The Forgotten Field Novel - Chapter 19, 20
## Chapter 19
Since she had long since driven away everyone sent from the main palace, fewer than ten maids remained in the annex. She even forbade them from getting too close, so the number of companions she could actually bring with her could be counted on the fingers of one hand.
For that reason, Talia now found herself in the miserable position of having to travel surrounded by servants sent by Senevier. If it were up to her temperament, she would have dismissed them all. But seeing Gareth and Ayla displaying their royal grandeur, accompanied by hundreds of entourages and servants, she could not bear the thought of appearing so pitiful.
She bit her lip in irritation, glaring furiously at the crowd gathered around the carriages of the Crown Prince and the First Princess. For years, she had refused to let anyone but Barkas and her old nurse near her. She could not stand the thought of keeping people close when she never knew when—or how—they might try to trample her. But now, as her half-siblings paraded with their massive entourages and she imagined traveling with only three or four companions, her stomach twisted with humiliation.
In the end, Talia had no choice but to accept the maids Senevier had sent. Even so, she could not relax for a single moment. She had no idea what palace schemes they might be plotting behind her back. She watched their every move closely, as if inspecting every breath of air they took while loading her luggage.
Then, a hesitant male voice broke the tension nearby.
—Your Highness… do you really plan to bring all these belongings?
She looked up sharply at the man who had approached her. Not long ago, she had dismissed the idiot from the royal guard who had made a fool of himself before the Crown Prince; and this new knight, assigned in his place, seemed to have no sense of decorum either. He spoke to her with far too much familiarity for her liking, and that alone annoyed her.
With a cold stare, Talia asked:
—Do you have a problem with my luggage?
—I understand your desire to maintain royal dignity, Your Highness —the knight replied cautiously, scratching his head—. But isn’t this a bit excessive? Hundreds of dresses, expensive jewelry… Unless you intend to change clothes five times a day, most of this seems unnecessary.
—It is clear that you do not understand —she snapped at him—. I plan to change ten times a day if I please. Riding all day will leave me covered in dust. I have the slightest intention of wearing dirty clothes even for an instant.
—Ah… I didn’t mean…
The knight let out an awkward laugh, realizing too late that she was not joking.
Ignoring him completely, Talia turned around and walked toward her carriage. At the end of the long procession was hers, almost as large and magnificent as the Crown Prince’s. The doors and roof gleamed with gold and ivory, and inside there was a seat spacious enough to serve as a bed, covered with thick layers of wool felt and silk cushions.
She climbed in and pulled back the curtains behind the seat, revealing a surprisingly spacious dressing area and a large storage wardrobe. Opening the drawers connected to the luggage compartment, she inspected them one by one. She had brought only her finest dresses—those made from the most luxurious fabrics—and every piece of jewelry she owned. However, nothing seemed to be good enough.
If she wanted to eclipse Ayla, this would not suffice.
Biting her lip between her teeth, she rummaged through the drawers in frustration.
I should have stolen the diamond necklace that Senevier received from the Emperor. Or better yet, she thought with bitterness, I should have taken my mother’s entire jewelry chest.
It was evident that Senevier wanted her to ruin Ayla’s engagement. That was why she had provoked her so shamelessly. If Talia had asked to borrow her jewelry to achieve that goal, her mother probably would have handed them over gladly.
Perhaps I should return to the Empress’s Palace right now.
As she looked anxiously at the open drawer, Talia made a decision and stepped down from the carriage, only to stop dead in her tracks.
Through the soldiers, she spotted a familiar figure wearing the uniform of the Knights of Roem.
Barkas.
She froze in place.
There were more than one hundred and fifty men in the same uniform gathered in the courtyard, but for Talia, only he existed. Her gaze locked onto him: his straight back, his broad shoulders, the faint light in his ash-blonde hair.
Barkas crossed the courtyard with disciplined precision, giving orders to his subordinates. He was probably inspecting the formation before departure.
Talia swallowed hard. The closer he came, the sharper the pain in her throat, as if she were swallowing a handful of glass.
Finally, his cold eyes—which moved methodically from one end of the procession to the other—settled on her carriage. Even from that distance, she could see him frown slightly. The very same expression he always had when looking at her. That frigid, implacable face that never failed to hurt her… was approaching.
—Are you still not finished with your preparations?
Barkas did not even look at Talia as he reprimanded her knight.
The overwhelmed knight scratched his head.
—As you can see, sir, we might need another wagon just for Her Highness’s luggage.
Barkas’s light blue eyes turned toward the servants struggling to stuff mountains of luggage into the carriage. A slight annoyance crossed his otherwise impassive face. At last, his gaze reached her.
—This convoy will pass through six major cities —he said coldly—. You can replenish anything you need along the way. Remove the unnecessary luggage.
