Playing with Fire
Two eyes, gleaming with anticipation, clung stickily to her chest before sliding slowly downward. They lingered there a long while, tracing the contours visible through the thin fabric of her clothes, then crawled back up to stare fixedly into her own.
Thalia felt every muscle in her body go rigid. She knew she ought to flee at once, yet her legs would not move.
The man wet his lower lip and crept closer.
"If Your Highness would only permit me, I could…"
A rough, calloused hand reached for the hair cascading over her shoulder. She watched in terror as her golden strands wound around those wooden fingers.
She could not breathe properly. She ought to have shouted at him—how dare he lay a hand on her—yet no sound emerged from her parted lips.
Taking her stillness for consent, the man who had been caressing each golden lock with such care now stretched his hand toward her face.
A palm rough as sandpaper scraped across her tender skin. She shrank back in terror—and from the darkness a great hand sheathed in a gauntlet shot out and seized the man's wrist.
Thalia staggered backward as if jolted from a trance. When she lifted her head, she found a pair of silver-blue eyes blazing before her.
Her heart plummeted.
She pressed herself instinctively against the wall. Barcas looked down at her with an expressionless face, then slowly turned his gaze upon the monk.
Whatever the man saw in those eyes, the monk—who had been frozen like stone—began to tremble from head to toe as though he had come face to face with a ghost.
"I—I only meant… Y-Your Highness…"
"Quiet."
The heavy bass cut off the man's excuses. The monk's deathly pale face contorted hideously with pain. What looked like a light grip was, in truth, crushing his bones.
Barcas spoke slowly, directly into the face of the man dripping cold sweat.
"Neither of us wishes to make this a larger problem. Return to your place quietly."
The monk, still moaning in agony, nodded furiously.
Barcas released the arm and added,
"Until we leave this place, it would be wise not to appear before my eyes again."
"I—I will keep that in mind."
The man clutched his purpling, swollen wrist and whimpered.
Barcas jerked his chin in a silent command to get out. The monk fled without a moment's delay. After watching that undignified retreat for a beat, Barcas turned his head back toward her.
Thalia lowered her eyes without meaning to. Though she had done nothing wrong, her mouth went dry and heat rose along the nape of her neck. She fretted, stealing glances at his face, when a voice of chilling calm rang out.
"Come with me. I will escort you to your quarters."
Thalia, who had been holding her body rigid with tension, let her arms fall in a strange rush of exhaustion. In that instant, a peculiar fury surged up alongside a wave of sorrow.
I nearly suffered something terrible just now. I was frightened half to death. So why are you so detached?
Biting her lip in resentment, Thalia swept past him. She would rather die than show him any weakness.
She held her head high for all to see and strode across the garden. After some time, the women's dormitory came into view beyond a long colonnade.
Keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, she called out curtly,
"We're here, so stop following me!"
Knights stood guard around the building. She would not suffer another humiliation like the one moments ago.
She quickened her pace as if fleeing. But she had not taken more than a few steps before she found herself trapped between him and the outer wall.
Thalia looked up at him with wide eyes.
"Wh-what… All of a sudden…"
"If you've been burned badly once playing with fire…"
His voice scraped raw against the inside of his throat. Sensing it himself, he paused. When he spoke again, the tone was far more composed.
"Isn't it time you learned to be careful?"
She felt the color drain from her face. Barcas studied her features as though he meant to dissect them, then twisted his lips.
"Or do you truly wish to throw yourself around however you please?"
Thalia swung her hand without a second thought. But once again, her wrist was caught before it could reach his face. Barcas continued, unhurried,
"If that is the case, restrain yourself for the time being. Until this journey is over, I would rather not deal with any troublesome complications."
She pressed her trembling lips tightly together. He released her arm and slowly turned away.
"I trust you understand."
In that moment, had she held a blade in her hand, she would have driven it into his back without hesitation.
Thalia glared murderously at the silent, receding figure, watching him slip away like a fish gliding through water. Then her vision blurred, and she hastily turned her head.
She knew he would never look back—yet she was terrified he might catch her tears. Roughly scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve, Thalia fled into the dormitory.
The next morning, the ceremony proceeded as though nothing had happened.
Thalia sat perched on the windowsill of her assigned chamber, looking down at the twin prince and princess as they made their way toward the altar, with Barcas following behind them like an escort.
By rights, she ought to have been among them. But she had begged off with the excuse that she was unwell—refusing, on a preposterous pretext, a rite that every member of the imperial bloodline was obligated to observe.
Ordinarily the ceremony would have been postponed, yet it went forward on schedule at the Crown Prince's firm insistence. Perhaps the monastery even welcomed the arrangement. Bestowing the blessings of the divine upon a bastard child would hardly have been to their taste either.
…Maybe I should have just attended.
Thalia had been snickering to herself, but the sight of Aila and Barcas standing side by side before the altar wiped the amusement from her face.
Had she taken that place, there was no telling what she might have done. She might well have charged at one of them, intent on murder.
Which of the two I hate more… even I no longer know.
Out of habit she brought her fingers to her lips, then lowered her arm again, unwilling to ruin the nails that had only just begun to grow.
She could watch no longer. She drew the curtains and flung herself onto the bed.
Curled in the murky dark, the memories of the previous night circled through her mind—the lust-glazed stare, the hands reaching toward her, and Barcas's frigid gaze…
If you've been burned badly once playing with fire… isn't it time you learned to be careful?
Thalia yanked the blanket up over her head.
Barcas believed she had seduced that man. And perhaps he was not entirely wrong. She had always driven herself into corners with foolish choices… and rescuing her from those crises had been his role.
He had only just escaped that tiresome duty, only for something similar to happen again—of course he was sick of it. He must truly be disgusted with her by now.
She buried her face in the pillow and giggled.
She remembered the moment he had walked out of her life. Perhaps because something so similar had occurred only yesterday.
Gazing quietly at the thin shafts of light seeping through the curtains, Thalia closed her eyes. Buried memories unspooled in her mind without order or sense.