Talia's face twisted viciously as she struck him across the cheek.

“You insufferable bastard! Are you only satisfied when you're ruining everything for me?”

In the darkness, his blue eyes glimmered faintly.

Yet the face looking down at her remained as cold and composed as ever.

That unwavering self-control was unbearable.

Talia raked her nails across his cheek.

Without so much as a flinch, Varkas caught her wrist and surveyed the chaotic camp.

His icy gaze passed over the deathly pale maids, the startled knights, and finally the woman clutching her burned cheek and sobbing.

A dry sigh escaped him.

“Take her to a healer.”

Indicating the woman with a slight tilt of his chin, Varkas turned away.

Talia twisted violently in his grasp and shrieked.

“Who gave you permission?! She's a criminal! She should be beheaded immediately!”

People drawn by the commotion had gathered nearby.

She vaguely saw them whispering among themselves.

But dignity was the last thing she could afford to care about.

Her voice rang through the entire camp.

“You damned bastard! What kind of knight are you?!”

Varkas did not even blink.

Crossing between the tents without a word, he carried her directly into a pavilion and laid her upon a wide bed.

Talia was so consumed by her boiling rage that she failed to realize she had been brought into his personal quarters.

“You never protected me properly. Not once! Never! Never! You always stood by and watched while I was torn apart! You weren't even planning to save me this time, were you? You wanted me dead. That's why you left me there. That's why you didn't come for me immediately. I know it! I know everything!”

Ignoring her furious shouting, he pinned her wrist against the mattress and forcibly opened her hand.

Blood and clear fluid seeped from the angry burn covering her palm.

Frowning, Varkas reached for a small glass bottle from a nearby shelf.

The moment Talia saw him pouring an unfamiliar liquid onto her hand, she screamed.

“No! Don't! Leave me alone!”

Silently, he treated the wound.

Then he wrapped a clean white bandage around it.

Throughout the process, Talia repeatedly struck his shoulder with her free hand.

Eventually all strength drained from her body.

Her limbs fell limp.

Varkas looked down at her exhausted form with dry, unreadable eyes before slowly straightening.

“I'll bring a sedative.”

Half her face buried in the pillow, Talia lifted her gaze toward him while breathing heavily.

Varkas walked calmly toward a shelf installed along one side of the tent and began examining several bottles.

As she watched his straight back, another image overlapped it.

Varkas running toward Aila.

A burning pain swept through her chest.

Talia's voice emerged warped and bitter.

“The fact that I'm still alive must disgust you.”

His hand froze.

For a moment he stood perfectly still.

Then he turned his head.

Slowly.

So slowly it felt unnatural.

His face was refined to the point that every trace of emotion seemed to have been distilled away.

Something inside her shattered.

Talia smiled faintly.

A bleak smile.

“How disappointing this must be for you. You almost got the chance to be rid of the woman who's always been such a thorn in your side.”

At last, tears spilled over.

They ran down her cheeks.

Even his cold face became distorted behind the thin veil of moisture.

Varkas approached and bent down in front of her.

A cool glass bottle touched her lower lip.

“Drink it. You'll feel better.”

“I don't need it.”

“...”

“I don't need anything you give me anymore.”

Varkas lowered the bottle.

At that moment, the lamp dimmed, and deep shadows spread across his face.

It didn't matter.

She already knew what expression he was wearing.

Either the same indifferent look as always, or perhaps a faint mixture of exhaustion and irritation.

Turning her back on him, she closed her eyes.

The man watched her silently.

Then he left.

Listening to the fading footsteps, Talia lowered a hand and cautiously felt along her injured leg.

The rigid sensation was like touching a piece of wood.

A chill ran down her spine.

Cripple.

The word flashed through her mind.

She immediately forced it away.

Impossible.

Those were merely malicious rumors spread by people who hated her.

The Imperial Palace possessed countless talented healers.

And Mother undoubtedly knew many practitioners of forbidden magic as well.

They would fix her.

No matter the cost.

And when that day came, she would stand before everyone who had mocked her and display her flawless body for all to see.

Still clutching her throbbing knee, Talia eventually closed her eyes.

* * *

The magnificent pilgrimage procession that had departed from the Imperial Palace transformed into a grim funeral march.

The attendants of the Imperial Family exchanged their crimson surcoats for black robes.

Even the knights wore dark mourning drapery over their armor.

The wagons that had once carried priceless wine, silk, jewelry, and other treasures now transported thirty-four carefully prepared corpses.

At regular intervals, musicians played low funeral hymns.

Listening blankly to the mournful melody from inside her carriage, Talia felt the pain that had briefly subsided begin intensifying once more.

Reaching out blindly, she grabbed the incense burner.

The bronze vessel had gone cold.

Inside, only ashes remained.

Cursing under her breath, Talia struggled upright from the cushions.

Opening a compartment installed beneath her seat, she retrieved a fresh incense stick.

It had been made by drying and {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} compressing frostweed, moonflowers, mandrake leaves, and crimson shard blossoms into a solid bundle.

She placed it into the vessel and ignited it using a mana stone.

Pale smoke immediately began to rise.

As her thoughts slowly disappeared beneath a thick fog, Talia collapsed back onto the bedding.

Since the return procession had begun, she spent most of her time under the influence of painkillers.

When surrounded by the acrid smoke, tomorrow became today, and today became yesterday.

Through the haze she vaguely registered the occasional mage checking her condition or an Imperial Guard knight bringing food and pestering her to eat.

But their existence always remained near the surface of her awareness, never truly reaching her.

Only one person could drag her back into painful reality.

Varkas.

Looking up at the figure appearing in the doorway after the carriage had once again come to a stop, Talia narrowed her clouded eyes.

At some point, her carriage—which had originally traveled at the very rear of the procession—had been moved closer to the front and placed under the concentrated protection of the Commander of the Imperial Knights.

Perhaps he had decided she required direct supervision to ensure she caused no further trouble.

Entering the carriage, Varkas bent over her sprawled form.

Cool fingers brushed several strands of damp hair away from her sweat-soaked forehead.

“Use the incense sparingly. At this rate you'll develop a tolerance soon.”

“...”

Talia stared at his face as though examining a problem left unsolved for years.

The man remained silent, apparently waiting for a response.

At length, he released a faint sigh.

“We'll be making camp here tonight.”

The sun was setting.

The carriages had stopped.

Naturally they would be spending the night here.

She couldn't understand why he felt the need to explain something so obvious.

Wasn't he the man who remained silent even when words were actually necessary?