A Beauty Worth Hiding
Lucas wore an expression of pure exasperation.
Ever since hearing of Barcas's marriage, his younger sister seemed to have completely lost her mind.
Laina, who had always harbored a quiet admiration for the relationship between Ayla and Barcas, had spun a clumsy romance in her head. And in that story, Talia Roem Guerta appeared to play the role of the infamous villainess who had torn the devoted lovers apart.
Her eyes burned with the same fighting spirit as when she had first chased after the horse warriors to hunt a manticore.
"Just you wait. I'll make that woman leave this place of her own free will. We're going to rescue our brother from the witch of the Taren family!"
What on earth had possessed her eyes, that Barcas Laedgo Seorkan should look to her like someone in need of a helping hand?
Sometimes he wanted to pry open the lid of her skull and take a look inside.
He swallowed a sigh and picked up the coat draped over the back of his chair.
"Well, give it your best shot."
"You're going to sneak off on your own? How cheap!"
"Didn't you see Big Brother wrapping that woman up tight and carrying her off earlier? I have no desire to fall out of favor with His Grace the next Grand Duke over something pointless."
"That's all her cunning schemes! Haven't you heard the rumors that the women of House Taren use wicked magic to steal men's souls?"
Laina frothed at the mouth.
"She must have played the fragile little thing to draw out his pity! Our brother simply couldn't bring himself to look away from that pathetic sight!"
He shook his head slowly. There was no point talking to Laina in this state.
Heaving a deep sigh, he started toward the door, and Laina's voice rang out sharp and loud.
"Where are you going!"
"To ride! I'm so stifled I need some air."
"You can't! Don't you know Brother's welcome banquet is soon?"
He pretended not to hear and slipped out of the room.
The central hall bustled with servants moving luggage.
Pale-faced laborers who looked to be from the central regions stacked enormous chests into a mountain on one side of the wide hall, while the servants of Laedgo Castle opened the boxes and recorded their contents. Even at a glance, the treasures were enough to make one's eyes go wide.
So the rumors of her extravagance were true after all.
He scanned the clothes and various ornaments filling the chests, then went out through the back door.
He had been heading straight for the stables when he spotted the warriors of the Wolfram lancer company—those who had left to attend Barcas—clustered thickly in the training grounds of the rear courtyard.
Finding a familiar face among them, Lucas immediately changed course.
"Tyron!"
The man, loosely draped in a single baggy tunka and tipping back wine, glanced over his shoulder.
"Ah, the second young master."
He wiped his wet lips and spoke in his characteristic drawling tone.
"Have you been well, sir?"
"Well enough to be bored of it."
Lucas dropped onto the steps surrounding the training ground, snagged the man's wine bottle, and drained it in one go.
"How are things in the capital?"
"As expected—unsettled."
Unbothered by the rude behavior, the man merely shrugged and continued with a calm face.
"This marriage seems to have shaken not only Marquis Oristein but most of the conservative nobles. Lord Seorkan had quite a time calming them down."
"And the First Princess and the Crown Prince?"
"I never even got an audience with Her Highness the First Princess. She's shut herself in her rooms, I hear. Understandable enough. To be jilted right on the eve of her wedding… She probably won't appear at any official function until a new match is arranged. As for His Highness the Crown Prince…"
As if choosing his words carefully, Tyron crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his brow.
"He's seething with poison, but surprisingly, he's taking the situation calmly. Better to pretend to agree with this marriage and strengthen the bond than to make a complete enemy of Lord Seorkan—that's how he must have calculated it."
Lucas tilted his head at the unexpected words.
"That's surprising. I thought he'd try to start a war with the East just to make them pay for betraying his sister… The rumors always said he'd go through fire and water for the First Princess."
Recalling the Crown Prince's rough impression from a visit to the capital years ago, he knit his brows, and Tyron burst out laughing.
