the back of hers. A mild warmth began to flow into her body.
"I've cast a healing spell as well, but magic takes poorly to wounds inside the body. Please refrain from any strenuous movement for a while."
Thalia closed her eyes tightly in place of an answer. The healer watched her condition a moment longer, then quietly withdrew.
Not long after, the nanny returned with a tray of food. Under her relentless coaxing, Thalia managed to swallow a few spoonfuls of vegetable gruel. The moment the food went down, her stomach stung as if she had swallowed needles. She lay tossing and turning for a long while before she finally drifted off around dusk.
She regained consciousness only as a deep darkness began to settle over everything.
Waking to a burning thirst, Thalia flinched at the sight of a large shadow cast before the fireplace.
Barcas stood by the window in a thin shirt—she had no idea when he had returned. Fortunately, he appeared unhurt.
She let out a long breath of relief, then suddenly stopped breathing altogether.
Eyes as still and desolate as a frozen lake were fixed on her.
She could not understand why her heart sank at a face that, at a glance, looked no different from usual. The man who had stood motionless for some time approached with slow steps. Thalia swallowed dryly without meaning to.
After holding her in that unnervingly quiet gaze, he turned toward the sideboard, took the pitcher from the tray, and poured a glass of water.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine."
Thalia took the cup awkwardly and answered in a deliberately casual tone.
She had meant to scold him thoroughly. See? What did I tell you? I said I didn't want that medicine. You forced it on me, and this is what happened. All the words she had prepared to hurl at him scattered in her mouth.
Glancing at him—he seemed more subdued than usual—she added carefully,
"It's nothing serious. Just a little stomach trouble, they said."
Something like a flash crossed Barcas's face. His eyes turned harsh as he snapped back,
"It is not a little. You were in a state severe enough to vomit blood."
The sharp reaction left Thalia looking bewildered. Barcas gripped her shoulders and pressed on.
"Had I found you even a little later, you might have choked—your airway blocked. Why didn't you say something sooner if you weren't well?"
"Because… I hurt all the time anyway. I didn't realize it was that bad."
The words came out like an excuse, and the muscles of Barcas's face hardened further. Jaw clenched as if enduring something, he walked to the window and drew in the cold air. When his voice came again after a long moment, it had settled into something far calmer.
"For the time being, I have decided we will remain at this castle so you may recuperate."
"What about the inspection tour?"
"We have already visited all the major cities."
He rubbed his temple with a forefinger and answered bluntly.
"Your Highness need only concern yourself with recovering."
Thalia nodded with a reluctant face. The high-handed tone irritated her, but she had no desire to pick a fight with a man who already looked so tired. She muttered in a somewhat deflated voice,
"Fine, just stop being angry. I'm already having a hard enough time."
Barcas's lips parted as if to say something, then closed again. The wavering firelight greedily licked at a face steeped in exhaustion. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Don't just hold it. Drink. You've lost a great deal of blood. Even if your stomach is uncomfortable, you need to keep taking in fluids."
At the gentler tone, Thalia relaxed and emptied the glass. The sudden stimulus clenched her stomach tight and sent a sharp pain through her, but she gave no sign of it and burrowed into the blankets.
Then a warm heat settled against her back. Thalia went stiff.
Barcas had lain down behind her and drawn her close as if it were the most natural thing in the world. With one hand he began to stroke the tightly knotted place at her solar plexus.
The tender touch made her eyes burn. Is this pity? Habit made her dig for the hidden meaning in his actions—then she stopped herself.
She no longer wanted to torment herself with self-punishing thoughts. She simply wanted to accept this warmth as it was.
Blinking in the dark, Thalia turned and nestled into his arms.
Barcas wrapped an arm around her back. Through the thin shirt came the dull, steady beat of his heart. Listening to that strong, even pulse, Thalia carefully slid her own arm around his waist.
The castle, which had been silent as a tomb, was in an uproar.
Stepping into the hall, Lucas frowned as he surveyed a kitchen swarming with peddlers. Among the merchants who had arrived laden with every kind of ingredient, a familiar face stood out.
He strode into the crowded space.
"What are you doing in a place like this?"
"Ah, Young Master Lucas."
Daren, who had been haggling with the merchants over something, waved at him with a cheerful expression.
"Have you finished everything His Grace assigned you?"
"All done."
Lucas answered dryly.
"I didn't skip morning drills, I tended the horses, and I polished every last bit of my brother's armor and weapons until they shone."
"Well done."
Daren patted his head as if he were something precious. Lucas roughly swatted the hand away and asked in a surly tone,
"So what is this circus, exactly?"
"We've brought in separate provisions for Her Grace the Grand Duchess. There seems to be very little among Eastern fare that she can eat. We had no choice but to purchase a few things from merchants of the central regions."
Lucas scowled as he looked over the sacks filling the kitchen.
How much can that little woman even eat, that they'd buy this much?
Surely they don't mean to spend an entire season here?
He looked up at Daren with a serious expression.
"Is she that bad?"
"According to the healer, her stomach appears to be thoroughly ruined."
Daren spoke with a troubled face.