Tarkan’s eyes sharpened.
Aristine wondered how he could not know she’d been under house arrest.
“You really don’t know?”
Aristine asked, half incredulous.
He had no way of knowing she’d been confined for over ten years. Clearly, Irugo’s intelligence was lacking—or rather, Tarkan himself simply hadn’t cared enough about the woman who was to be his bride.
She recalled the vision she’d seen in the bathwater earlier.
“Did you like Her Highness?” the navy-haired lady had asked.
“Of course not,” Tarkan had replied.
Why wouldn’t she appeal to him? She knew exactly what he meant: a princess who’d been made filthy for diplomatic optics. Yet he insisted, “My heart does not change.”
Aristine tapped her fingertips on the table, gathering her thoughts. When she spoke again, her tone was businesslike.
“First, we need to clear a few things between us. Even if this is a political marriage, we’re still going to be husband and wife.”
Tarkan tilted his head. “Or precisely because it’s a political marriage?”
“Let me be direct,” Aristine said, meeting his gaze. Afternoon light flickered through the windows, and their eyes locked.
She smiled deliberately. “Your Highness Tarkan, do you want war?”
“What?” he said, stunned.
This was the first time a woman he’d met today had managed to fluster him. Probably fewer than a handful of people had done so in the last year.
Aristine’s gaze was steady—neither too light nor too heavy, but completely calm. He realized at once that she was no sheltered blossom: she wasn’t spouting nonsense on a whim.
He grew serious. “There are those who wish for war,” he said quietly, his golden eyes gleaming like a predator’s in the shadows. “But I am not one of them.”
Aristine fell silent. The smile faded from her lips, as if something more natural lay behind her blank expression. He found himself thinking, without fully aware of it, that hers was the only face he’d ever found puzzling in its honesty.
They stared at each other wordlessly until Aristine broke the tension.
“Then that’s settled.”
It was almost anticlimactic.
“Why did you ask?”
“Because the easiest way to start a war is to kill me.”
He hesitated at her blunt remark. Yet Aristine seemed entirely unfazed as she spread blueberry compote and clotted cream on a scone.
“Of course, I don’t want to die. And if you don’t want war, I need to live. Our interests align, yes?”
Her tone was so light he could hardly believe she was discussing her own life as though it were a trivial matter. Yet he perceived that she did care—her life was not worthless, but treated as casually as a coin.
He suppressed the urge to probe further. She was making an important point, and he would take it seriously.
“How can I trust you? It’s common for one to speak soothing words while plotting behind the other’s back. Killing me isn’t the only way to provoke war.”
Aristine’s eyes lit with a quiet satisfaction at being challenged. She appreciated that her betrothed was not a fool.
“True. I could steal your secrets for Silvanus, or collude with those in Irugo who want war. Or—” she lifted her butter knife and pointed it at him, then leaned sideways as though to strike her own neck, “I could kill you.”
Tarkan raised an eyebrow, impressed by her audacity. “As I said, I don’t want to die. And I’m not so fond of Silvanus that I’d undertake the trouble of espionage.”
After a moment’s calculation, she continued. “When I was young, I was confined by the Emperor of Silvanus. Anyone who falls out of favor with His Majesty and is locked away—you know how they’re treated.” She let the words hang, offering him a small, elegant smile.
He looked at her with an expression of bewilderment. She revealed her greatest weakness without hesitation—something he could neither imagine nor comprehend. His mouth felt dry, as if filled with sand.
He thought back to when he first saw her, standing alone as her half-siblings mocked her. She’d borne their scorn without flinching.
At least that ordeal hadn’t broken her, he realized. If she was so lightly amused by death, it meant others had treated her life as trivial. Sending her here was effectively a death sentence—perfect for those in Irugo who did desire war.
Tarkan’s eyes narrowed, but instead of pressing further, he changed the subject. “Then coming here in rags wasn’t your choice either.”
“Correct.” Aristine nodded, popping the last scone into her mouth. “It would take only the slightest inquiry to learn I was confined. You can check for yourself.”
“Now I can believe you… to some extent.”
“Good.” She smiled in satisfaction. This would do, for now.
—She thought—This is probably the longest conversation I’ve had in over ten years; not bad for a first try.
She’d uttered only the bare minimum to the maids on the way here: “Enter,” “Sit,” “Eat.” Hardly real conversation. This exchange with Tarkan, however, was the first proper dialogue she’d had in years.
“I have one more request,” she said, smiling again.
“One more?”
“For my safety—since world peace, as you said, depends on me staying alive—will you protect me?”
“That’s what you meant by wanting a win-win arrangement,” he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
“Exactly.”
Aristine nodded. What else could it be? Tarkan stared at the hand she extended. Her meaning was clear: he would guard her life, and she would guard his in return. Partners.
“It’s an odd word,” he murmured.
Many followed him, but none had ever promised equal partnership: equal responsibility, equal stake.
“Do you know what this means?” she teased.
He smiled wryly. “Of course I do.”
He clasped her hand. Their fingers brushed, then entwined.
Aristine smiled broadly. “I think we’ll make very good spouses.”
No love, only a business partnership in this political marriage. Now to make money.