The Hidden Blade
The crown prince’s thick neck veins stood out like cords. Edric pressed closer to Talia’s side, ready to shield her if the man’s fist flew. Barcas, who had been standing like a shadow, slipped between them without a sound.
“The schedule has already been delayed enough. Let us proceed with the ceremony.”
The second princess stiffened for a heartbeat, then turned her gaze toward Sir Sheerkan. Even Edric, every nerve drawn taut, noticed the sudden tension in her posture. It seemed even this thunderous woman understood that when Sir Sheerkan spoke in that tone, it was wiser to yield.
She pressed her lips together and looked away. The crown prince, still seething, ground his teeth and returned to the altar.
Once the tension eased, the chief priest—who had been hunched like a turtle—cleared his throat and resumed the rite.
Edric stood a little apart, watching the three imperial siblings receive the blessing in turn. The crown prince stepped forward first, bowing his head. The priest lifted a silver chalice, poured holy water over it, and intoned the ancient words of blessing.
Next came the first princess and Sir Sheerkan, her future consort. Last of all, Talia bowed before the priest.
Edric studied her, head lowered, as though she were a stranger. The light of hundreds of candles lent her golden-brown hair and pale skin an otherworldly glow; she looked like a being from another realm.
He was still staring when the priest poured the holy water over her head. The clear stream soaked her hair like threads of gold, traced her smooth brow, cheeks, and straight nose, and gathered at the tip of her chin.
The priest laid a hand on her head and poured divine power into her.
“May the grace of God remain with you for all eternity……”
The endless prayer finally ceased. When the priest rang the silver bell, the crown prince rose first and strode through the congregation. The first princess and Sir Sheerkan followed. Talia Roem Guerta rose slowly, lifted her chin, and crossed the hall with the regal bearing of a queen.
No one could tear their eyes from that proud figure. The very woman they had always regarded as the embodiment of discord, an ominous and unsettling presence, was in that moment revealed as an imperial princess of the empire.
The air, once hot as a boiling pot, grew cool as the carriage climbed in altitude. Talia drew in the dry, crisp air and gazed at the sky where the sun had already begun to sink. From the east, deep blue night was rolling in. Another day was ending without incident.
Her throat burned as though she had swallowed a coal. She opened the storage compartment beside her seat, took out the small silver knife she had brought from the monastery, and held it in her hand. The pale blade seemed to whisper that it had waited long enough.
She slipped the knife into her pocket, climbed carefully down from the carriage, and surveyed the lively encampment. It appeared Gareth had ordered a grand feast to lift his sour mood. Servants hurried between tents with food and drink, and several soldiers were already deep in their cups.
Talia fingered the blade in her pocket and moistened her dry lips. The noisy atmosphere was welcome; it would make what she had to do easier. She crossed the camp with measured steps.
A royal guard who spotted her brightened and hurried over.
“Your Highness!”
Talia frowned. Why did this man persist in wagging his tail at her? His overly familiar manner was almost offensive.
She glared at his harmless face, snorted loudly, and walked straight past him. Even that cold dismissal did not deter him.
“You must be feeling stifled, Your Highness. This way, please. The servants are preparing food. If you watch the cooking, you will feel more at ease.”
Ignoring the chattering knight, she followed the sound of music and soon found Gareth seated before a splendid tent, enjoying a lavish meal beside a fire. His attendants were doing their utmost to improve his mood. Jesters in ridiculous costumes performed tricks with daggers, musicians played the sticky tunes he favored, and several maids flirted while pretending to serve.
She was watching the scene with a sneer when the royal guard stepped in front of her again.
“It would be better if you went that way.”
Talia looked up at his grave face. He had worn the same expression while guarding her at the temple, as though he truly meant to protect her from danger.
She laughed inwardly. As if I would fall for that.
“Mind your own business.”
She turned sharply and headed toward the row of tents near the riverbank. Gareth had never been her target. She scanned the camp for Ayla’s tent, trying to appear as natural as possible. At last she spotted her half-sister, surrounded by a cluster of maids and enjoying her meal.
She hesitated. Knights stood guard around Ayla. To them, Talia was a person of interest; any sudden approach would be stopped at once.
She bit her lip in frustration. How could she reach her sister without arousing suspicion?
While she wrestled with the problem, the ever-talkative royal guard suddenly fell silent. Talia glanced up. He was studying her with puzzled eyes, clearly wondering at her unusual behavior.
She forced a calm expression and perched on a nearby table. To distract him she blurted out,
“I’m hungry. Bring me something to eat.”
The knight’s face lit up at once. He really was absurdly simple.
“Please wait just a moment! I will bring it right away.”
Once the troublesome watcher was gone, Talia rolled her eyes beneath the pulled-down hood and studied Ayla again. Her half-sister was laughing at something one of the maids had said.
Can I really cut that detestable woman’s throat?
Her mouth went dry. She might be overpowered by the knight before she even tried. Then it would no longer be dismissed as a mere prank.
She fingered the blade in her pocket and wondered whether this act was truly worth her life. Even if Ayla vanished from the world, Barcas would never be hers. He would continue living his own life, and she would become the dew on the executioner’s blade. The only reward for this foolish act would be a miserable death.
Still……
Was watching Ayla become Barcas’s wife truly better than dying? While Ayla, as Duchess of Sheerkan, bore and raised his heir, Talia would wither away in agony. Perhaps Senebier would force her into marriage with some man of her choosing. Then she would endure the filthy touch of a filthy man until she hanged herself. No—she would certainly do so.
Whether she died this way or that, death was inevitable. Perhaps it would be cleaner to take Ayla with her tonight.
Once her resolve hardened, Talia rose. She was about to approach Ayla as naturally as possible when a familiar figure entered her line of sight.
That woman……