A Demand of Duty
Thalia regarded the gown in the nanny’s hands with cold, dispassionate eyes.
“When did you decide to become a pimp?”
The mocking words twisted the older woman’s face into an ugly scowl. Thalia paid her no mind and stepped down from the windowsill, heading for the bed. The nanny refused to yield.
“You two never even consummated the marriage properly. Do you understand what that means? If His Grace wishes it, he can petition for an annulment at any time!”
Thalia stopped and looked down at the woman blocking her path, her expression icy. Without warning, she seized the hem of the voluminous dress and yanked it upward. The sweat-dampened fabric came off over her head and was flung aside, baring her twisted legs and painfully thin, naked body.
The nanny’s gaze dropped instantly to the floor. Thalia let out a dry, mirthless laugh.
“You can’t even bear to look at me, yet you expect me to offer this hideous body to a man?”
“……Still, you must at least try.”
The nanny kept her eyes fixed on the floor, voice faltering.
“His Grace does not seem entirely indifferent to you. When you collapsed, he was so attentive. Even while buried in funeral rites and the succession of his title, he made certain your meals and medicine were never neglected. If you asked, he would not refuse.”
Thalia’s breath came in short, bitter bursts that sounded like air escaping a punctured lung. Suddenly the laughter vanished from her face.
“So you want me to beg.”
“Please don’t twist my words. This is for your sake as well. If you bear a child, your position as Duchess—”
The transparent calculation snapped the last thread of Thalia’s patience. She swept both arms across the table, sending bowls, plates, and porcelain crashing to the floor in a cacophony of shattering sound. A few shards of glass flew up and embedded themselves in the top of her foot. She paid them no attention, snatched the candlestick from beside the hearth, and hurled it against the wall.
“Get out!”
The nanny let out a belated shriek and scrambled for the door. Thalia seized the discarded gown, yanked it in opposite directions until the fabric tore with a long, rending sound, then flung the pieces aside. She walked to the bed, climbed in, and pulled the covers over her head.
How long she lay there she did not know. A cautious knock sounded, followed by a gentle voice.
“Your Highness, I heard you injured your foot. Allow me to examine the wound.”
Thalia gave no answer. Taking the silence as permission, the door opened and soft footsteps approached.
“I will only look at the injury for a moment.”
When the woman lifted the blanket, Thalia’s bloodied foot and leg came into view. The healer cast a spell, then produced a clean roll of bandage and wrapped the limb with careful precision.
“How is the pain?”
“……”
“If you require a sedative……”
“Did my mother give you any special instructions as well?”
The abrupt question silenced the woman. Thalia studied her rigid face. After a long hesitation, the healer answered as though confessing.
“……She asked me to watch over the Duchess’s health with great care.”
“So the child can take root properly?”
The healer’s mouth tightened at the mocking tone. Thalia regarded her with a cynical gaze, then turned onto her other side and muttered wearily.
“Leave.”
“Your Highness.”
The healer sank to her knees beside the bed. Thalia flinched at the unfamiliar warmth that closed around her hand. The woman looked up at her with earnest brown eyes.
“You need not do anything you do not wish to do, Your Highness.”
Thalia blinked. She ought to have sneered at the presumptuous interference. What could a mere healer possibly understand? She should have told her to mind her own business and stop spouting nonsense. Yet the words would not come.
“I……”
Her lips parted of their own accord; her tongue moved without permission.
I hate this.
I do not want Barcas to see this wretched body. I am tired of being my mother’s pawn. I do not want to suffer for the sake of people who will never love me.
She forced the words back down her throat. Showing weakness only invited trampling. She no longer wished to be hurt by anyone.
Thalia wrenched her hand free.
“Stop talking nonsense and summon the maids.”
The healer studied her for a moment with thoughtful eyes, then slowly rose. Thalia watched her retreat, then asked on impulse.
“Come to think of it, you never told me your name.”
The woman’s eyes widened slightly before she answered in a calm voice.
“My name is Marisen.”
Thalia repeated the name under her breath, then dismissed her with a flick of her fingers.
A short while later the maids arrived in a flurry, cleared the wreckage, and helped her dress according to her instructions. Thalia chose the most lavish gown from the imperial trousseau, braided her hair, and fastened pearl ornaments into the plaits. She painted her cracked lips with thick red pigment, then opened the jewelry box.
Inside the velvet-lined case lay a small button engraved with the crest of the Roem Knights, a moonstone of pale silver-blue, a neatly folded handkerchief, and a ruby brooch.
She stared for a long time at the traces of longing she had sworn countless times to discard yet could never bring herself to throw away. At last she picked up the brooch and pinned it over her left breast.
The mirror reflected a pale woman who had desperately tried to erase every sign of frailty. Thalia looked at her reflection and asked silently,
What are you trying to do?
