"Outwardly, the fortress may seem a little rough, but the interior architecture is absolutely not inferior in magnificence to any royal castle in the central regions," Tayrone said soothingly, riding next to the carriage and carefully watching her pale, feverish expression.
"You will be quite comfortable here."
Thalia responded with an incredibly doubtful, cynical look on her face.
*Has this illiterate hillbilly ever actually seen the Imperial Palace, or any of the grand castles of the capital nobility, even once in his entire life?*
With such utterly condescending thoughts, she cast a dark, sidelong glance at him through the carriage window.
Tayrone easily caught the distinct mockery in her eyes.
His dark eyebrows knitted together in clear displeasure.
He added clearly, putting heavy emphasis on every single word.
"Raedgo Castle was originally built by master dwarven stonemasons back in the Era of Kingdoms.
It is the absolute pride of the Eastern lands, and in scale and convenience, it is absolutely not inferior to the Imperial Palace itself..."
"I know," Thalia interrupted him sharply, her voice dripping with venom.
"Your people, the nomadic Kan tribes, built this castle by violently driving the dwarven clans from the northeast into brutal, generational slavery."
At her highly caustic, deeply offensive historical remark, the Barakan warrior immediately stopped short, his lips tightly clamped together.
Thalia had deliberately said it as coldly as possible in order to violently knock down his regional arrogance and make it abundantly clear that he should not attempt pointless, friendly conversation with her.
"If you have finished speaking on a topic that you were absolutely not asked about," Thalia said icily, "please step away from my window."
"Ha...
well, well..." Tayrone muttered, shaking his head in profound shock at her abrasive attitude.
"Your Grace, do you even know the meaning of the word 'sociability'?"
"Do you know the meaning of the word 'obsessiveness'?" Thalia snapped back, her voice as cold as ice.
"Or 'tactlessness'?"
Realizing that it was entirely pointless to continue trying to welcome her, Tayrone pulled hard on his reins, slowed his horse, and hastily retreated to the back of the caravan.
Thalia followed him with a dark gaze until he was entirely out of sight, and then she violently slammed the wooden shutters closed.
People who tried to be nice to her for absolutely no reason almost always had a deeply sinister ulterior motive.
Especially that Eastern warrior—he had only been smiling with his lips while his dark eyes had carefully, methodically studied her, assessing her physical weaknesses from head to toe.
He surely just wanted to find out exactly what kind of pathetic, crippled woman had replaced the flawless First Princess to become the next Grand Duchess of Siekan.
Thalia snorted bitterly and pulled the heavy velvet curtains completely shut, sinking deeper into the plush seat.
She could not afford to let her guard down for a single, solitary second.
The extended Siekan clan definitely hated her guts.
Former Empress Bernadette—Barkas’s aunt—had been politically assassinated by Seneviere's faction.
How could the Eastern nobility possibly be happy that instead of their beloved relative Ayla, the illegitimate daughter of the current Empress—the woman they were waging a hidden political war against—was going to become their Grand Duchess?
Thalia aggressively squeezed her throbbing temples with both hands, desperately trying to calm the growing migraine.
It was highly likely that she was going to be greeted here far, far colder than she even expected.
She had been forced to endure constant, daily humiliation in the Imperial Palace where Seneviere dominated; Raedgo Castle, filled with Seneviere's political enemies, was going to be an absolute nightmare.
Thalia anxiously scratched her fingernails against her lips, tearing open the scabs from her severe nervous biting.
Her throat was incredibly sore from a violent thirst.
She reached over to the wooden cabinet built into the carriage wall, pulled out a glass bottle of water, and took a few desperate sips, trying to moisten her dry, cracked mouth.
Suddenly, a massive, deafening blast from a brass war horn sounded from the fortress walls outside.
Thalia pulled back the velvet curtain and peeked out the window.
The carriage had finally arrived at the base of the majestic, terrifying fortress.
The caravan's speed slowed to a crawl as the heavy portcullis check was conducted.
Finally, the massive, reinforced iron gates slowly groaned open, and the carriage rolled inside the walls of Raedgo Castle.
