Drakar's Poison
Thalia stared at the darkness that had swallowed his back, her expression hardening. In the next instant she hurried across the room. She caught the faint motion of him turning. Her hand shot out at once and met the stiff texture of bandages over bare skin.
“You’re hurt?”
“It is only a light scratch sustained while subduing a magical beast, Your Highness.”
“A light scratch… What manner of beast could possibly wound you?”
A man whose brute strength could subdue even a wyvern with ease—how had he come by an injury at all? She looked up at the outline of his face, eyes wide, and Barcas answered with a sigh threaded through his voice.
“A mated pair of Drakars had made their lair in the north. They are rare creatures, so I tried not to damage the hides…”
Her hand touched his bare chest and he stopped mid-sentence.
Thalia traced the bandages with her fingertips, intent only on gauging the depth of the wound. Thick cloth wrapped diagonally across his left shoulder and chest.
“How bad is it?”
“Nothing of consequence.”
“Light the fire. I can’t see properly.”
Barcas drew a deep breath and reached out to draw back the curtain that covered the window. Heavy, ink-black clouds blanketed the sky, yet it was not wholly dark; she could make out his entire form without difficulty.
He stood barefoot on the carpet, wearing only loose eastern-style wool trousers. For a moment the sight struck her as somehow savage. Then her gaze fell on the medicine bottle in his hand and she snapped, voice rising.
“Why haven’t you called a healer? If magic can mend it—”
“Drakar claws carry a poison resistant to magic. Healing spells are useless until the toxin has been purged naturally.”
Barcas replied curtly and turned toward the shelf. The movement left his back fully exposed to her, inches away.
His body was like a structure stripped of every unnecessary element. Dense muscle packed a frame of flawless proportion, and taut tendons stood out beneath marble-smooth skin like precise bas-relief. Even the bandages seemed merely decorative, meant to accentuate the power of his physique.
“The toxin should clear in about a week. Then I will have the healing magic applied.”
Barcas set the bottle down and added the words in the same even tone.
Thalia, still dazed, came back to herself and looked away awkwardly.
“…Does it hurt?”
“Not at all.”
The too-dry reply made her frown in suspicion. Indeed, nothing in the way Barcas moved while wearing a shirt suggested pain. Still uneasy, she pressed on.
“You’re truly all right?”
“I will have no trouble carrying out my duties. There is no need for concern.”
Thalia looked up at him as though she had been struck.
“Do you think I’m mad for that sort of thing with you?”
“Were you not here to share my bed?”
The man regarded her with a puzzled expression. It was not mockery, merely a question seeking confirmation of fact, and for a moment she was speechless. Because it was true—she had come for that very reason.
She flushed and stammered.
“Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t come because I wanted you. I only came to conceive a child…”
“Rest assured. I have never once mistaken your intentions.”
Barcas cut through her excuse in a calm voice.
Thalia pressed her lips inward. She ought to have felt relieved that he did not doubt her words, yet her chest felt strangely tight.
“In any case, I have no intention of doing that with an injured man. So light the fireplace.”
“…Will you remain in this room?”
Surprise flickered across Barcas’s face.
Thalia’s expression darkened. He truly seemed to believe she approached him only for that purpose. She had worked to make it appear so, yet the realization that he had noticed none of her feelings left her oddly unsettled.
She kept her gaze fixed on the floor and took a step back.
“If you don’t want me here, just say so. I’ll return to my own room—”
“Please stay.”
He caught her hand in a firm grasp.
“It was you who said you never wished to remain here. I have always asked you to stay.”
Thalia looked up at him, eyes confused, then dropped her gaze to the hand that held hers captive.
After lying with Barcas she always felt exposed. She tensed, wondering when his hand might touch her leg, and worried that her unsightly form might be visible once her eyes adjusted to the dark. Most of all, she feared how fiercely her heart now craved his touch, his warmth—more than she could bear.
Yet…
She studied his figure in the faint bluish light. With his wet hair swept back, forehead fully exposed, he looked somehow like a lonely boy. That harmless appearance chipped away at her wariness.
“Then I’ll stay a little while. If I go back now the nanny will scold me…”
The clumsy excuse brought a faint crease to the corners of his eyes. Thalia realized the words were as good as an admission that the nanny was urging her toward pregnancy, and she turned her gaze away in embarrassment.
Barcas looked down at her in silence, then spoke coldly.
“If that woman continues to trouble you, I will send her back to the imperial palace.”
“Don’t you dare!”
Thalia cried out as though struck.
“If you do that, I won’t let it pass!”
He gave her an unreadable look, clearly unable to understand why she would not dismiss a woman who treated her so poorly.
Thalia raised her voice in defense.
“She has cared for me since I was an infant. She is like a mother to me.”
“……”
“If you send the nanny back to the palace, I will go with her.”
Her firm declaration made his brow harden. Barcas’s lips moved as though he meant to speak, then he exhaled and turned toward the fireplace.
“Do not stand there. Sit.”
Instead of summoning a servant, he began to light the fire himself.
Relieved that the subject had changed, Thalia sidled closer.
“Leave that to the servants and sit down to rest.”
“This much is nothing.”
Flames soon rose among the logs. Thalia, who had been pacing restlessly, tugged at his sleeve.
“Now sit down at once.”
She pulled him toward the bed and pressed on his shoulder. Barcas regarded her with a strange expression. The woman who had always pushed him away was now fussing over him in this clumsy way—perhaps the sight was simply too novel.
After watching her for a long moment, the man sat on the edge of the sheet. Thalia relaxed and turned to the cabinet.
“You said the poison is still in you. Shouldn’t you take something for fever, or at least for pain…?”
“I have neither pain nor fever.”
She ignored his reply and rummaged through the drawers. Before long she found a bottle containing mandrake extract.
Thalia opened the lid, measured out a portion into a teacup, and held it out to him.
“Here. Drink it.”
Barcas merely looked down at the cup.
Did he suspect she might be feeding him something strange?
She glared at him, irritated, and he reached out to touch her waist.
“If Your Highness feeds it to me, I will drink.”
Thalia blinked, stunned. Barcas waited calmly for her answer, his expression unchanged. The sight of his composure finally set her thoughts moving again.
“N-no, drink it yourself!”
“I have always fed you. It is time to repay the debt.”
Thalia’s face burned crimson as she looked back and forth between him and the bottle. The shameless request, delivered so matter-of-factly, suddenly made her angry.
She had been about to tell him to forget it if he did not want it, but instead she took a sip of the bitter liquid herself. Surprise widened his eyes; clearly he had not expected her to comply.
Thalia seized his face with both hands and pressed her lips to his, which still carried the faint scent of soap. As though it were only natural, his arms encircled her waist.
Her fingers brushed his shoulder and met the thick bandage; she jerked her hand away. In that moment a smooth tongue slipped gently between her lips.
Unable to resist the silent urging, she let the liquid trickle slowly into his mouth. It was not as skillful as when he had done it. Feeling the excess spill over her chin, she lifted her head. Barcas cupped her cheek and licked the corner of her mouth.
Before she knew it they were lying on the bed, locked in a tight embrace. Thalia felt the hard press of his excited body against her stomach and quickly pushed herself upright.
“No. I told you we wouldn’t until the wound heals.”
“I will do nothing more. Just stay like this.”
Barcas murmured in a low voice, gently stroking her hair. Thalia, who had been about to push him away, let the strength leave her body.
Amid the sound of rain and the crackle of burning logs, the dull rhythm of heartbeats mingled.