Talia raised her chin defiantly.
—No. How do you know what I am going to need?
—Judging by the contents, I would say it is nothing more than dresses and jewelry.
His tone was dry as dust.
—The northwest is full of thriving commercial cities. You will have plenty of opportunities to buy whatever you want there. But spare the servants the exhaustion before we have even departed.
Talia let out a harsh laugh.
—Don’t be ridiculous. You just want to make me look like a frivolous princess who consumes herself in luxury during a holy pilgrimage, so that I look bad next to Ayla, don’t you? Do you think I’m going to fall into your trap?
—When have you ever cared about your reputation?
His lips curved in disbelief, showing the slightest hint of mockery.
—No one in the Empire would ever put you and the First Princess on the same scale, Your Highness. You can stop worrying about comparisons.
That was the last thing Talia wanted to hear from his mouth.
Her face flushed with fury as she raised her hand to slap him. But Barkas, of course, did not just stand there. He caught her wrist quickly, with an unyielding grip, and jerked his chin sharply toward the servants.
—Leave only the essentials. Unload the rest. We depart in an hour; hurry up.
—How dare you…!
Talia struggled to free her arm, screaming in outrage, but he did not move a single millimeter. Furious, she lashed out and gave him a hard kick to the shin.
—How dare you tell me what I can or cannot bring! Do you think you’re someone special already? You’re not the Grand Duke yet! You’re just a knight, a simple guard of the imperial family! How dare a low-ranking soldier…!
—What are you doing standing there?
He ignored her completely, and his voice turned into a cold command as his gaze swept over the hesitant servants. Startled, they hurried to obey, hastily unloading the luggage from the carriage.
There could be no clearer proof of how little authority her title carried compared to his. Even as a “princess,” her orders meant nothing next to those of the commander of the imperial guard and heir to the ducal house of the East.
Talia’s eyes burned with fury as she watched the servants. Then, she lost control. She lunged at one of the maids.
—Take your filthy hands off my things! If a single item goes missing, I will hang you all by the neck…!
Her words were cut short.
Barkas had grabbed her, lifting her into the air without the slightest effort, and shoved her back inside the carriage as if she were nothing more than a troublesome bundle.
Talia fell onto the seat, her face crimson with rage.
Barkas was a man completely devoted to the royal family. He would never dare lay a hand on Ayla. He treated her this way solely because he did not see her as one of them: a true member of royalty.
The humiliation burned sharply behind her eyes. The man who always bowed with perfect elegance to her sister treated her with nothing but contempt.
It was unbearable.
—
## Chapter 20
Talia could no longer contain the surge of fury welling up inside her and raised her hand once more. A sharp slap resonated, followed by a burning sensation that spread across her palm. She had been sure he would stop her again; so sure that she braced for the counter-move by instinct. But the man who had taken the impact showed no emotion whatsoever.
—Let us consider the debt for having dared to lay hands on Your Highness’s body settled with this —he said serenely, tapping his uninjured cheek with his gloved fingertips—. But I will tolerate no more of your childish tantrums. Remember this well: I am no longer your personal knight.
Then, without another word, he stepped out of the carriage and closed the door behind him.
Talia remained motionless, pressed against the backrest, staring into space for a long time. Finally, she turned toward the window. Varkas was nowhere to be seen; he must have already left. In his place, she saw the servants unloading boxes from the supply wagon and a few clueless guards urging them to hurry.
Her entire body trembled with the urge to storm out and punish those who had dared to ignore her orders. But she knew Varkas would never allow that. He had never tolerated cruelty toward those beneath her. Her fingers curled involuntarily as she recalled the gélid look in his eyes the day she had lashed a maid with a whip for sinking her face into his discarded coat.
Talia pulled the curtains shut with a sharp, nervous jerk. She squeezed her burning palm and curled up tightly on the seat. She could not say how long she remained that way.
Then…
The sound of a horn announced the start of the journey, and the carriage began to move slowly. So this was it: the beginning of the trip that would undoubtedly become the nightmare of her life. A single ray of sunlight filtered through the slit of the curtain, catching her gaze for a fleeting instant. Then, she closed the fabric completely, blocking it out. In the gloom that followed, her thoughts drifted.
If only this procession were heading straight to hell itself… If only we could all be buried together and have everything end at once… there would be no greater joy than that.
The royal pilgrimage procession was to follow the path of the first emperor, Darian Roem Guirta, founder of the Roem Empire, from the north to the west, and from the west once again back to the north, tracing the winding course of the Silvisca River.
