The Bitter Medicine
A chill traced its way down her spine. She fought to hide her flustered expression, lowering her eyes. She could not even explain to herself why she had said such a thing. Her heart slammed against her ribs as though it might burst at any moment; the thunderous beat seemed loud enough to reach his ears, and gooseflesh rose across her skin.
Panicked and floundering, Thalia began to spill words—any words.
“Just the thought is horrifying, isn’t it? So stop pushing that wretched medicine on me. That’s what I meant… that I hate it that much.”
The words she had blurted out to cover her confusion only laid her true feelings bare. Heat crept up to her ears. She moistened her drying lips with her tongue.
Barcas, who had stood motionless, approached the bedside. She could hear his footsteps, yet she could not lift her head. He must be wearing an incredulous expression. Only hours ago she had raged like a woman possessed, and now she was uttering nonsense; surely his face was twisted in disgust. Perhaps he was even wearing a cold, mocking smile.
She rambled on as though pursued by something unseen.
“Do you know how vicious that medicine is? It hurts all the way down to my stomach. And you keep forcing it on me, so I just wanted you to stop—”
“Thalia.”
His voice, low and close above her forehead, stopped her mid-sentence. When she forced her head up, inch by inch, eyes the color of a winter lake at dawn filled her vision. The man studied her as though she were an impossible puzzle, then spoke quietly.
“I’ll feed it to you. Come here.”
Thalia blinked, dazed. The words refused to arrange themselves into sense. She looked down at the small bottle in his hand, then at his smooth lips. A strange thirst rose in her throat. She bit at her chapped lips and turned her gaze away.
“I was only…”
Only speaking without thought—why take it so seriously? The protest died on her tongue as he uncapped the bottle. She flinched and looked up. Those transparent eyes, impossible to read, fixed on her as though confirming her will. They seemed to see straight through her, yet revealed nothing at all.
Keeping those stone-like eyes on her, he lifted the bottle to his own mouth. Her heart gave a small, painful spasm. If she told him to stop now, she could still salvage a shred of pride. She had fought so hard never to lose even that much. Without it, she would truly be nothing.
‘But…’
She looked up at him with trembling eyes. The memory of the night his lips had touched hers surfaced. If surrendering a fragment of pride could let her reclaim that night…
Thalia squeezed her eyes shut. A large, callused hand cupped the nape of her neck. The scents of water, mint, and the wind that always unsettled her brushed her nose, followed by the deeper fragrance of meadow flowers that clung to the membrane of his lips. Those same lips that had once spoken only sharp, wounding words. When she was young she had imagined that touching them would feel like being cut by a blade. Now those cruel lips were unraveling every one of her senses.
Without thinking, she clutched his shirt. He tilted her head back and pressed his mouth more firmly against hers. Thalia, rigid with tension, yielded to the pressure on her cheek and parted her lips. The concentrated herbal liquid slid across her tongue. The bitter taste that seemed to scorch her mouth lasted only a moment before a soft tongue pushed past the barrier.
Startled by the deep intrusion that threatened to reach her throat, she pushed at his chest. The slick muscle retreated slightly, only to return and torment the sensitive inner lining of her cheek. Unfamiliar sensation made her curl her neck. The thick tongue changed direction, stroking the roof of her mouth before tangling wetly with hers. Saliva pooled in her mouth.
The bitter liquid and their mingled saliva trickled from the corner of her lips. Before shame could rise, the pointed tip of his tongue drove deeper again. Her throat tightened of its own accord, drawing him in—an instinctive swallowing motion that had turned into something obscenely intimate. A sound she had never imagined escaping her own mouth slipped out, and she shuddered. The wet, sucking noises seemed to soak into her eardrums.
Unable to endure the growing intensity, Thalia struck his iron-hard shoulders with her fists. At last his lips parted. A thin thread of transparent saliva stretched between them. She stared at it with trembling eyes, then hesitantly lifted her gaze. His face was calm, as though he had merely been observing her reaction.
Sudden, heavy confusion swept over her. For a moment she wondered whether the entire sticky encounter had been nothing but her own delusion; his tranquil expression made the doubt feel almost reasonable. Then Barcas picked up the bottle and gave it a light shake.
“There’s still some left.”
The low voice, threaded with a faint metallic edge, brushed her ears. Thalia’s eyes widened, then she quickly looked down. Her temples throbbed. He leaned close to her ear and asked for another piece of her pride.
“What should we do about this?”
She bit her stinging lips and stared at the shifting shadows on the floor. In the suffocating silence she wrestled with herself, then finally nodded. He gave no visible reaction. After a brief hesitation, she forced her voice through a throat gone tight.
“…Feed it to me.”
Her head was tipped back in an instant. Thick liquid poured into her mouth. She swallowed convulsively; an unpleasant heat slid down her throat. Yet the sharp bitterness was washed away at once by the lingering sweetness of his saliva. She clutched his shirt and gasped for breath.
His hot tongue moved restlessly in the narrow space, pushing her backward until her back met the bedsheets. Thalia looked up at him with frightened eyes. She wanted to sit up, but she could not escape him even for a moment. Bracing one hand on the bed, Barcas leaned over her and continued to suck at her lips. In the face shadowed by darkness, only his eyes burned bright. It felt as though she were submerged in cold flame. All her senses were melting, yet her chest grew cold with unease.
“Open your mouth wider.”
The damp voice moistened her lips. Thalia, gazing up at him with trembling eyes, slowly parted her jaw further. The hot muscle immediately scraped across her tongue and invaded near her throat. It lingered there, savoring the way she choked and sucked, before withdrawing slowly. The repeated act left her mind hazy.
When she turned her head aside to draw in air, he seized her hair. Long fingers wound tightly around the strands and tugged—not hard enough to hurt, yet the gesture itself felt terrifyingly lewd.
“Barcas…”
Her breathless voice carried a note of pleading. She did not even know what she was begging for. When she looked up with wet eyes, she caught the slight tightening of his gaze. A rough palm stroked her damp nape.
A sudden, dreadful curiosity rose in her. Had he touched anyone else this way? The image of him kissing Aila flashed through her mind. He had probably laid that woman on a bed and sucked at her lips too. Just as he had responded without protest to Thalia’s demands, he would have answered Aila’s in silence. Because such acts meant nothing to him. What overturned Thalia’s entire world was, to him, truly nothing at all.
“…Why are you crying?”
He released her lips and asked in a heavy, lowered voice. His callused thumb brushed beneath her eye. Thalia hid her gaze behind her lashes.
“…I’m tired. I want to sleep now.”
Barcas, who had been frowning, slowly straightened. His demeanor was so detached that it was difficult to believe he had just been devouring someone else’s mouth. He walked to the window and pushed it open. Cool, moisture-laden air swept the heat from the room.
Thalia watched his profile, half-lost in shadow, then turned onto her other side and closed her eyes. Her thoughts grew heavy. When she woke tomorrow, would today feel like another dream? The question lingered only a moment before she slipped into unconsciousness.
“I’ve ordered strict silence. There will be no spreading of last night’s unfortunate incident.”
Barcas patted the shoulder of Torc, who was clearing his throat roughly, then turned to the lord of Dorcaen. The man stretched his lips into a smile and spoke with careless familiarity.
“By the way, you’ve truly married an extraordinary wife. Where on that angelic face does such a formidable temper hide…?”
“Uzan Darken.”
At the warning in Barcas’s voice, the man fell silent. Barcas added evenly,
“You would do well to watch your own tongue first.”