Gareth, who had been observing his half-sister's profile with a suspicious gaze, suddenly felt irritated at himself for paying such close attention to this insignificant creature's every move, and turned his head away.
What did it matter what went on inside that head of hers? In any case, on the day he ascended the throne, she would be erased from this world forever. He only needed to endure until then.
As if to blot out the bothersome existence of his sister, he gulped down the harsh wine in great swallows.
Talia brought the wine to her lips, feigning a look of boredom.
Then she noticed that her fingertips were trembling faintly and immediately set the glass down. Trying her best to look natural, she hid her hands under the table and moistened her parched lips.
The spot where she had brushed against Barkas burned as if set aflame. Even though their bare skin hadn't touched, it felt that way. The sensation of his solid knuckles pressing through the cold leather gloves seemed to seep beneath her skin.
She pressed strength into her shoulders that kept wanting to shrink and rubbed her sweat-dampened palms against her skirt. She could feel the fabric, damp with moisture, clinging to her skin.
A wave of dismay suddenly swept over her. The dress she had chosen to provoke Gareth's anger felt like it was strangling her neck.
She clenched her fists, feeling the sting on her exposed shoulders and back. Even though she knew very well that man wouldn't possibly be looking at her, her nerves were taut to the point of pain.
Talia desperately suppressed the urge to turn her head over her shoulder to check where that man's gaze was fixed. Years of practice allowed her to barely maintain a calm expression, but she could do nothing about the sweat slowly seeping through her skin.
Feeling the thin fabric cling to her like a sticky film, she bit down hard on her lower lip. Choosing this dress had truly been a foolish decision.
"Does the food not suit your taste?"
Startled by the sudden voice, Talia flinched.
Across from her, a young monk was gazing at her silently.
The abbot, was it? Talia gave a nonchalant shrug.
"It's rather humble compared to what I used to have at the palace."
At her indifferent remark, the monk's face twisted faintly.
To make him lose interest, she turned her head sharply away and picked up a small piece of cake. If she at least pretended to eat something, perhaps he wouldn't bother her with needless talk. With that thought, she shoved the crumbly piece into her mouth and chewed mechanically. It was like swallowing a sponge.
Suppressing her gag reflex, she took a sip of wine.
Then she noticed several monks stealing persistent glances at her and frowned.
Their sticky, lingering gazes felt more nauseating than the greasy food.
She suddenly stood up.
"What a disappointing banquet. I'd better retire and get some sleep."
Gareth shot her an annoyed look. Under normal circumstances, she would've said a few more things just to get under his skin, but her stomach churned so violently she couldn't remain there any longer.
She swiftly left the hall. Once she was out of the room, filled with the smell of oil, liquor, and burning wax, the nausea inside her seemed to ease just a little.
Taking a deep breath, Talia brushed away the sweat dampening her forehead and walked slowly down the corridor.
The cold night air slid down her spine. Hugging her goosebump-covered arms, she quickened her pace slightly.
Sometimes, she couldn't understand why she was doing such things at all—
What was the point of putting herself on display in front of people's eyes just to stir up trouble?
"The Crown Prince seems utterly unable to bear your existence. At times, it almost seems he can endure you even less than he can endure me."
Senebier's voice, murmured with amusement long ago, shimmered faintly in her ears.
It must have been on the day of the late Empress Bernadette's memorial service.
Dragged into the hall by her mother's hand, Talia had watched as Gareth completely lost his reason.
Nobles, shocked at the sight of the Crown Prince screaming and strangling the young princess, had tried to stop him, but he hadn't budged.
Only when two knights rushed forward did they manage to pry him off her.
Barely freed from that vicious grip, Talia crawled to her mother's feet, curling up.
Then Senebier had wrapped her arms protectively around her.
For a fleeting moment, relief had nearly brought her to tears—
But then she caught a glimpse of satisfaction passing over Senebier's face.
Perhaps it was from that day onward that she began provoking Gareth whenever she had the chance.
Her reputation, already rock-bottom, had plunged to the worst depths, but it didn't matter.
The Crown Prince's reputation would be damaged as well—and that would please her mother.
A hollow laugh burst from her chest.
Even now, she found herself pathetic, desperately trying to earn a shred of that woman's affection.
Even if she dragged the Crown Prince's honor through the mud, Senebier would never love her.
Her mother didn't love anyone—not the Emperor, and not even Asros, whom she cherished so much.
To her, everything was merely a tool, a means to an end.
Perhaps it was precisely because Talia knew this too well that she kept repeating these senseless acts. If she failed to prove her usefulness, she would truly become nothing to that woman…
"Your Highness."
At the sudden voice, Talia snapped out of her thoughts.
Turning her head, she saw a dark figure standing upright in a shadowed corner of the corridor.
Realizing that it was one of the monks who had been persistently staring at her during the banquet, her body stiffened.
He followed me?
She cautiously glanced around.
The long hallway leading toward the garden was completely empty—not even a mouse in sight.
When it dawned on her that he had followed her quietly until they reached such a secluded place, goosebumps prickled across her skin.
"What business do you have with me?"
Talia struggled to conceal any sign of fear and tried to sound imperious.
Fortunately, her bluff seemed to work—the monk hesitated.
She shot him a sharp, cold glare, hoping he would simply turn around and leave.
"I asked what business you have."
"B… because of what you said earlier…" the monk stammered.
She frowned.
"What did I say?"
"T-that is… back at the banquet…"
The man fidgeted grotesquely, his freckled face flushed red, casting her furtive, indecent glances.
Talia tightened her legs to keep from stepping back. Showing weakness would only embolden him further. She lifted her chin arrogantly.
"I've no idea what you're babbling about. If you have no particular business, I'll be on my way."
"Y-you said… you wanted to meet the Crown Prince's expectations… didn't you?"
The man blurted out in a hurry.
Talia, who had just turned toward the garden, froze and looked back at him.
Could it be—he had followed her because of that reckless remark she had thrown out at the banquet, just to provoke Gareth after his warning not to trifle with the priests?
A chill like cold water ran down her spine.
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