Looking around the interior courtyard, Thalia involuntarily gasped.
Tayrone, that arrogant Eastern warrior, had not been lying in the slightest.
Despite the incredibly rustic, brutalist exterior, the interior of the castle grounds was striking in its exquisite, breathtaking beauty.
Her wide eyes slid along the perfectly paved, immaculate cobblestone streets, over the towering stone spires reaching into the heavenly heights, and over the incredibly graceful, sloping roofs of the main buildings.
It looked exactly as if the entire sprawling space had been carved out of the mountain by a single, visionary master.
Structures made of stark grey mountain stone and highly polished black marble were amazingly combined, creating an architectural appearance that was deeply harmonious, severely strict, and yet impossibly majestic.
Elegant, arched stone bridges stretched between the towering buildings exactly like stone arteries, connecting the different defensive sectors of the fortress.
Looking at all this with genuine, breathless delight, Thalia noticed a massive water feature in the center of the main square.
Her eyes blew wide open.
It was a colossal, multi-tiered fountain, significantly larger and infinitely more elegant than the ones that stood in the Imperial Palace gardens.
Massive, incredibly strong streams of crystal-pure water flowed continuously from the pristine white marble—a clear, deliberate display of the fortress's abundant, limitless underground water supply in the middle of the arid steppe.
Thalia absolutely could not take her eyes off the magnificent picture.
Mountain stone, black marble, forged steel, and pure water merged perfectly here into an ideal, unyielding ensemble, meticulously thought out to the smallest defensive detail.
At that moment, the column of heavily armored horsemen finally ground to a halt in front of a majestic, towering structure—the main residential keep of the castle.
Thalia looked ahead.
The architecture of the main keep perfectly intertwined the imposing elegance of the Roem Empire style with a special, flowing oriental sophistication.
Standing rigidly at attention at the main entrance were dozens of incredibly smartly dressed people lined up in formal rows.
Barkas brought his massive warhorse to a halt in front of the sweeping stone steps, dismounted effortlessly, and shouted a sharp, commanding order in the Eastern Kan dialect.
Immediately, the aristocratic people standing on the steps broke formation, ran down in a massive, chaotic crowd, and completely surrounded him.
*Are those Barkas's relatives?* Thalia thought, her heart hammering with intense anxiety as she watched them.
Having quickly, methodically driven away the fussy, overwhelming crowd of his vassals, Barkas immediately turned and strode directly toward her carriage.
Thalia hastily let the velvet curtains fall closed and desperately tried to lie down on the seat to pretend she was asleep—but the heavy iron door swung open without warning, and Barkas easily climbed inside.
Thalia scrambled upright and looked at him with a rigidly tense, panicked face.
As always when he was commanding the Eastern vanguard, he was wearing his heavy black iron cuirass, over which his grey wolf cloak was thrown.
His massive body smelled overwhelmingly of dry steppe grass, cold wind, and old blood—the powerful scent instantly filling the entire enclosed space of the carriage.
"How are you feeling?" Barkas asked quietly.
He stripped off his heavy leather gauntlet and placed his bare, calloused palm directly onto her forehead.
A light, heavy sigh escaped his lips.
"You are still incredibly hot."
"...It is nothing," Thalia muttered, aggressively lowering her gaze with an intensely annoyed expression.
"This is not the first time I have had a fever."
She seemed to be slowly, frustratingly getting used to it.
Now, when he reached out and touched her, she no longer flinched as violently as she had before.
But the profound awkwardness and her intense internal resistance to his care had absolutely not gone away.
With a deeply anxious, guarded face, she watched as his long, strong fingers gently tucked a loose strand of dark, sweaty hair behind her ear.
Barkas unclasped the heavy silver pin at his shoulder, took the massive wolf cloak off his own back, and threw it completely over her shoulders.
Then, as a matter of absolute, indisputable course, he slid his arms beneath her knees to lift her out of the carriage.
Thalia immediately jerked backward, violently tucking her ruined legs under her body and wrapping her arms tightly around them to stop him.
