Stay Quiet Until Then
Thalia could not contain the fury boiling up inside her. She snatched up a pillow and hurled it at him.
"If you've got something to say, say it! Stop bleeding me dry!"
The cloth pouch stuffed with feathers struck the back of his head with a solid thud. Barcas, who had been opening the medicine bottles on the shelf and checking their contents one by one, cast a cold glance over his shoulder.
Thalia shrank back and pressed herself tight against the headboard. She braced for whatever retaliation might come — but Barcas only let out a quiet sigh and knelt beside the bed.
"Your hand. Give it to me."
Thalia blinked at him blankly. He drew her hand into the light. The skin of her palm was swollen an angry red.
Clicking his tongue, Barcas poured a sticky liquid over her hand. At the searing heat of it she jerked her arm back on instinct, but his grip on her wrist was iron, and she could not pull free.
She glared at him, irritation flashing in her eyes.
"What do you think you're doing!"
"It is a medicine that works well on bruises."
His tone was blunt as he spread the salve evenly across her palm.
At that strange sensation Thalia curled her toes. Every time his long, elegant fingers worked over the swollen flesh, a tingling current ran through her. Heat climbed into her ears; she twisted her arm.
"Th-that's enough already."
"Hold still."
The lowered register of his voice, deeper than usual, traced a line down her spine.
She watched him with an uneasy look, then dropped her gaze again. He traced the faint lines etched into her palm with deliberate slowness.
Is this really treatment?
The way his touch lingered so insistently over every crease of her hand felt, somehow, unnervingly intimate.
"There is a bruise on your wrist."
His voice dropped a tone lower. Thalia swallowed hard through a throat gone tight.
She could not have said why her insides had suddenly clenched.
Glancing at his face, she put more force into wrenching her arm free of his grip.
"That's enough. Get out of my room."
She turned her back on him and started to lie down — only to be spun around again with a sharp yank.
Thalia looked up at him in alarm. Barcas leaned over her, his upper body bent close, and demanded as if interrogating her:
"Why did you come to the banquet hall today?"
Her face twisted.
So that was what had made him so angry. She shot him a look laced with venom and asked, sarcastic:
"Why? Am I not allowed in the banquet hall?"
"……"
"You said it yourself. That I'm the highest-ranking person in this castle. So why do you want me locked up like a prisoner?"
"……It was you who shrank from appearing before people."
"Do you really not know why I shrink from it?"
All at once the resentment she had been pressing down deep in her chest reared its head.
She shoved his shoulders hard, wrapped both arms around her knees, and glared at him in open accusation.
"Because I've ended up like this — this wreck!"
A deep shadow fell across his eyes. She berated him straight into that gaze, like a usurer collecting on a debt.
"But even if I'm ashamed of myself, you don't get to be. Just because I hide myself doesn't mean you get to hide me too!"
The tendons stood out along his throat. His face was that of a man scraping together every last scrap of patience. Watching him force himself to endure only gouged deeper into her.
Thalia snatched the remaining pillow and swung it at him. Barcas slightly furrowed one eye. She struck his face with the pillow again and again, pouring out her accusations.
"Why did I come to the banquet hall? To hear what you people were saying about me behind my back! I need to know what talk is going around about how I'm being treated so I can figure out how to survive! That's why instead of dressing up in a gown I wrapped myself in a robe like a rat and snuck in!"
He seized the flying pillow and shoved her down onto the bed. Under his rough grip the thin fabric tore, and white feathers scattered in every direction.
Thalia looked up at the feathers swirling like snow and dragged in a ragged breath.
Pinning her wrists to the mattress, Barcas fixed her with a darkened stare. His suppressed voice spilled over the bridge of her nose.
"I understand perfectly what you are saying."
He drew a deep breath and added, slowly:
"I will hold the succession ceremony within a few days. At that gathering, I will formally introduce you as the Grand Duchess of the East."
Thalia felt every hair on her body stand on end. Whether it was the fate about to fall on her or the man before her eyes, she could not tell.
He brushed the hair stuck to her cheek away and went on, gently:
"So until then — stay quiet."
She pressed her lips tight and glared at him with bloodshot eyes. A few feathers settled on his shoulders. Brushing them off with a light touch, Barcas rose slowly to his feet.
Soon the sound of the door opening and closing rang through the room. Thalia stared blankly at the place he had left, then pulled the blanket up over her head.
After the brutal welcome ceremony, a heavy tension began to settle over Laedgo Castle.
The maids who had once been stiff and unyielding now moved with the careful tread of those walking on thin ice, and the guards held their breath and lowered their eyes whenever she stepped out of her room.
Apparently a baseless rumor had spread that mistreating the Second Princess would incur the wrath of the next Grand Duke.
It was a misunderstanding born of the vassal who had been rude to her losing his life. That beast of a man had merely paid the price for challenging the heir of the grand ducal house — but Thalia made no effort to correct their mistaken belief.
Being an object of fear was safer than being seen as easy prey. Take a clumsy, fawning attitude in the hope of winning others' goodwill, and you only got your head stepped on. That was the way of surviving she had learned over long years.
"I don't need any attendance, so stop bothering me and get out."
Thalia turned a page and waved one hand with haughty dismissal.
The maids standing by the door exchanged awkward looks. When they held their ground instead of withdrawing at once as they usually would, Thalia put an edge in her voice.
"Did you not hear me tell you to leave?"
"Your Highness, the succession ceremony is scheduled for this afternoon."
The head maid spoke with a solemn face. Thalia's eyes went wide.
"Already?"
She had heard from Barcas that the succession ceremony would take place within a few days, but she had never imagined they would hold it before even a week had passed.
She went pale and swung her feet down from the bed.
"Where is Barcas right now?"
"Young Master is currently receiving the high priest who will preside over the succession. Once the arrangements regarding the ritual are complete, the ceremony will begin immediately."
Thalia raised her eyebrows.
"Why are you only telling me this now!"
"Young Master instructed that it not reach Your Highness's ears until the day of."
The head maid spoke as if sighing.
Thalia twisted her face. She could guess what he had been thinking when he gave that order.
He had probably figured she would hide or run. Whenever something she did not want to do came up, she had a habit of vanishing without a trace. Even now was no exception. Seized by the urge to flee that very moment, Thalia looked out the window. The head maid spoke in a gentle tone, as if soothing her.
"There is still time, so you need not be so anxious."
Thalia glared at her with a nervous look, then muttered in a voice that had lost some of its force.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"We have prepared the traditional eastern attire for Your Highness to wear."
Letting out a small sigh of relief, the head maid stepped aside. Soon sturdy servants entered the room carrying piles of colorful garments embroidered with elaborate designs.
"The style will be unfamiliar to the maids from the central regions, so for this occasion we would ask that you entrust your dressing to us."