In the days when the continent was divided into ten kingdoms—Weddon, Dristan, Balto, Gwyn, Osiria, Ribadon, Arex, Vallis, Dumnos, and Sierkan—Darian, a prince of Gwyn, had fled the invasion of Balto and migrated toward the central lands. There, he became the adopted son of Duke Valender, the leader of the Osirian tribes and his maternal uncle. Later, Darian united the various Osirian clans under a single banner and began a campaign to unify the ten kingdoms. Over twenty long years and dozens of brutal wars, he achieved the impossible: forging a single, vast empire from the shattered remains of ten nations.
Therefore, the massive procession starting from the Imperial Palace was not only a sacred ritual retracing the steps of the First Emperor, but also a grand spectacle intended to display the majesty of the imperial lineage to all citizens of the realm.
The scale of the march was nothing short of breathtaking.
At the vanguard rode the Crown Prince upon a magnificent golden stallion, followed by a hundred imperial guards carrying banners embroidered with the imperial coat of arms, clearing a bold path through the heart of the capital. Behind them came the carriage of the First Princess, Aila Roem Guirta, flanked by her escort knights.
The citizens who had gathered along the streets burst into cheers upon seeing the descendants of Darian. The Knights of Roem, heirs to centuries of honor and tradition, led the way; their gleaming armor of orichalcum, called the metal of the gods, was adorned with the imperial insignia over surcoats of pure white. To their right marched the infantry, with silver shields on their backs bearing the seal of the royal guard, their synchronized steps echoing down the avenues.
The disciplined rhythm of the soldiers only heightened the crowd’s excitement. Women along the streets showered the knights with handfuls of colorful petals, while minstrels sang songs of blessing for the Emperor’s descendants. Then, as if to return the favor, the First Princess opened the window of her carriage and showed herself to the public.
A collective gasp arose from the crowd.
Could there be anyone in the world who deserved the title of princess more than Aila Roem Guirta?
Graceful and erect as a lily, with fair skin of rosy tones, brilliant dark brown hair, and large eyes of a deep emerald green… her beauty was nothing short of divine. People strained their necks to get a better look at her; some even followed the moving carriage as if hypnotized. Had it not been for the cordon of guards surrounding her, Aila’s carriage would have been completely swallowed by the adoring masses. The crowd, swept away by fervent admiration, showered her with blessings.
But then…
When the next carriage appeared, dazzlingly ornate to the point of extravagance, the festive atmosphere was suffocating in an instant, like a flame extinguished with cold water.
The knights’ expressions hardened, and their eyes scanned the surroundings with tension. The very same citizens who moments before were shouting until they were hoarse now whispered among themselves, in low, cautious voices, drawing closer to one another. They had realized who was inside the next carriage: the infamous Second Princess.
Those crowding the boulevard stepped back slowly, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and hostility. Some crossed themselves; others spat on the ground. The guards could only sigh with bitterness.
Their reaction, of course, was not unfounded. There was not a soul in the capital who had not heard of the ruthless temperament of Talia Roem Guirta.
From the moment of her birth—the illegitimate daughter of the Emperor—her existence had been a scandal that shook the empire. And even after being officially recognized as a princess, she continued to cause one altercation after another. The servants who worked at her residence rarely escaped unharmed. Many had been dismissed in disgrace, and some had even died under mysterious circumstances. Unsurprisingly, the people’s gaze upon the Second Princess was nothing but cold.
—Your Highness, perhaps you would like to open the curtains and greet the people?
Guard Edric Rubon, unable to keep watching this, approached the carriage and spoke cautiously. No response came from within. He frowned at the thick curtains that remained firmly closed.
Since the beginning of the procession, the Second Princess had not shown her face even once. She was clearly still resentful after her argument with Sir Varkas Sierkan. Edric suppressed a sigh rising in his throat.
If she would only show that beautiful face of hers, the people’s reaction might change a little…
In a way, she was a desperately clumsy woman. If she acted with a modicum of sweetness, men would go out of their way to give her anything she desired. But Talia Roem Guirta seemed almost determined to be hated; she was so sharp and irritable that even her beauty, inherited from her late mother, seemed to lose its luster.
How many knights had she driven away with that temperament of hers? Even the man who had endured by her side for seven long years, Sir Varkas Sierkan, now seemed like a saint by comparison. Though, to be fair, he doubted that he had endured her in silence all these years…
Recalling the moment his superior had practically thrown the Second Princess inside the carriage, Edric directed his gaze toward the front of the formation. Through the orderly rows of marching knights, he caught a glimpse of Varkas, his hood pulled down over his eyes.
Yes, he too must have reached his limit with Talia Roem Guirta. It was almost impressive, truly. What kind of woman could drive a man so rigid and respectful—so steadfast in his loyalty to the crown—to such extremes? If Edric had not witnessed it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.
Perhaps the Second Princess truly possessed a gift for provoking the hostility of others.
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