Do Not Cross the Line
Thalia arched an eyebrow at his flat reply. She couldn’t tell whether he was brushing her off because the argument bored him, or whether he truly didn’t care about his attire and was simply agreeing without protest. There was no way of knowing.
She scrutinized his expressionless face as if dissecting it, then soon let her own features slacken in defeat.
“Sometimes being around you makes me want to explode.”
Even at the sudden provocation, he showed no particular reaction.
As the silence stretched on, she grew increasingly restless. Thalia pulled the blanket up to her chin and turned her body the other way.
“Just leave already.”
“I’ll go after I’ve seen you take the medicine.”
“I’m not taking it, so get out.”
“I’ll leave once you’ve taken it and I’ve confirmed you’re all right.”
“I said I’m not taking it!”
When she whirled back toward him with a flushed, indignant face, his pale eyes, flecked with gold, snared her gaze. He dragged a chair over beside the bed and sat down, speaking slowly.
“If you keep being stubborn, I’ll make you take it by force if I have to.”
Thalia tensed every muscle in her body. Suddenly, the memory of their wedding night churned through her mind. Even now she couldn’t clearly distinguish where the dream had ended and reality begun; the chaotic recollection replayed vividly in her head.
Is Barcas thinking of that night as well?
Sweat beaded above her upper lip. Unable to bear the strange tension filling the room, Thalia awkwardly changed the subject.
“Have you been drinking?”
“A little.”
He leaned back against the chair and answered offhandedly. Watching him with wary eyes, Thalia snapped in a tone even more abrasive than usual.
“If you’re drunk, you should wash up and go to sleep instead of barging into someone else’s room to make a scene.”
“I didn’t drink enough to get drunk. They were putting on a grand welcome, so I just played along a little.”
He replied casually, then unfastened the ornaments wrapped around his arm as if they were bothersome and set them on the shelf. Staring at him, Thalia carefully posed a question.
“They didn’t say anything about me not showing my face at all?”
“Who would dare say anything to you.”
A crease suddenly formed between his brows.
“Your Highness holds the highest rank in this castle. There is no one here whose favor you need to curry.”
“Who said I was currying favor? I was just asking out of curiosity.”
Thalia muttered, shooting him a sidelong glare. It was a bit rich coming from a man who had never properly treated her as a princess. She was about to retort that he should mind his own manners when a knock came at the door.
“Young Master, I’ve brought the medicine.”
“Come in.”
The door opened, and a maid of petite build entered the room. Barcas took the medicine bottle from her hands and sent her out again.
Thalia watched the bottle in his hand with a tense expression. Strangely, her stomach clenched. She forced a swallow past her stinging throat as he shook the bottle in front of her face.
“Drink it.”
Thalia looked back and forth between the small blue glass bottle and his face.
If I refuse to drink this, will he press his lips to mine the way he did that night?
The thought that suddenly rose made her heart seize tight. Unable to find her bearings, she averted her gaze, and he leaned his upper body forward, asking in a low voice,
“Are you not going to take it?”
Her face burned as if on fire. If she kept refusing, it felt as though he would see straight through to every thought in her heart. With trembling hands she snatched the bottle as if seizing it.
“F-fine, I’ll take it.”
She made a show of uncorking it and tipped the potent herbal extract into her mouth. The bitter liquid scoured her esophagus as if her tongue were being scorched. Thalia’s eyes watered as she coughed lightly. It was the bitterest medicine she had ever tasted.
“What on earth is this medicine?”
“It’s a remedy prepared by a healer of the Sieorkan family.”
He poured a glass of apple wine from the shelf and held it out as he spoke.
“From now on, a healer from this place will take charge of you exclusively.”
Accepting the glass and gulping down the sweet liquid in a hurry, Thalia glared at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
“Says who? I already have a personal healer. A High-ranking Healer trained by the Taren family has been looking after me all this time—”
“That healer does little more than burn sleep-herb and cast recovery magic. At that rate, your condition will never improve for the rest of your life.”
Thalia sharpened her gaze. The healer currently attending her was a skilled practitioner carefully selected by Senebier. Did he truly believe a shaman of the Khan people, who could manage little more than ancient sorcery, could compare to a mage of the Taren family? Or did he have some other scheme in mind?
Staring at him with suspicion, Thalia soon snapped coldly,
“No. I’ll be treated by the healer my mother assigned me. How am I supposed to trust the people here? It’s obvious they all hate me…”
His lips tightened.
“Why do you think that?”
“Do you take me for a fool? The Sieorkan family supports the Crown Prince. There’s no way they’d welcome me after I pushed Aila aside and married you.”
Thalia sneered.
“Who knows? They might even try to poison me.”
“Thalia Roem Sieorkan.”
The soft voice scraped chillingly against her eardrums. Thalia hunched her shoulders. More than the alien surname attached to her name, it was the warning laced in that low tone that froze her thoughts. He added stiffly,
“I’ve made up my mind to indulge every one of your tantrums as much as I can. But do not cross the line.”
The cold voice made her temper flare. She hurled the glass she was holding at him.
“Who asked you to indulge my tantrums?”
The sticky apple wine soaked his chest thoroughly. A dreadful silence settled over them.
Barcas let out a long breath and slowly rose to his feet. Thalia flinched in alarm and shrank into the corner of the bed. Watching her quietly, Barcas shook his head.
“Why do something that makes you so frightened?”
Thalia flushed with shame. He lightly brushed off the liquid running down his chest and added evenly,
“No matter how much you throw a fit this time, it will do you no good. Starting tomorrow, a new healer will examine your condition.”
“I clearly said I don’t want it!”
He walked toward the bedroom door without so much as acknowledging her. Thalia raised her voice at his back.
“You liar! You said I was the highest person in this castle! So why do you get to do whatever you want?”
“Everyone else may not matter, but you do have to listen to your husband.”
Stopping at the doorway, Barcas turned to look at her and spoke as if chiding a petulant child.
“I listen well enough myself, don’t I?”
Then, as if to make a point, he shrugged off his loose outer coat and draped it over one arm. Thalia stared with her mouth hanging open. He pulled the door handle and added calmly,
“Get some rest now. You’ll need several days of proper sleep to recover from the journey.”
Coming to her senses too late, Thalia flung a pillow, but he had already left the room. She stared blankly down at the wad of fabric rolling across the floor, then collapsed limply onto the bed.
Why was it? She felt an unfair sense of grievance, as if the one being tormented by this marriage was not him, but herself.
The next morning, Thalia woke feeling relatively refreshed. Having slept nearly the entire day seemed to have helped; the pain in her legs was milder than usual.
Rubbing her stiff eyes, she rose from the bed, gazed up at the brilliantly blue sky beyond the window, and rang the bell hanging beside the bed.
A short while later, a middle-aged woman with a stern face and a much younger-looking maid entered the room side by side.
“Good morning, Your Highness. Forgive us for the delayed greeting.”
The older woman spoke first.
“I am Areta, who oversees the maids of this castle. This is Brisa, who will serve as Your Highness’s personal maid from now on.”
When the woman tugged the arm of the dazed maid, the girl named Brisa hastily bowed her head.