The Puzzle
From that day on, Thalia began to thrash against the love that had hardened into habit over so many years. She had struggled before to carve him from her heart, but never with such desperation.
She shoved the dresses he had chosen for her deep into the back of her wardrobe and pulled out the ones that had made him frown the moment he saw them. And she began attending the regular banquets held at the Empress's palace.
Naturally, her escort knight Barcas was forced to follow her into those debauched night revels as well. To a man who had been raised until the age of fourteen in the austere discipline of a monastery, the spectacle must have been nothing short of contemptible.
Nor was it a comfortable place for Thalia. In a hall thronged with her mother's admirers, she was treated as little more than a miniature Senebier. They regarded her — a girl still green with youth, yet wearing the Empress's face — as an intriguing plaything. More than a few of them made their interest plain. The way they treated her as a substitute for her mother filled her with a fierce sense of humiliation, yet Thalia pretended to revel in the attention poured upon her.
She wanted to flaunt it before Barcas.
Look at what you're missing. I'll become a woman more beautiful than Aila. As beautiful as Mother.
She wanted him to see how many men desired her. Perhaps, somewhere in her heart, she had hoped he would stop her.
But Barcas, as always, merely performed his duty as her escort in silence. Whether she mixed with the men and drank herself senseless, or flirted with men twice her age, he showed not the slightest concern. That indifference only fanned the dangerous impulse that had taken hold of her.
He had stood at her side for seven long years. Couldn't he worry for her, just a little? Couldn't he try to stop her? Such childish thoughts clung to a corner of her mind and would not leave. If she ruined herself completely, she thought, perhaps she could finally shake free of this foolish attachment.
In a spirit of reckless abandon, she kept company with strange men. She even permitted their grotesque acts — the admiring caresses of her hands, her face, her hair, the way they pressed their noses to the nape of her neck. Being pawed at as though she were a porcelain doll was unpleasant, but she did not dislike the rapturous gazes that seemed drunk on her presence.
At times a heady exaltation would seize her, as if she herself had become a goddess. Swept up in that feeling, the fact that she could not have Barcas seemed a trivial thing. She clung to that sensation. If she buried herself long enough in those intoxicating hours, her green, unripe love would surely wither and die.
She threw herself ever deeper into the cheap, sordid games men and women played. She grew gradually accustomed to trading suggestive banter, exchanging light caresses, walking that precarious tightrope.
How long she remained buried in those perilous days, she could not say — until a southern noble named Magus approached her.
At first she paid him little mind. She went to the banquet halls every evening and mixed with any number of men, yet she had not kept a single one of them in her memory. But at some point his name began to settle familiarly in her mind. The man had drawn her attention in a rather peculiar way.
He treated her as though she were a young niece, or a foolish child. At times he even offered advice that seemed genuinely concerned. Her irritation at his presumptuous manner lasted only a short while; gradually, Thalia opened her heart to him. Unlike the men who seized every chance to touch her, he always kept a proper distance while maintaining a warm, familiar manner.
That was not all. He would clown about as if his only interest were making her laugh, or bring her toys and dolls as gifts instead of jewels or revealing clothes — he behaved as though he harbored no ulterior motives at all, and Thalia gradually came to feel at ease with him.
Perhaps the man had sensed the affection-starved child lurking inside her. He slipped into her vulnerabilities with unsettling ease.
It was on the evening four days before her coming-of-age ceremony that he brought down the fortress of trust she had built.
He came to her private palace at a late hour, when Barcas was away. Her suspicion at his unannounced arrival lasted only a moment; the sight of him chattering cheerfully with that easy, good-natured face melted her wariness like snow.
"Look at this, Your Highness. I've finally obtained the puzzle I told you about!"
The man held out a large toy box, his voice bright with excitement.
"You can't even imagine how hard I worked to get this, Your Highness! I never put this much effort into a tribute gift for His Majesty the Emperor!"
He tilted his nose up in triumph — then suddenly scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish, as though he had only just realized the impropriety of barging in at such an hour.
"I had meant to give it to you on your birthday, but… I've been called away from the capital on short notice tomorrow, so I took the liberty of coming like this. Will you forgive my rudeness?"
He drooped his eyes like a rain-soaked puppy, and Thalia shook her head as if she had no choice.
"I suppose there's no help for it. Come in, then."
He beamed and stepped into the private palace. It was the first time she had ever admitted anyone other than her escort knight or her maids within its walls. Suddenly the near-ruinous state of the place felt shameful.
She led him past a reception room she had never used, thick with dust, and up to the study on the second floor — the cleanest, most orderly room she had, save for her own bedchamber. There they unfolded a chess table, sat facing each other, and began fitting the puzzle pieces together.
She was so absorbed that she did not even notice the man's knees settling on either side of her own.
Thalia poured every scrap of her attention into joining the tiny pieces, building a pointed tower. To help her, he leaned in close and fixed the little pillars in place. At last one tower stood complete. Thalia smiled with quiet pride — then, all at once, realized how near he was and her expression tightened. He had pressed so close that his wine-scented breath brushed against her forehead.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. But to pull away too abruptly would make the atmosphere awkward. Carefully, she twisted her body sideways and pretended to search the box he had brought for another piece. The man moved in behind her, then stretched both arms around her waist as though embracing her, rummaging through the box.
"Ah — here it is."
Thalia went rigid. His long, muscular arms tightened hard around her waist. Hot, damp breath spilled over the nape of her neck, and she hunched her back as far as it would go. Her heart hammered with fear of the unfamiliar situation. Strangely, though, no sound would come from her mouth.
He pushed his arms deeper into the box, pressing his body flush against hers. Thalia barely managed to wring out a voice.
"L… let go…"
"Just a moment… just a moment. Your Highness… such a sweet fragrance comes from you."
He pressed his nose to her shoulder and drew a deep breath.
Thalia felt every nerve in her body stand on end. Her skin grew clammy with cold sweat, and a shiver of gooseflesh ran down her spine.