As though he had been waiting, Daren withdrew a bundle of parchments from his coat.
“These documents record everything that has happened in the capital since Your Grace departed the Imperial Palace.”
Varkas read them carefully.
The reports stated that divisions had begun to appear among the conservative nobles and that the Empress had openly begun gathering supporters for the Second Imperial Prince.
Wrinkles formed around his eyes.
‘This isn't like her.’
The Emperor was still healthy. Unless something unforeseen occurred, Virus Roem Gwirta's reign would continue for another decade at least.
Then why wasn't the Empress waiting until the Second Imperial Prince came of age?
The incomprehensible move filled him with suspicion.
Just as she had used her daughter to provoke Gareth, was she now planning to use her young son to stir up chaos?
If she was deliberately driving Gareth toward recklessness, then something far more dangerous might be hidden behind this marriage arrangement.
Reading the part discussing the serious negotiations over an engagement between the heir of House Heimdal and the First Imperial Princess, Varkas crushed the parchment irritably.
Strengthening ties with the North itself was not a bad thing.
But entrusting Aila to them was a rash decision.
The northerners were people obsessed with bloodlines. Were they not the descendants of those who had even practiced generations of incest to preserve the platinum hair and red eyes of the ancient giants?
There was no way they would willingly accept a black-haired Imperial Princess as their lady.
They surely had another motive.
Touching his lips with a thoughtful expression, Varkas left the garden.
Led by the head butler, he entered the study, where a young attendant brought him writing materials.
Sitting at the desk, he drafted several documents.
They were orders demanding a thorough investigation into the size of the army assembled by House Heimdal and the flow of funds supporting it.
After sealing them and handing them over to a courier, he wrote two more telegrams to be sent to the capital.
One was addressed to Marquis Oristein.
The other, to Gareth.
Carefully wording his concerns about the dangers of the North as gently as possible, Varkas signed the documents and pressed his seal onto them.
Watching beside him, Daren awkwardly asked,
“Do you intend to stop the First Imperial Princess's marriage?”
Varkas looked at him curiously.
“Is there a problem?”
“Well... if Your Grace intervenes, won't it look rather strange?”
Scratching the back of his head, Daren continued.
“People may think the Grand Duke of Siorcan still has lingering feelings for the First Imperial Princess.”
Varkas let out a dry laugh.
“You concern yourself with the most pointless things.”
The gossip spread by idle tongues in the Imperial Palace had little effect upon the East.
His vassals had already firmly acknowledged their new Grand Duchess.
At present, it was far more dangerous to allow the conservative nobles to believe that his relationship with the Crown Prince had completely broken down.
Rolling up the parchments, he stamped them with wax.
“Choose the swiftest rider and send him to the capital.”
After making an odd expression for a moment, Daren took the parchments and left.
Leaning back in his chair, Varkas turned toward the window.
A fine rain had begun falling from the sky.
Suddenly, the image of Talia standing alone in the garden flashed through his mind.
What had she been trying to say?
Remembering those desolate eyes that had been staring at the dead bird, an unpleasant sensation rose in his chest.
Overcome by inexplicable unease, Varkas tapped the desk for a moment before abruptly leaving the study.
The hall was bustling, as though preparations were underway for a welcoming banquet.
Passing servants bowing their heads, he climbed the stairs.
Opening the bedchamber door, he saw a small figure curled up on the broad bed.
He approached the bedside.
A faint flush had appeared upon the elegant curve of her snowy cheeks.
She had drooped all day like a sick chick, and now she had apparently come down with a fever.
Exhaling deeply, Varkas picked up a clean towel from the shelf.
Just as he was about to wipe her face, a strange smell brushed against his nose.
He froze.
A dark crimson stain had spread around the corner of her mouth.
Staring blankly at it, he gently shook her body, which was lying on its side.
Her neck, damp with cold sweat, lolled limply to one side.
Only then did he notice the red stains spreading across the pillow.
Blinking slowly, Varkas carefully lifted her head.
The heavy scent of blood struck his nose.
The red liquid gathered at the corner of her mouth ran down her deathly pale throat.