The Autumn Rose
"Did you just compare me to some foal?"
Having finally decided to let her temper show, she put thorns in her voice—and Barcas let out a faint sigh.
"Stop picking fights and finish this, at least."
This time he brought a bowl of apricots. Thalia glared at the dish as if it were a mortal enemy, then turned her head away.
Barcas watched her quietly, then drew a chair to the bedside and sat. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he picked up one of the small fruits and began peeling away its soft skin with a knife.
Watching him calmly perform a task fit only for a maid, Thalia raised her voice in sheer disbelief.
"Stop it. Who asked you to wait on me at meals? Leave a high-maintenance woman like me alone and go do your own—!"
Still fretting and scolding, Thalia's face contorted as a soft piece of fruit was suddenly pushed into her mouth.
Having effectively sealed her lips, the man wiped his juice-slicked fingers on a towel and said, with infuriating calm:
"If Your Highness would stop skipping meals, I could focus on my own work."
Thalia glared up at him, the apricot still held between her lips.
She wanted to snap that whether she ate or not was none of his business—but to do that, she first had to swallow what was in her mouth.
So she crushed the soft flesh between her teeth. Sweet juice, sharp enough to tingle her tongue, flooded her mouth with a bright, fresh fragrance. It was not nearly as unpleasant as she had expected.
"Would you like a little more?"
The man who had been watching her eat so carefully picked up another fruit.
After a moment's hesitation, Thalia gave a prim little nod.
Barcas set to peeling the apricot at once. The careful way he trimmed the flesh with the small knife looked like a craftsman working a piece of fine jewelry. At that unfamiliar sight, her irritation quickly faded.
Thalia stole glances at him again, as if observing some unknown creature.
Whether out of guilt over forcing medicine on her, Barcas had begun tending to her meals with something close to obsession. At first he had merely checked that she was not skipping them; at some point he had progressed to placing the food in her mouth himself. He seemed to have grasped the seriousness of the matter only after seeing how little she actually ate.
"Here. Eat."
He held a neatly peeled piece of apricot to her lips.
Pretending she had no choice, Thalia parted her mouth. Along with the sweet flesh, his firm fingers brushed the tip of her tongue.
She flushed and tried to jerk her head back—but Barcas cupped the nape of her neck and lightly covered her mouth with his other hand. He must have thought she meant to spit it out.
Thalia narrowed her eyes in pure exasperation.
Does this man think I'm a child throwing a tantrum over food?
"Just this one. I won't force you any further."
Barcas coaxed her gently. Still glaring at him through narrowed eyes, Thalia worked her jaw mechanically.
Only after she had swallowed the softened fruit did his hand fall away.
"Would you care to go out for a short walk today?"
Having cleared away even the fruit bowl, Barcas made the sudden suggestion.
Thalia, rinsing her mouth with lukewarm water, turned to him with startled eyes.
"I'm allowed to go out?"
"The healer said fresh air and sunlight would help with your recovery."
Barcas brought a coat and draped it over her shoulders.
Thalia frowned.
"I haven't said I would go yet."
"You don't want to?"
He tilted his head.
Wearing a sullen look, Thalia reluctantly swung her legs down from the bed. But before her feet could touch the floor, her body lifted into the air.
She was startled for a moment by the way he scooped her up as if it were only natural—then she let the tension drain from her shoulders. She no longer had the strength left to be difficult.
"You're not cold?"
In a matter of moments they were outside the building. Barcas pulled the hood up over her head as he asked.
Thalia shook her head. The garden held the cool air of mid-autumn, but the sunlight was still warm.
He walked along the narrow path, treading through rustling leaves. A few blackbirds pecking at seed in a flower bed gone brown took flight with a flurry of wings.
Thalia watched the scene absently, then turned her gaze to his face. The pale sunlight was turning his light blond hair to silver. She remembered the first time Barcas had set foot in her villa.
Back then, she could never have imagined this man caring for her like this.
But looking back, Barcas had always been generous to the weak.
He had cradled a dying bird with care, and taken in a foal that had wasted away, refusing every human touch.
And that was not all. He had taken it upon himself to protect Gareth and Aila after they lost their mother so young, and even the woman who had been his enemy—he could not turn away from her broken state, and had taken her as his wife.
Had the priests never abused him, he might have grown into a rather soft-hearted man.
She was lost in such thoughts when he stopped walking.
She understood why soon enough. On one side of a withering flower bed, autumn roses were in bloom. Thalia looked up at him in mild surprise.
"You like flowers too?"
"I neither like nor dislike them."
Barcas answered dryly.
Then why—
She almost asked, then closed her mouth. She realized, a beat too late, that he had stopped so she could see them.
The words left her on impulse.
"Pick one for me."
He reached for a rose stem at once. She saw the sharp thorns dig into his fingers. But Barcas did not so much as flinch.
With an expressionless face he broke the rose free, then scraped the thorns away with his fingertips. When the stem was finally clean, he held it out to her. At the sight, a strange emotion welled up inside her.
This was the same man who had endured Gareth's rough treatment in silence. He had given the Emperor his full loyalty, and played the flawless fiancé to Aila.
And now he was performing the role of her husband without a word of complaint.
Is this how he means to live—simply answering whatever those around him expect and demand?
For the first time, a question about his life stirred in her.
"Are you… planning to do everything I ask of you?"
"If it's something I can do."
Barcas looked faintly puzzled, then answered as if it were nothing.
Thalia stared at him, at a loss for words, then dropped her gaze to the pale-colored rose.
To him it was an object without meaning—a worthless bloom he would simply hand over because she had asked. But she would love this flower until the day she died.
In that moment, she saw clearly what the feeling inside her was.
It was resignation.
She would never, in all her life, receive this long-held love back from him.
Nor would this man ever suffer the feverish madness that had once consumed her. But he would do everything a husband could.
Perhaps that was enough.
"If you don't like it, I'll pick you a different one."
Barcas, studying her face, made the offer. He must have noticed the shadow that had fallen over her expression.
Thalia shook her head.
"This one is fine."
She carefully gathered the large yellow rose against herself, and he began walking again.
Pale clouds were gathering beyond the bright sky. As the sunlight gradually dimmed, he turned back toward the main building.
Then a booming voice rang out behind them.
"Your Grace!"
Thalia turned her head and saw Daren cutting urgently across the garden; her expression darkened. His grave face alone was enough to tell her that ill news was coming.
Just as she had expected, the man who had come at a run spoke in a heavy voice.
"I believe we must return to Laedgo Castle at once."
Sorrow clouded the man's eyes. He caught his breath for a moment, then continued heavily.
"Your Grace… no—a telegram has arrived. Your father is critically ill."