Nothing Left to Lose
“It seems the court mages have purchased another monster.”
The head lady-in-waiting who had been trailing her in silence answered with something like a sigh.
Thalia stepped closer as if drawn by some invisible force. The creature that had been wrapping itself in its pitch-black wings lifted its head.
She flinched and hunched her shoulders.
A woman’s head was grafted onto the massive body of a monstrous bird covered in dark brown feathers. Yet it looked less like a living human face than something stitched together from a corpse.
As she stared blankly down at the pallid face where blue veins showed through the skin, a rancid voice like rotting fish brushed her ear.
“Feel a kinship with it, do you?”
Thalia whipped her head around.
Gareth, dressed in a crimson doublet, stood right behind her.
A sneer curled at the corner of his mouth as he continued, slow and deliberate.
“A woman’s face stuck on a monster’s body… doesn’t that remind you of someone?”
His narrowed eyes slid down her body and came to rest on the legs hidden beneath the hem of her dress.
Her half-brother’s smile deepened.
“I hear you’ve got some truly hideous scars now… Still, at least you can cover yourself, unlike that thing. Lucky you.”
In that instant, a liquid bitter as bile surged up her throat.
Thalia spun and struck the exalted Crown Prince across the cheek.
A sound like a pig having its throat cut erupted right beside her—the head lady-in-waiting, who had followed her like a jailer, choking on her own spit. At the edge of her vision she vaguely caught the woman toppling backward.
She paid it no mind. With nails still mottled by old bruises, Thalia raked them down her brother’s copper-skinned face.
Four bright red lines opened from the corner of his eye to the tip of his chin. It was not nearly as deep a wound as she had wanted.
She reached for him again. The royal guards who saw it rushed forward and seized her from both sides.
Thalia thrashed like a beast caught in a trap, but she could not break free.
Tears of helplessness burst from her eyes. She glared at her half-brother with eyes bloodshot and raw.
That perfect, powerful body.
No. It was no longer perfect.
Watching blood trickle down his face, Thalia burst into laughter.
“Say it again. I’ll make sure that face of yours never smiles twice. I’ve got nothing left to lose. So there’s nothing left that scares me.”
Gareth, still cupping his cheek and staring at her with dazed eyes, twisted his features into something hideous.
A rough hand shot out and seized her by the hair.
He grabbed the locks she had spent hours braiding and yanked so savagely it felt as if he meant to snap her neck.
“You dare… you dare lay a hand on my face, you little—?”
His blood-smeared face flushed an almost comical crimson.
Thalia only laughed harder.
She watched reason drain from her brother’s eyes.
His other hand clamped around her face and squeezed as if he meant to crush the bones. Even through the skull-splitting pain, she did not stop laughing.
Then a powerful hand thrust between them and tore Gareth away from her.
Thalia crumpled where she stood. The moment the crushing pressure vanished, her blurred vision cleared and a familiar silhouette flooded her retinas.
Blinking blankly, she suddenly jerked her upper body upright. The violent pounding of her heart threatened to rupture her eardrums.
With trembling hands she hastily dragged her skirts down to her ankles. A suppressed voice sounded above her head.
“Ha. Yes. About time you showed up.”
Gareth roughly shook off the hand that held his wrist and ground his teeth. His deep green eyes burned black as the fires of hell.
“You’re really going to betray us over that bitch, aren’t you?”
“His Majesty the Emperor commanded me to escort Her Highness the Second Princess.”
“You’re always hiding behind that same excuse—!”
“I will answer Your Highness’s question after I have presented myself before His Majesty.”
At the cryptic words Barcas uttered, Gareth’s bloodstained face contorted hideously.
A sickening grind of teeth came from between his clenched jaws.
Gareth, grinding his teeth hard enough to shatter them, seized the future Grand Duke by the shoulder and snarled.
“Fine. I’ll be waiting to hear what answer you give.”
With that he shoved through the gathered crowd and strode out.
Barcas watched his retreating back for a moment, then lowered his gaze to her.
Thalia felt every fine hair on her body shrink.
In those bottomless eyes that always made her feel infinitely small, her own wretched reflection stared back. It felt as if those eyes were shattering her to pieces.
With a violently trembling hand she braced herself against the floor. Forcing strength into her shaking legs, she struggled to rise—and felt a firm hand supporting her back.
She shoved his body away the instant it came too close.
“D-don’t—!”
But her feeble resistance was simply ignored.
Barcas slid an arm beneath her knees and lifted her as if she weighed nothing.
Swallowing a scream, Thalia yanked her skirts downward, terrified her legs might be exposed. Even after confirming that the long hem covered her to the toes, the anxiety would not ease.
Clutching the edge of her dress, she forced out a voice that barely rose above a whisper.
“I-I’ll walk on my own. Put me down.”
Barcas gave no reply.
Thalia swallowed dryly. His silence felt like a hand around her throat.
“I said put me down!”
When she raised her voice a little higher, she felt a faint tightening in the arms that held her.
Lifting her head, Thalia realized he was restraining something and closed her mouth.
Still fixing his gaze straight ahead, Barcas spoke in a low, settled voice.
“I doubt you wish to draw any more eyes. If you can endure me just a little longer, you will be spared the humiliation of staggering under their stares.”
Staring blankly up at his face, Thalia rolled her eyes and surveyed the surroundings.
Dozens of pairs of eyes, wide with shock and horror, stared back.
She ducked her head as if to hide from those gazes. A soft sigh fell onto the crown of her head. Afraid the tears would spill again, Thalia clenched her teeth.
“Just a little longer.”
He whispered it quietly and quickened his pace.
Before long the great doors leading to the Emperor’s audience chamber rose before them.
The chamberlain standing guard gaped at the sight of Barcas appearing with the Second Princess in his arms.
Ignoring the man’s reaction, Barcas gave a slight nod.
“I have come at His Majesty’s summons. Open the doors.”
The chamberlain hurriedly flung them wide, revealing a vast, brilliantly lit hall and the golden throne.
Thalia raised her head and looked toward the seat of honor.
A man of massive build, as if sculpted from power itself, was gazing down at a parchment document with an expression of weary boredom.
Beside him, Senebier—who had been whispering something—tilted her head and fixed her gaze on Thalia. An elegant smile rose across that beautiful face that shone like pearl.
“At last, you’ve arrived.”
Only then did the Emperor’s eyes settle on her.
Thalia wet her parched lips. She felt those gloomy pupils slowly raking over her form. No longer able to bear the shame, she began to thrash her limbs.
“Put me down now.”
Barcas ignored her cry and strode straight toward the throne.
She looked up at him with confused eyes. She could not begin to understand why this man was doing this.
He was Aila’s fiancé. Was it truly acceptable for him to appear like this before the Emperor?
With tense eyes she glanced again toward the high seat—and a voice laced with rebuke drove into her ears.
“I was told there was no particular difficulty with walking…”
Thalia’s shoulders stiffened; she began babbling excuses before she could stop herself.
“I only stumbled on the way here. Sir Khan merely helped me.”
She shoved hard against his chest, and Barcas—who had stood as rigid as a statue—finally set her down.