"Even a pig learns to click the abacus beads when power is on the line. It's true the Crown Prince dotes on his sister, but could that affection possibly outweigh the imperial throne? In fact, he seemed more worried about his own support base shaking than about the humiliation the First Princess suffered."
Lucas frowned.
He himself had spent several years being educated at the capital's academy, but he had never quite adapted to the values of the central nobles.
In the East, the bonds of blood ran thicker.
Laina was an annoying little sister, but if she had been jilted, they would have gone to war without hesitation to avenge that humiliation.
Suddenly, he felt a pang of pity for the First Princess.
She had been betrayed not only by her fiancé, but by the very brother she had trusted.
Perhaps Laina was right after all. Maybe the women mixed with Taren blood truly possessed a dangerous magic that made men abandon even their honor.
He recalled the deep blue eyes that had been beneath the hood.
Those eyes, shimmering with a faint heat, had been like living jewels.
No. Even the finest lapis lazuli could not compare.
The impulse to pull back her hood had been purely unconscious. The moment their eyes met, his hand had moved of its own accord.
In a slightly hoarse voice, he asked,
"What kind of person is the Second Princess?"
Deep furrows formed between the man's brows.
After a brief pause, he answered.
"I've only spoken with her once, so I don't know well myself. But one thing is clear—she's no ordinary character, just as the rumors say."
"Worse than Laina?"
"Surely not worse than the young lady."
He tossed it out as a joke. But as if even he weren't certain, shallow wrinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes.
Lucas felt his curiosity swell even larger.
Just what kind of person could make this slippery, eel-smooth man pull a face like that?
"And her looks? Is she really that beautiful?"
At the question that burst out of him, the man who had been reclaiming the wine bottle from his hand paused and sent him a searching look.
For some reason, Lucas felt guilty.
He scraped the floor with his heel and pretended to look elsewhere.
Watching him quietly, the man drained the last mouthful of wine and said flatly,
"Beautiful enough to become a problem."
Then, with a thoughtful expression, he added meaningfully,
"Which is why Lord Seorkan keeps her so tightly hidden away, wouldn't you say?"
When she opened her eyes, deep darkness had settled over everything.
Talia gasped roughly for breath and clutched at her throat. It felt as if someone were choking her.
Scraping at her skin to peel away the formless fingers, Talia crawled to the head of the bed and rang the bell cord.
A moment later, she heard the door open.
Talia turned her head.
The moment the familiar silhouette entered her vision, her blocked throat opened at once. Her body seemed to have recognized him before her mind could.
"Is it a cramp in your leg?"
Barcas, who had lit a lamp at her bedside, bent over the bed and asked.
Talia took a long breath and shook her head from side to side.
"I just called a maid because I was thirsty."
His eyes narrowed. He clearly didn't believe her.
Pressing one hand to her forehead to check for fever, Barcas gave curt instructions to the maids who arrived belatedly.
"Fetch medicine from the healer."
Then he poured water into a cup himself and held it out.
A flicker of irritation rose at being so openly ignored, but she was grateful he had come running, so she took the cup without complaint.
A sip of cold water cleared the haze from her mind considerably.
She set the cup down and looked him over with eyes from which the heat had faded.
Barcas wore a close-fitting tunic with one of the loose coats the men here wore draped loosely over it.
At the unfamiliar attire, something stirred uneasily inside her for a moment.
She stole a glance at the contour of his chest clearly visible through the open fabric, then lowered her eyes with an uncomfortable expression.
"What kind of outfit is that. It looks strange."
"…It's traditional Eastern dress."
"Don't wear that from now on. It doesn't suit you."
The truth was, it suited him devastatingly well.
The man who always dressed with sword-sharp precision now in loose clothes that looked ready to fall open at any moment—it was somewhat provocative.
And somehow that grated on her.
She spoke with force.
"It looks completely undignified. If you go around dressed like that, your vassals will take you lightly. So don't wear it."
Barcas looked down at her face quietly, then slowly nodded.
"As you wish."