‘I still haven’t decided.’
She met the faintly trembling pupils in the glass, dismissed the maids, and left the room. Through the corridor windows the sky was deepening into dusk.
Barcas would not have returned yet.
Since the previous duke’s death he had spent nearly all his time outside the castle. He attended every religious ceremony hosted by the eastern temples, soothed the restless populace, and reorganized the military with scarcely a moment’s rest.
‘And on top of all that he’s been cleaning up after Gareth. Ten bodies wouldn’t be enough.’
A bitter smile curved Thalia’s lips as she walked the cold, silent corridor and descended the wide staircase.
When she reached the grand ducal bedchamber—now Barcas’s—she found the attendants guarding the door staring at her in wide-eyed surprise. Instead of ordering them to open it, Thalia grasped the handle herself.
With a creak the door swung inward, revealing the brightly lit chamber. In the center of the room she saw a long shadow and felt her spine stiffen. Barcas had returned only moments ago; still in his uniform, he was unfastening the buttons of his coat.
“……Is something the matter?”
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he took her in. The hours she had spent on her appearance suddenly felt pointless.
Thalia swallowed the hollow feeling and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
“I have something to say.”
Barcas regarded her with an impassive face, then gestured toward the chair before the hearth.
“Sit.”
She forced her stiff legs to move and lowered herself into the seat. While she did so, Barcas hung his coat on the wall and poured a glass of apple wine, which he offered her.
“I hear your appetite has diminished again. Even if I cannot attend to you personally, you must not skip meals.”
Thalia pressed her lips together and stared at the glass in silence. Arms folded, Barcas watched her until the lengthening quiet grew unbearable.
“What is it you wish to say.”
“You……”
Thalia lifted her eyes to him, feeling utterly lost.
What should she say? She did not even know why she had come. Submission or resistance—she knew only that she stood at a crossroads, and that she intended to leave the choice to the tip of his tongue.
She gathered her trembling voice into something steady.
“Is it true that you opposed Aila’s marriage?”
She looked straight at him as though challenging him to a fight. The corner of Barcas’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
“Is that why you have refused to meet my eyes these past few days?”
He raked a hand through the hair falling over his forehead and gave a dry laugh.
“I opposed it solely because of the political risk.”
“But the palace is whispering that you still harbor feelings for Aila.”
The more she spoke, the more she felt like a jealous child. She pushed the feeling aside and pressed on.
“You said you wanted to quell the rumors about our marriage. Is spreading such ridiculous gossip your idea of quelling rumors?”
“The safety of both of you was at stake.”
A trace of fatigue entered his voice.
“Preventing the Crown Prince from acting rashly took precedence. I have a duty to protect those two.”
His tone grew rougher with each word. Thalia stared up at him, face set.
Barcas exhaled a long breath, leaned toward her, and continued in a gentler tone.
“I intend to propose a better match for the First Princess soon. Once that happens, the rumors will naturally die down.”
Thalia looked at him in silence, then let out an empty laugh.
Did this man even hear what he was saying?
He spoke of protecting Aila while casually offering to drive a knife into her heart. The irony of it filled Thalia with despair.
Her mother had been right. When it came to matters of the heart, this man was blind.
Emotion had no place in his calculations. What mattered to Barcas was the fulfillment of duty.
And at the very top of that long list of obligations stood the protection of the twins.
She herself, occupying the position of Grand Duchess, might rank somewhere on that list as well. Yet she would never be his highest priority.
His duty as an imperial vassal. His duty as head of a great house. Nothing could ever come before those.
“You really are…… an extraordinarily loyal man.”
His eyes narrowed faintly. He seemed to realize it had not been a compliment.
Thalia wiped every trace of amusement from her face. Her mind grew cold and clear; she saw exactly what she had to do.
When Gareth became emperor and demanded her life even at the cost of war with the east, Barcas’s choice would be obvious.
The question was whether she could accept that fate without resistance.
She pictured her own death. The image of herself dying wretchedly became the face of the previous grand duke—the man who had feared death and what would follow it.
What about her?
The answer came at once.
I am afraid of dying.
She had struggled so desperately because she was terrified. She knew the only person who could protect her was herself.
This time would be no different. She had to survive by her own strength.
This is not obedience to my mother. I simply want to live, so I have chosen to fight.
Thalia stacked countless justifications in her mind, then lifted her head and met his eyes directly.
“You have only ever done your duty, haven’t you?”
His icy gaze remained utterly still. She spoke each word as though carving it into that frozen stare.
“Then I will demand that you fulfill your duty as my husband as well.”
A crack finally appeared in the emotionless mask. She drove the words straight through the fissure.
“Tonight, I will come to your bed.”