A Brother's Cruel Words
“If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to say so.”
The castle lord, standing by the door, spoke as he surveyed the room with a sharp gaze. Barcas, who had been hanging his cloak by the fireplace, replied in his usual indifferent tone.
“I would be grateful for some washing water and a flask of hot wine.”
“I shall bring them at once.”
Once the man had withdrawn, Thalia sank heavily onto the velvet-cushioned chair. She had been traveling from city to city and village to village since early morning, and exhaustion weighed on her like stone. Pretending to smooth her damp hem, she discreetly rubbed her aching knee.
Barcas, watching her from the corner of his eye, spoke quietly. “I shall summon a healer. You would do well to rest for the remainder of the day.”
Thalia frowned. “And what about you?”
“I intend to speak with the castle lord. It may take some time, so please retire first.”
“As if that has ever been different.”
Her retort was sharp. For the past several days they had shared the same room, yet she had never once seen him lie down. Barcas worked through the night on official matters or stayed awake with the local lords. The tension she had felt each time they shared a chamber now seemed almost laughable.
She glared at him, lips pressed tight, then flung herself onto the bed. “I will rest on my own. Go do your work.”
Barcas regarded her in silence for a moment, then exhaled softly and stepped out, closing the door behind him.
Before long, servants entered with a tray of wine and fruit and a wooden tub filled with steaming water. Thalia called for her Nanny, washed lightly, and ate a few pieces of honeyed fruit with the wine. She was about to ask the healer to burn a sleeping draught when boisterous laughter echoed from the corridor. The knights appeared to be holding a drinking party.
Thalia’s expression soured, then her shoulders stiffened. Amid the clamor she had caught a high-pitched giggle. She shook her Nanny awake; the woman had been dozing before the fireplace.
“Nanny, does the castle lord have daughters?”
“How would I know that?”
Thalia snapped, “Have you heard nothing while we traveled?”
“I know even less than you. We were summoned the moment we arrived.” The Nanny heaved a weary sigh. “More importantly, may I return to my room now? I need rest as well.”
Thalia bit her lip. The woman’s tired face stirred a flicker of conscience. The unfamiliar journey had already worn her out; having to attend Thalia’s bath on top of everything else must have been exhausting.
Thalia nodded slowly. “Very well. You may go.”
The Nanny left at once. Thalia used the moment to peer into the corridor. The noise outside grew clearer, and unease churned in her stomach. She knew Barcas would never behave foolishly, yet the anxiety refused to fade.
Chewing her lip, she finally pulled on her cloak and stepped out.
She descended the stairs, passing corridors lit by flickering torchlight, and found groups of men and women paired off in idle flirtation. Narrowing her eyes, she scanned the men’s faces. They all looked familiar; they were the mounted warriors of the Siarkan house.
One of them drew a young maid close by the waist and pressed his lips to her ear. The girl blushed and giggled. Thalia turned away in disgust and headed deeper into the hall.
Barcas’s aides sat around a long table laden with food and drink, each being served wine by scantily clad women. It seemed the castle lord had summoned courtesans to entertain his guests.
Thalia swept the room with a hard gaze, then quickened her pace across the wide hall. Her only thought was to find Barcas and drag him out of this sordid place.
“Your Highness!”
She was limping through the banquet hall when a familiar voice called from nearby. Thalia turned sharply and spotted a familiar face among the crowd—Tyrone, the eastern knight. She narrowed her eyes.
The man approached, scratching the back of his head with an awkward laugh. “I was told Your Highness would be resting early. What brings you here…?”
“It was too noisy, so I came out.”
Thalia smiled thinly while her eyes searched for Barcas. “I hope I have not interrupted anyone’s pleasant evening.”
“Hahaha.”
The knight laughed too loudly, dodging the question. Thalia fixed him with a cold stare before turning back to the noisy hall.
“Where is Barcas?”
“His Grace is in the office on the third floor. Lord Darken requested a private audience.”
Thalia’s head snapped around. “Alone?”
The knight’s lips curved in amusement; he seemed to have finally understood why she had been combing the hall so thoroughly.
“Yes. He dismissed all the maids, so you need not worry.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. It felt as though he had read her every thought.
“Who said I was worried?” she snapped, then whirled away. The knight followed at once.
“You should not wander alone. Allow me to escort you back to your room.”
“I do not need an escort.”
“You do.”
His tone was firm. “If anything were to happen to the Grand Duchess, the responsibility would fall on us. Come, let us go.”
Before she could refuse, he took her elbow. Thalia shook him off at once.
“I said I do not need it.”
Startled by her vehemence, the knight’s brow furrowed. Thalia left him standing there and hurried back the way she had come.
Climbing the dimly lit stairs again, her thighs and calves began to cramp. She had pushed her legs too hard all day. Though the hour was late, she would have to summon the healer for a recovery spell.
She rubbed her cramping thigh with her fist as she walked the long corridor. Then she heard a strange moan and stopped. Turning toward the sound, she saw an odd shadow at the far end of the hall.
A few seconds later she realized it was a man and woman pressed tightly together. The honeyed fruit she had eaten threatened to rise. She swallowed hard and stepped backward.
At that moment her eyes met those of the boy who had been kissing the plump maid so ardently. Thalia stifled a scream.
The person entangled with the maid was none other than Barcas’s younger brother.
Thalia hesitated, then spun around in a panic. She lost her balance and fell heavily to the floor. Pain exploded from her knees up through her hips and spine. Tears welled as she bit back a cry.
“Sister-in-law!”
Lucas shoved the maid aside and rushed to her. Thalia slapped his helping hand away.
“Do not touch me!”
Lucas flinched and stepped back. Thalia glared at him with icy eyes, then struggled to her feet with a grunt, bracing one hand against the wall.
Lucas, who had frozen, muttered with an aggrieved expression, “Is this because of what you just saw? I did not start that. She asked me to show her a good time, so I simply obliged.”
His rambling made her ears burn. Thalia shot him a look of pure revulsion.
“Who asked you anything? Why are you babbling about things no one wants to hear and dirtying other people’s ears?”
Lucas’s face flushed crimson. He clenched his jaw and glared. “It was only a kiss. Why are you making such a fuss? You and my brother do far worse every night—”
Thalia’s hand lashed out like a whip. Lucas caught her wrist, as though he had expected the blow.
“Ha! Did you think I would keep letting you hit me forever? Strike me one more time and I will not hold back!”
The boy’s threatening tone died abruptly. He seemed to notice how red her face had become, as if it were on fire. He blinked, stunned, then murmured in disbelief, “Don’t tell me… the two of you still haven’t—ugh!”
Lucas doubled over as Thalia kicked his shin. She rained punches down on his back. Overwhelmed, he shoved her against the wall.
“You little—! No wonder my brother has not laid a finger on you. Your temper is exactly why!”
Thalia flinched as though stabbed. Lucas looked down at her with burning eyes and added cruelly, “Perhaps my brother still cannot forget his former fiancée. Maybe what he shared with her was so good that he cannot bring himself to—”
She could not bear another word. Thalia drove the nails she had begun growing days ago into his chattering lips. Lucas cried out and grabbed her arm. Startled by her frenzied attack, his slender frame toppled backward. Thalia climbed onto his stomach, pried open his foul mouth, and seized his slippery tongue between her fingers. His sun-browned face flushed as though it might burst.