"Do not you dare!" Thalia hissed venomously.
"Do you want to make me a pathetic laughing stock in front of all your aristocratic relatives?!"
Barkas frowned slightly, tilting his head toward his broad shoulder exactly as if he genuinely didn’t understand her logic.
"Why exactly should a husband’s physical concern for his sick wife be something shameful?"
Thalia stared at him, her pale face full of absolute bewilderment.
She had known from the very beginning that Barkas Siekan was a man rigidly bound by duty.
But for him to actually attempt to faithfully fulfill the "duties of a devoted spouse" in this farcical, forced marriage imposed by the Emperor...
she absolutely had not expected this level of dedication.
"Did Ayla teach you this?" Thalia spat, glaring at him with a violently angry, jealous look.
"Did your precious First Princess teach you that a devoted husband is supposed to physically take care of his wife?"
Hearing Ayla's name, Barkas’s brow furrowed deeply.
The fleeting warmth entirely vanished from his eyes, and he answered in an even, almost completely lifeless voice.
"Did I not swear before the Gods in the cathedral that I would take care of my wife exactly as I would take care of myself?"
"That is highly amusing," Thalia scoffed bitterly.
"You absolutely do not take care of yourself at all.
And in any case, I am absolutely not going to play the role of the 'submissive, devoted wife' that the High Priest talked about.
So you can stop pretending to be a devoted husband."
With those venomous words, she forcefully pushed herself up.
Staggering heavily on her crushed knee, she attempted to push past him and get out of the carriage under her own power.
But Barkas deftly, effortlessly grabbed her around the waist from behind, completely ignoring how violently she resisted.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Thalia shrieked, her face flushing crimson as she glared at him.
But before she could spit another insult, Barkas spoke first.
"Do I look like an absolute fool who expects 'obedience' from you?"
"What do you mean...!"
"I absolutely do not expect anything from you," Barkas said dispassionately, easily straightening her thrashing body in his massive arms.
"Do exactly what you want.
I will also do things my way."
With those words, he violently pulled the heavy wolf hood completely over her head, hiding her face entirely, and effortlessly jumped down from the carriage with her in his arms.
The blinding midday sun made Thalia squeeze her eyes shut beneath the hood.
When the whitish, dizzying veil gradually dissipated, she peeked out from the fur lining and found her gaze colliding with dozens of unfamiliar, aristocratic faces.
They were all looking at her with highly wary, intensely curious expressions.
Thalia’s cheeks violently flushed with burning shame.
Instead of stepping out of the carriage and appearing before her new subjects with the terrifying, imposing dignity of an Imperial Princess, she was hanging completely helplessly in Barkas's arms exactly like an invalid baby.
It was humiliating to the absolute point of physical pain.
"So, here she is?"
A clear, highly energetic, entirely neutral voice reached Thalia's ears.
"The notorious Second Princess?
The one who violently supplanted the First Princess and stole the place of my brother's bride?"
Thalia reflexively pressed her burning face deep into Barkas's shoulder.
She looked around carefully from the safety of the heavy cloak.
A teenager was standing at the base of the stairs.
He had thick, messy black hair and massive, incredibly striking amber-gold eyes.
He was looking directly at her, his hands casually clasped behind his head.
He looked to be no more than fifteen years old.
The soft, youthful fluff on his cheeks had not yet faded into a man's beard, and a lively, entirely fearless curiosity played brightly across his face.
"Her eyes..." the teenager muttered, stepping closer.
"They are exactly like polished lapis lazuli."
And then, entirely without an ounce of ceremony, the boy reached his hand out to physically pull the heavy hood off Thalia's head to get a better look at her face.
Completely numb from such unbelievable insolence—absolutely no one in the Imperial Palace had ever dared to treat her like a zoo exhibit—Thalia instinctively shrank back, pulling her head violently into her shoulders.
Before the boy's fingers could even brush the fur of the hood, Barkas abruptly, violently snatched the boy’s wrist out of the air.
"Lucas."
Barkas's voice sounded terribly, lethally cold.