When that pale, powerful form—all corded muscle and raw strength—appeared before her in the flickering candlelight, Thalia’s tongue felt like it had been glued to the roof of her mouth.
She couldn't move.
She couldn't breathe.
She swallowed hard, her eyes involuntarily tracing the lines of his body.
He had clearly just finished washing away the dust of the road.
His ash-gold hair was darker now, heavy with moisture, and water droplets clung to his stone-carved shoulders and the broad expanse of his back.
Thalia watched, mesmerized, as a single drop rolled down the tense line of his spine.
She jerked her gaze away, her face flushing with a sudden, localized heat.
Even his linen trousers were damp, clinging to the powerful columns of his legs.
The last time she had seen him so exposed was when she was fourteen, when a cruel whim had driven her to order him into the lake.
Thalia licked her dry lips, trying to gather the scattered shards of her pride.
Before she could speak, a dry, grating laugh cut through the silence.
"For the word 'hierarchy' to pass your lips..." Barkas said, his voice dripping with a lethal mockery.
"It’s enough to make even the dogs laugh."
The flicker of confusion vanished, replaced by a searing irritation.
Thalia narrowed her eyes and let out a sharp, jagged snort.
"Hierarchy exists so that those above can command those below," she snapped.
"As knights, you are bound to obey me.
I am a Princess of the Imperial blood.
You would do well to remind your men exactly whose orders carry weight—unless you’d prefer to see them whipped for their insolence."
Barkas pulled on a clean shirt, his movements fluid and indifferent.
He cast a single, icy glance in her direction.
Thalia tensed.
She knew, from long and painful experience, exactly how much damage this silent man could inflict with a single, well-placed word.
She watched his mouth, waiting for the strike, but Barkas simply grabbed his cloak from the rack.
Without deigning to spare her another look, he strode out of the tent.
Stunned, Thalia lunged after him.
She would have preferred it if he’d attacked her with a cruel barb or a look of pure hatred—anything would be better than this.
She couldn't bear to be ignored, to be treated as though she were nothing more than a stone in his path.
"Do you truly have to ignore me just to prove you’ve won?" she shrieked.
Her voice, sharp as a glass shard, caused the surrounding soldiers to freeze in their tracks.
But Barkas gave no sign that he’d even heard her.
He continued forward, his stride long and purposeful, treating her existence as an utter non-entity.
The blood in Thalia’s veins began to boil.
She reached out and yanked violently at his sleeve.
Finally, perhaps fearing she would tear the fabric in front of the servants, he stopped.
He looked down at her, his face a mask of cold arrogance.
Thalia met his gaze, her voice trembling as she forced out every word.
"How long have you been waiting for this?
Now that you aren't forced to obey the 'troublesome girl' anymore, you must be ecstatic.
Is that why you won't even pretend to listen?"
"If your speech even remotely resembled words, I might consider pretending to listen," he replied, his voice flat as he brushed her fingers from his sleeve.
Thalia’s teeth clicked together.
He had dismissed her touch as if it were something foul, something that might leave a stain.
The humiliation bit into her like the lash of a whip.
*Maybe the world would be better if this man just ceased to exist.*
Then she wouldn't have to carry this heavy, suffocating ache.
She glared at him, a hostile fire in her eyes, before erupting into a jarring, humorless laugh.
"Are my words not clear enough?
Fine.
Perhaps we should switch to a language you’re more familiar with.
Animal sounds?
Like your barbarian ancestors?
Would you understand me then?"
The servants nearby turned ashen with terror.
But Barkas only stared down at her, his expression unreadable.
"Do you want me to neigh for you?" Thalia continued, her voice rising.
"You seem to get along better with horses anyway.
You certainly love them more than people."
"Yes," Barkas said, a dark smirk tugging at his lips.
"Speaking with a stallion is infinitely more rewarding than a conversation with you.
At least my horse doesn't spend its days whining until everyone around it is driven to madness."
Thalia flinched, her shoulders shaking with the raw force of the humiliation.
Barkas watched her, his lips curled in a look of profound disbelief.
"You flush at a few honest words," he said slowly, "yet you never hesitate to strike below the belt.
Do you truly believe others cannot stoop as low as you?
That they cannot be just as cruel?"
She stared at him, her retort dying in her throat.
*What do you know about me?
Who better than I understands exactly how merciless people can be?
I’ve felt their cruelty in my very marrow—it’s what turned me into this.
If I don't trample you first, you'll trample me.*
But those words would only expose her weakness.
She took a step back and forced a mask of detached calm over her features.
"I didn't come here for a petty squabble.
I have made my demand: I want my camp moved.
Order the knights to strike the tents immediately."
Barkas closed his eyes and took a deep, weary breath, as if he were reaching the very end of his tether.
"I do not intend to indulge your every whim, Thalia.
Disabuse yourself of that notion.
Return to your quarters and rest."
"I’m not asking for the whole camp to move!
Why are you being so stubborn?"
"I do not have to justify my decisions to you."
"I am the Emperor’s daughter!
If I give an order—"
"Enough."
Suddenly, he stepped into her space, his shadow engulfing her.
Thalia flinched, her shoulders drawing in instinctively.
Barkas discarded even the pretense of formal politeness.
"My daily allotment of patience for you is spent," he said, his voice a low, lethal vibration.
"It is time you learned when to retreat."
His face, despite the harshness of his words, remained perfectly composed, almost elegant in its severity.
He didn't lose an ounce of his dignity, even in anger.
It was that effortless sense of superiority that made him truly unbearable.
"Escort Her Highness back to her carriage," he commanded the nearby knights, his voice returning to its usual cold, authoritative tone.
The men, who had been watching the exchange with bated breath, immediately moved to obey.
"This way, Your Highness."
Thalia threw a furious look at the knights blocking her path, then turned back to Barkas.
But he was already walking away.
She watched his retreating figure—flawless, unyielding—and ground her teeth.
He hadn't even asked *why* she wanted to move.
Her fears, her reasons—none of it mattered to him.
*It would be better if he just died.*
A wave of self-loathing washed over her.
She hated herself for making such a scene, for trying to protect him when he cared so little.
By the time this journey ended, he would belong to someone else.
A man who would never be hers.
Even if he were a corpse by sunrise, what did it matter now?
Thalia turned sharply and vanished into the darkness.