You'll Have to Get Used to Me
The maids walked quietly down the corridor.
Thalia followed behind them, placing each foot with the utmost care. By the time she finally reached the stairs — moving slower than a tortoise — her back was soaked through with sweat. She looked down the staircase with bleak eyes.
Just then, Barcas came striding into the manor, and the sight of him filled her vision. Thalia forgot how to breathe as she took him in from head to toe.
Instead of the Roem Knights uniform, he wore a black breastplate engraved with the Sieorkan family crest, a deep gray cloak of beast hide draped loosely over his shoulders. He looked every bit the mounted warrior of the Khan Tribe who had once struck terror across the entire Robiden continent, and her heart clenched tight.
He climbed the stairs in long strides and stopped before her. His hair, always so meticulously kept, was uncharacteristically disheveled — as if he had come in haste. He bent toward her, those eyes like polished metal fixing on her face.
"How are you feeling?"
Thalia just blinked at him. Ordinarily she would have snapped at him to mind his own business, but somehow her tongue had gone dry. After a long moment she managed to force out a single word.
"…I'm fine."
His eyes narrowed, as if her uncharacteristically meek reply had raised his suspicions. Barcas stared hard at her face, then pulled off his glove and pressed his hand to her forehead. Thalia slapped it away on pure reflex.
A sharp smack, and a fierce silence settled between them. She cradled her stinging fingers and watched his expression carefully. He didn't seem particularly offended. Or… she couldn't tell. Had she ever once managed to read his face properly?
Thalia lowered her eyes and muttered in a locked-up voice.
"Y-you startled me, grabbing me out of nowhere."
Then those long, pale fingers invaded her field of vision again. Thalia shrank back — but he would not allow her to push his hand away a second time.
Barcas swept her forehead lightly, then fastened the ties of her coat all the way up to her throat without a gap. Before she could refuse, he scooped her up in both arms and said flatly:
"From now on, you'll have to get used to me touching you."
Thalia's eyes went wide. Her heart gave a violent flutter.
What did he mean by that?
No. No. Don't hope.
He was only looking after a pitiful cripple. She crushed the weed-like longing that kept sprouting up — and Barcas adjusted his hold to a more comfortable position and began descending the stairs slowly. Afraid she might tumble, Thalia wrapped her arms around his neck. Barcas cradled her back with one hand and stepped carefully.
A moment later, the garden came into view — crowded with unfamiliar men. Thalia scanned them with a puzzled expression. At a glance, they didn't look like soldiers of the Roem Knights. Every one of them carried a long axe-spear on his back, and over dark armor they wore loose, gown-like coats.
One of them stepped forward toward Barcas.
"Is that her — the next Grand Duchess?"
Thalia studied the man carefully. He was young, with deep wheat-colored skin as if sun-bronzed, dark brown hair, and black eyes. He looked her over with curious eyes — only her eyes visible above the coat — then bowed respectfully.
"It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness the Princess. I am Tairon El Drakan."
Only upon hearing that unfamiliar-sounding name did Thalia realize the men arrayed before her were Easterners. The vassals of the Sieorkan family must have come to attend him.
She pulled down the fabric covering her face to return the greeting. But Barcas thwarted the attempt. He pulled the hood over her head, passed the man by, and said in an indifferent tone:
"We'll be departing shortly. Prepare the horses."
"Will it be all right not to stop by the Imperial Palace?"
"The transfer of the knight order is already complete. There's no reason to remain here any longer."
Barcas answered firmly, then cast a cold look at the servant standing blankly beside the carriage.
"What are you waiting for? Open the door."
The dazed servant immediately opened the carriage door. Barcas stepped up lightly and set her down on the seat lined with thick cushions. Then, with careful hands, he straightened her clothes and said:
"We'll be traveling without rest for several hours. If you feel unwell, signal the coachman."
Thalia looked up at him with confused eyes. She had no idea why he was in such a hurry. Was someone pursuing them?
The faces of Gareth and Aila flashed through her mind. Could the two of them be plotting something? Aila's venomous voice — promising she would regret this — still echoed in her ears.
Thalia bit her lip. Scheming had always been her own domain. But now their positions were reversed. If Aila loved Barcas even half as much as she herself did, she would do anything to win him back. Perhaps she would even send assailants to ambush them. And Barcas, wary of just such a possibility…
"Your Highness."
As if sensing the turmoil spinning through her mind, he lifted her chin and met her eyes.
"I've told you before, haven't I? You don't need to think about anything."
That low, beautiful voice resonated through her mind like a hypnotic spell. Thalia looked bewildered.
What was his intention in saying that? Was he trying to cut off any trouble she might cause in advance? Or… or…
She quickly reined in the thoughts that threatened to run wild in the wrong direction. This was the man who had thrown her mind into chaos and then left as if nothing had happened. The man who had dumped her in a strange place and not shown his face for a full week. The ditch carved inside her was far too deep for a few loaded words to plant false hope.
Thalia pushed his hand away.
"…Stop talking nonsense and just leave already, if you're going."
Even at her curt snap, he didn't so much as flinch. An unreadable gaze scraped across her forehead. Thalia wet her dry lips. Only when her throat was parched did he slowly rise and step out of the carriage.
Only when she heard the door close did Thalia release the breath she'd been holding. She pressed herself carefully against the carriage wall, and through the window frame she could see Barcas conversing with the Easterners.
Among those dark-haired men with light wheat-toned skin, he stood out like a foreigner. Or perhaps, she thought, they weren't so different after all. He had left his homeland at a young age and spent most of his years in the Imperial Palace. To him, too, the East would be an unfamiliar place.
Suddenly, the image of a young boy sent alone to a foreign land rose in her mind. That image shifted into her own self, arriving at the palace for the first time. Had six-year-old Barcas been as lonely as she had been? Had he felt as lost and suffocated as if he'd been swallowed into a monster's belly?
She was staring blankly with those thoughts when the stationary carriage began to move. Thalia watched the unfamiliar yet familiar scenery flow past like a river.
Suddenly, a bitter smile escaped her. Was this really the time for her to be worrying about the man who would rule the East? From now on she would go to a strange land entirely alone. She had to start a new life in a place where she had no one to rely on — and here she was fretting over something so misplaced…
Well. When had I ever had anyone to rely on?
Thalia curled into a ball in the corner of the carriage and buried her face against her knees. The Imperial Palace had been no different — a place where she had nowhere to stand. To Senebier, she had been nothing more than a useful tool. To the Emperor, an uncomfortable reminder of past mistakes; to her half-siblings, a filthy stain that would one day have to be scrubbed away.
She found herself wondering.
In the East… what would she become?