In an instant, Varkas reached the front of the carriage and all but threw her inside.
Talia winced, rubbing her aching hip as she glared up at him with fury in her eyes. But the moment she caught sight of his hardened face, she froze.
Varkas looked down at her, his patience clearly at its breaking point. His voice was cold and edged with barely restrained anger.
"Didn't I warn you not to cause any more trouble?"
She faltered for a second, but quickly lifted her chin and shot back with defiance blazing in her eyes.
"Why should I listen to you? Who do you think you are?"
"Someone who amounts to more than a princess in name only."
A cold, mocking smile tugged at his lips.
Talia sprang to her feet, trembling with rage. She wanted nothing more than to slap that arrogant look off his face.
But Varkas was faster.
He leaned forward, trapping her arms against her sides, and stared down at her with a detached, emotionless gaze. His eyes, devoid of even the faintest trace of sympathy, moved over her bruised cheek and the dark marks that surely marred her neck.
A weary sigh escaped his lips.
"Do you really not understand what you're doing? No one here is going to protect you. If His Highness the Crown Prince decides to act, no one can guarantee your life."
"Why do you even care?" Talia snapped, her voice rising.
"You'd be the happiest person alive if I just disappeared, wouldn't you?"
"I can't deny that."
Even though she'd expected that answer, her heart felt as though it were bleeding.
He continued, his tone so calm it was almost cruel.
"But I can't allow your recklessness to endanger His Highness's position. So if you have a death wish, do it with your own hands."
Talia's eyes burned, tears threatening to spill. She clenched them shut and forced herself to hold them back.
Varkas straightened, his expression once again hidden behind the unyielding mask of a knight. When he spoke next, his voice was completely formal.
"I'll summon a healer. Once you're treated, you should rest."
Talia didn't bother answering. Instead, she grabbed a silver goblet from the floor and hurled it at him. The cup struck his chest and clattered to the ground.
Varkas stared at her with a look of cold disgust, then turned on his heel and left the carriage without another word.
Talia slammed the door shut behind him. At last, the tears she'd been holding back streamed down her cheeks.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, terrified that anyone outside might hear her sobs. The cry stuck in her throat, choking her.
For a fleeting moment, she wished she could just stop breathing altogether.
Atop Ulgram Hill, only the white temple remained—a structure Emperor Darian had built long ago to commemorate Ossiria's independence.
Pilgrims stopped at its base, gazing up in awe at the luminous marble edifice that gleamed beneath the sun.
Though centuries had passed, the temple was nearly perfectly preserved.
They traced the engraved prayers and sculptures of long-dead heroes, lost in reverence. But the Crown Prince felt no such awe.
Gareth dismounted from his horse with a dull thud, surveying the arched entrance with a bored expression.
"So this is the second holy site?"
"Yes, Your Highness," one of the attendants replied nervously.
Every servant knew the prince's temper had been foul since the night before. None dared to speak above a whisper, their faces tense with unease.
Only Varkas remained calm and composed as ever.
"There are no resident priests here," Varkas explained, stepping closer. "We'll have to prepare the ceremony ourselves."
Gareth's eyes flashed with barely contained hostility as he shot him a glare.
"Then stop wasting time and get on with it."
At his order, the attendants immediately parked the carriages near the temple and began unloading the supplies. Soon, the entourages of both the First and Second Princess arrived and joined the preparations.
Soldiers quickly set up the tents while servants unpacked ceremonial items: incense burners, sacred platters, silver jugs, and candlesticks, polishing each until it gleamed.
Once the basic preparations were complete, the handmaids began dressing the Crown Prince and the First Princess in their ceremonial attire.
Watching from a short distance, Edric hesitated before walking toward the Second Princess's carriage. If she was to attend the ceremony, she would need to prepare as well. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to knock.
He stared at the tightly shut door, scratching the back of his neck in frustration. The memory of her condition from the previous night made his stomach twist.
He lowered the hand he had raised to knock and glanced toward the Crown Prince's tent.
Servants were busy setting up a large wooden tub and heating water for his bath. Gareth lounged in a chair nearby, sipping wine leisurely—as if nothing had happened.
The sight made Edric's mouth taste bitter.
He nearly killed his own sister, and yet he looks perfectly at ease.
He had heard the rumors—that the Crown Prince sometimes struck the Second Princess—but he hadn't believed they were that severe.
He clenched his fists as the image of the small, fragile princess being struck and strangled by that hulking man replayed in his mind. If not for Sir Sheorcan's timely intervention, the result could have been far worse.
Looking down at his palms slick with cold sweat, Edric exhaled heavily and turned away.
There was no point in trying to convince Princess Talia to attend; she would almost certainly refuse anyway.
As he was about to leave, he heard a thump from behind him.
"You there."
He turned sharply—and his eyes widened.
Talia stood in the doorway of her carriage, arms crossed, looking every bit as proud and imperious as ever. Her face was composed, her expression haughty—as though nothing had happened.
"Fetch my maids," she said curtly.
"…Pardon?"
When he only blinked in confusion, she gave him a sharp, irritated glare.
"Are you deaf as well as ugly and stupid? I said fetch my maids—I need to dress!"
Momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of her tone, Edric finally nodded and went to summon the attendants assigned to her by the Empress.
As he watched her scolding the servants with her usual arrogance, an involuntary sigh of relief escaped him. The healer had done well the previous night, but after what she'd endured—and without proper food or rest—he had feared she might collapse.
Looks like she's fine after all.
Then again, this was the same woman who had mocked the Crown Prince even after nearly being strangled to death. There was no way her spirit would be easily broken.
With a faint, helpless smile, Edric gave orders for water to be fetched and instructed his men to tidy their uniforms.
Since the Second Princess had finally decided to attend the imperial ceremony, it was his duty as her knight to ensure she was properly escorted.
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