The Sting of Indifference
The sight of his powerful, pale body gleaming under the lamplight filled her vision, and her tongue seemed to stick fast to the roof of her mouth. Thalia swallowed hard and let her gaze travel slowly down the length of him.
He must have just washed away the dust of the march; his faint golden hair clung darker than usual, dripping water, and moisture still glistened across the sculpted lines of his shoulders and broad back. She followed the droplets as they slid along the ridges of taut muscle, then flushed and jerked her eyes upward.
The generously cut hem of his trousers was soaked through as well, clinging to his long, powerful legs. It was the first time she had seen him so unguarded since the year she turned fourteen, when she had spitefully ordered him into the lake.
Thalia moistened her dry lips and struggled to gather the shattered fragments of language in her throat. At that moment, a dry chuckle sounded close by.
“Hierarchy, coming from your mouth? The dog would laugh.”
The mocking voice drained the confusion from her like a receding tide, leaving irritation in its place. She shot him a sharp glare and gave a derisive sniff.
“Rank exists so that those above can remind those below of their place. And you knights are bound to obey the imperial blood in me. Make it clear to your men whose orders take precedence—unless you’d rather be flogged for insubordination.”
Barcas, sliding his arms into his shirt sleeves, turned an icy stare on her. Thalia tensed. She had learned through bitter experience just how merciless this silent man could be once he chose to wield his tongue.
She watched his mouth the way one might watch a viper that might strike at any moment. Barcas merely reached for the robe hanging on the wall, spared her not a single glance, and walked out of the tent.
Thalia stared after his retreating back in dismay, then hurried after him. If he had hurled cruel words or furious glares, she could have borne it. But to be treated like a stone by the roadside, ignored entirely—that she could not endure.
She caught up in an instant and raised her voice in a furious shout.
“Do you have to let every word I say go in one ear and out the other before you feel satisfied?”
Her ringing voice brought the soldiers bustling about their tasks to a halt; they turned to stare. Barcas, however, gave no sign of hearing. He simply kept walking, as though she were not worth acknowledging. Heat rose to the crown of her head.
Thalia seized the hem of his shirt with rough fingers. Whether unwilling to suffer the humiliation of torn clothing in front of the servants or not, Barcas finally stopped.
She spat the words at his arrogant face, one syllable at a time.
“You must have been counting the days until you no longer had to obey the orders of a tiresome little girl. Now that you’re free of them, you must be delighted. That’s why you won’t even pretend to listen, isn’t it?”
“I might pretend to listen if the words were worth hearing.”
He peeled her fingers from his shirt with cold finality. Thalia clenched her teeth. The way he brushed at the fabric afterward, as though something filthy had touched it, filled her with humiliation.
Perhaps it would be better if this man simply ceased to exist. Then she would never have to feel this wretched again.
She glared at him with open hostility, then suddenly burst into rough laughter.
“My words don’t sound like words to you? Then perhaps I should speak in the language of beasts, the way your barbarian ancestors did. Would that help you understand?”
The servants watching them turned pale with alarm at the crossing of that final line. Barcas merely looked down at her in silence. Thalia pressed on, her voice relentless.
“If you like, I can even imitate a horse’s neigh. You’d understand that better, wouldn’t you? After all, you prefer horses to people.”
“Talking to my warhorse would indeed be preferable to dealing with you.”
Barcas’s voice was laced with mockery.
“At least my stallion doesn’t whine endlessly and wear a man down.”
Thalia’s shoulders trembled with outrage. Seeing it, Barcas twisted his lips in disbelief.
“You blush at the slightest retaliation, yet you tear into others without hesitation. Do you strut about believing no one else can match your cruelty?”
She fixed him with a venomous glare, her throat swelling with the urge to retort. You know nothing about me.
No one in this world understands human cruelty better than I do. I know exactly how merciless people can be, which is why I decided to become merciless myself. If I do not trample others first, they will trample me.
But voicing any of that would only expose her weaknesses. She took a step back and composed her features into cool detachment, as though the venomous exchange had never happened.
“I didn’t come here for pointless bickering. As I said before, I want my campsite moved. Order your knights to pack at once.”
Barcas drew a long breath, as though gathering patience.
“I have no intention of indulging your whims. Stop wasting your breath and return to rest.”
“I’m not asking to move the entire camp! Why is it impossible?”
“I am under no obligation to explain my decisions.”
“I am the Emperor’s daughter! If I command it, you must obey—”
“That is enough.”
Suddenly a deep shadow fell over her. Thalia flinched and hunched her shoulders. Barcas, discarding even the pretense of formality, spoke coldly into her face.
“I have already spent every last shred of patience I possessed for you today. You should know when to stop and save something for tomorrow.”
Despite the roughness of his words, the face that looked down at her remained impossibly noble. Even in anger, he never lost his dignity. That very quality made her feel all the more wretched.
“Escort Her Highness the Princess back to her quarters.”
He straightened and issued the order to the knights standing nearby. The men who had been silently watching the confrontation immediately obeyed.
“This way, Your Highness.”
Thalia shot a sharp glance at the knights blocking her path, then turned her gaze back to Barcas. He had already walked far away. She stared after his elegant, unhurried retreating figure until her teeth ground together with a harsh sound.
He never even asked why I wanted to move the camp. My thoughts are of no interest to him at all.
I really do wish he were dead.
She felt ridiculous for having caused such a fuss over the possibility of harm befalling him. After all, once this journey ended, he would belong to another woman. A man who would never be hers. What did it matter if she saw his corpse tomorrow morning?
Thalia turned away with a violent motion.