The Forgotten Field Novel - Chapter 2
## Chapter 2:
Talia stared intently into the mirror.
The face she had seen ceaselessly since her birth stared back at her. The only difference was that the young woman in the mirror, instead of displaying a graceful smile and eyes that sparkled with sensuality, now showed an anxious restlessness in her gaze and dry, nervous lips. With displeasure, Talia fixed her eyes on her reflection and turned toward her nursemaid.
“How do I look?”
“Like an angel, Your Highness.” The nursemaid, busy combing her long hair, smiled until her eyes curved like crescent moons. “You truly took after Lady Senevier. With all this care in your grooming, I feel as if I am seeing Lady Senevier at eighteen all over again.”
Talia brushed away with a slap the plump hand that was playing with her hair. The nursemaid’s thoughtless comment—that it was a compliment to tell her she looked like someone else—filled Talia with irritation.
“Enough brushing. Just bring me the dress.”
The nursemaid walked heavily and clumsily toward the chest, with an expression similar to that of a scolded puppy. Talia’s eyes followed her with disdain. How could someone be so dull-witted? The woman rummaged and searched through the chest amidst small grunts until she finally pulled out a red satin dress, looking nervously toward Talia.
“Look at this. It is the dress Lady Senevier wore when she first entered the palace. She must have saved it for you.”
Talia’s face contorted with disgust.
“Do you remember what my mother wore so many years ago?”
“Of course! How could I forget that day? Lady Senevier did not seem to be of this world. Just knowing that someone so beautiful could exist was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Even His Majesty could not take his eyes off her.” The nursemaid sighed with a dreamy, distant look.
Talia stifled a hollow laugh. Did this woman truly believe that encounter had been an idyllic romance? Back then, the Emperor already had an Empress, with whom he had shared six years of marriage, and she had been heavily pregnant at the time. His encounter with Senevier had been nothing more than sordid adultery, plain and simple.
Even after the death of the former Empress Bernadette and Senevier’s ascent as the new Empress, the people had never forgotten it. As long as Talia lived, no one would forget the shameless sin of their union.
Swallowing the bitter retort rising up her throat, Talia snatched the dress from the nursemaid’s hands.
“If you have time for useless chatter, finish getting me ready.”
“Of course, of course, leave it all to me.”
The nursemaid dressed her in a refined velvet gown lined with jewels.
Talia touched up her hair again and gazed into the mirror once more. By wearing her mother’s dress, she resembled her even more. Was the ominous sensuality that clung to her mother beginning to awaken within her as well? Talia fixed her eyes on the curve of her breast swelling above the square neckline. It was not dignified, perhaps, but it was undeniably seductive; no one could deny it.
She instinctively raised a finger to her lips, but lowered it quickly for fear of ruining her makeup. Tonight, more than ever, she wanted to be beautiful. If possible, even more beautiful than her mother.
*Let everyone look at me. Let them forget that Aila exists.*
A fierce greed burned in her deep blue eyes. It was not the gaze of an imperial princess, but that of a beggar on the street.
Assailed by a sudden disgust, Talia grabbed a candlestick and struck the mirror. A sharp crack echoed as spiderweb-like fractures spread across the glass. The nursemaid, startled, fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Talia threw the candlestick aside and spoke coldly:
“I am sick of that mirror. Bring me a new one.”
The woman stood up on trembling legs, her lips pressed tightly together, and silently continued her task as if nothing had happened. She placed a luxurious fur-lined cloak over Talia’s shoulders.
Talia stared viciously at her fractured reflection, splintered into dozens of pieces, and then turned on her heels.
As she left the room, she found a guard stationed in the hallway, one of the men Senevier had sent. The man’s face flushed red upon looking at her, but she ignored him and walked down the stairs.
Outside the palace annex, a carriage with gold trim waited, escorted by eight guards. Clearly, Senevier would not allow her daughter to present herself looking ragged.
*You want me to make your rivals uneasy, don’t you, mother?*
Talia curved her lips into a bitter smile as she climbed into the carriage.
At that moment, the new guard who stepped forward to close the door blurted out, as if he could not contain the heat rising up his throat:
“Tonight… you look truly dazzling, Your Highness.”
The desperate longing in his voice made Talia’s skin crawl. She threw him a sharp look; she had no need for his praise.
“Do not waste words. Just march.”
The man flushed with embarrassment and closed the door.
The carriage moved forward. Talia leaned back in her seat, peering through the fluttering curtains at the crimson-stained sky. If only tonight’s banquet could be stained with that same color… if only chaos would break out and ruin everything.
Her fingers slid toward her lips, and she pulled them away quickly upon noticing that the red pigment stained her nails. Her nerves were on edge, as if they were burning, but the palace looming ahead vibrated with bright music and a radiant light.
When the carriage stopped, Talia disembarked, frowning as she gazed at the wide marble pathway and the ornate gardens leading to the banquet hall. Hundreds of nobles in silk robes were pouring inside.
She ignored the knight assigned to escort her and walked with a firm step toward the entrance. Those who recognized her instinctively stepped aside. Of course they did: this was her home. She had no intention of lining up like a guest.
To the stunned usher standing at the door, Talia said naturally:
“I have come to celebrate my siblings’ birthday.”
The man’s eyes widened in surprise.
“What are you waiting for?” she snapped. “Announce me.”
Terrified, the usher stepped aside and bellowed:
“Your Highness, the Second Princess Talia Roem Gwirta, makes her entrance!”
A deathly silence swept through the vast hall. With her head held high, Talia entered the golden banquet hall. She felt how hundreds of eyes scrutinized her from head to toe. She savored their shock, anger, and discomfort—and their reluctant admiration—as she advanced with graceful steps. The crowd parted like the low tide.
As if she were a plague.
Talia smiled with venom at the thought. And then, someone blocked her path.
“What business brings you here?”
She raised her eyes to the man. Just one of those hollow followers who worshiped her virtuous older half-sister, Aila. Talia gave him a sly smile, the same kind she had seen her mother use to charm men countless times.
“Am I perhaps in a place where I do not belong?”
The man’s suspicious face flushed crimson. Disconcerted, he took a step back. Talia stepped forward further than before, raising her chin with pride.
“This is my father’s palace, and this banquet is for my siblings. What is wrong with me being here?”
Looking him directly in the eyes, she saw him freeze in his tracks, unable to move. The man’s nostrils flared, as if he were inhaling the rose oil that her nursemaid had carefully smoothed into her hair, strand by strand. His gaze grew clouded, intoxicated like that of a drunkard. A strange satisfaction, mixed with a deep disgust, welled up inside Talia.
Without saying another word, she passed right by the stammering fool and walked boldly toward the center of the hall.
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