The following day of the journey,
the rain grew heavier until the road turned muddy and the sky thick with heavy clouds. The convoy halted midway because of the last carriage
Lucas stepped out to see what the problem was. The driver leaned toward him, his voice raised with difficulty over the roar of the storm:
"My lord, I don't think the wheels of the baggage carriage will last much longer… the ground is too slick, and traveling at night would be far too dangerous. There's a nearby town where we can stop until the skies clear."
Lucas gazed into the dark stretch of road ahead, then gave a brief nod.
"Very well… we'll head there."
When he returned to the carriage, a faint look of relief appeared on some of the companions' faces, wearied as they were by the endless travel.
The convoy reached the small town by evening. It did not differ much from the ones they had passed before.
The carriages halted before a modest yet decent inn, and by Lucas's order the baggage carriage was taken straight to craftsmen for repair. Everyone settled in.
During supper, all gathered around the large table. The air was lively with laughter and chatter, but Irene sat silent before her plate, untouched as always, without any appetite.
With every burst of laughter around her, she felt even more distant from the place.
At last, she lifted her eyes toward Lucas and said softly:
"Excuse me… may I be excused to go to my room?"
Silence fell briefly. All eyes turned to her, until Lucas replied coolly as he set down his cup:
"Yes, you may leave."
She rose quietly and departed, but the whispers among the companions soon followed.
One muttered, eyeing her full plate:
"The princess hasn't touched her food… is she ill?"
Lucas glanced at her plate for a moment and said:
"I don't know."
Another added:
"The princess is quiet and reserved… perhaps our noise disturbed her."
Lucas smirked faintly.
"She's just spoiled… doesn't like the food, it seems."
One of the guards chuckled, teasing:
"Don't be so harsh on her, Lord Lucas. I've got a wife and three daughters about her age. I'd say she's only tired—traveling in this weather is hard even on strong men. Perhaps you should check on her instead of judging so quickly."
Lucas shot him a glance, then suddenly stood up, his tone curt:
"I'm going to smoke."
The companion smiled.
"Check on your wife first—that's more important."
But Lucas replied as he walked away:
"She's fine."
He stepped out onto the balcony, where the wind whipped the rain around him
Leaning against the railing, he sighed deeply, then pulled a cigarette case from his pocket. He tried to light one,
but the wind extinguished the flame again and again. With each failed attempt, his temper rose, until he accidentally snapped the lighter in his hand. He flung it to the ground, muttering:
"Damn it… what's wrong with this day?"
He trudged back toward his room, his steps heavy. But as soon as he opened the door, his eyes locked with Irene's. She froze in place beside her open bag, startled.
"What are you doing?" he asked coldly.
She faltered, clutching her hands to her chest:
"I… I don't have anything to wear…"
He frowned.
"What do you mean?"
She stammered:
"My maid Sally grabbed the bag hastily from the baggage carriage… and inside were only my day clothes. There's no sleepwear."
Rubbing his forehead with irritation, Lucas muttered:
"Are you joking with me right now?"
He strode to his own bag, opened it, and pulled out a white silk robe and trousers. Turning to her, he said:
"Wear these."
She stared in surprise.
"These… are yours?"
"Yes, they're my sleepwear. Take them."
Hesitant, Irene finally reached out and accepted them—she had no other choice. Lucas sat on the bed in front of her. She remained frozen, staring at him.
His voice came out rough:
"What now?"
Blushing, she murmured:
"Thank you… but… could you…?" She stopped mid-sentence, looking aside.
Lucas understood what she meant. He let out a long sigh, bored.
"Just hurry up."
Then he moved to the far side of the bed, facing the wall.
Irene stepped into the corner, trying to slip out of her dress, but froze quickly. The zipper at the back wouldn't budge. She struggled with it again and again, to no avail.
She whispered under her breath:
"Oh God… no… what do I do now?"
She glanced at Lucas's back. She didn't dare ask him for help, but his voice suddenly came:
"Are you done yet?"
Startled by his tone, she replied:
"I'm sorry…"
Lucas turned and looked at her for a moment, displeased.
"What is this? You haven't changed? Have you been standing there like that for ten minutes?"
She flustered further, whispering:
"No… I couldn't… the dress…"
"What?"
"…Could you maybe call my maid?"
His glare hardened.
"Are you a child? Can't you change clothes on your own?"
Her voice suddenly rose as she tried to defend herself:
"Stop yelling! The dress is tied in the back. I can't open it—I can't reach!"
He paused, rubbing his face in fatigue, then muttered:
"… This is a private suite. The servants' quarters are far. Do you really want me to walk all the way there for something this trivial…?"
He stepped toward her firmly.
"Turn around."
Lowering her head in shame, she resisted, but he pressed:
"Come on, let's get this over with."
Slowly, she turned and swept her long hair aside.
Lucas reached for the zipper and began to pull it down. At first, the sound of it sliding through the fabric was the only noise in the room. But as her back was revealed, his hand suddenly stopped.
His breath caught, his eyes widened. Her back was frail enough—but what shocked him were the deep scars, twisted and running along her spine. They were strange, unsettling.
Irene sensed his body stiffen behind her. She didn't turn, but she felt the weight of his stare, clutched the edges of her dress tighter against her chest. In a trembling voice she asked:
"What is it?… Why did you stop?"
He stood frozen, then murmured softly:
"Who did this to you?"
______
To be continued....