The Forgotten Field Novel - Chapter 31, 32
## Chapter 31
The man’s large hand moved slowly across the fabric of her dress, as if he were touching something that already belonged to him.
—You wear the same perfume as your mother —he murmured—. Lady Senevier’s hair carried this very same scent. Once someone is caught by it, they cannot help but keep looking for it… over and over again.
His hand began to slide higher.
Talia tried to wrench herself away by instinct, but he did not budge. He pulled her against himself, his hot breath against her ear. Repulsion and panic erupted in her body. In the next instant, she was forced down onto the carpet. Furniture crashed; the puzzle they had spent hours putting together scattered into pieces. She fought savagely, but the man’s strength crushed her.
—T-Talia, just… stay still —he gasped. With one hand he pinned her wrists while with the other he forced her chin upward. He leaned in—:
A wave of nausea rose up her throat. She tried to scream, but she could barely breathe.
Then… the suffocating weight vanished.
Talia crawled away, trembling, barely aware of what had happened. Only after several heartbeats did she realize: Varkas was there —clad in the black uniform of the Royal Knights—, with one hand gripping the attacker’s head and smashing it over and over against the wall. The man’s face, previously smooth and smiling, was now unrecognizable. Talia could only watch, flabbergasted.
—Talia.
Varkas spoke without looking at her, his tone disconcertingly calm.
—Go to your room.
His voice was too firm, too quiet; it took her a moment to understand that he was speaking to her. His eyes, cold and grayish-blue like storm clouds, met hers.
—Talia Roem Guirta —he said slowly—. Didn’t you hear me? Go.
She could not move. Only when his shout ripped through the room:
—Now!
—…did her body spring into action.
She fled to her chamber, dove under the covers, and curled her trembling body into a ball. The sensation of those filthy hands, that breath, that touch… clung to her like oil. She scrubbed her skin until it burned, struck her legs with her fists, anything to chase away the memory. Everything was disgusting: the man, my own body, the fact that Varkas saw me like that. She struck herself harder until bruises began to form; then, she buried her face in the pillow and sobbed like an animal.
When she finally sensed another presence, she raised her head. Varkas was standing by the door, impeccable as always, with an indecipherable expression.
—You will not see that man again —he said coldly.
Talia looked at him, blinking, her voice trembling.
—…Did you kill him?
A slight line appeared between his brows. After a pause, he replied:
—He has been permanently banished. He will never set foot in the capital again, nor in any major city.
Something snapped inside her. She threw the pillow at him.
—Why?! Why didn’t you kill him?! You should have destroyed him! For what he did to me…! —Her words dissolved into broken sobs—. If you let him live, he will come back… he will come back to defile me again… he said… he said he couldn’t stop…
Her throat closed up to the point where she couldn’t breathe. She wrapped her arms around her neck, gasping. Then she began to throw everything within her reach: books, ornaments, dolls.
—Useless! I don’t need you! Get out! Get out of my sight…!
A candlestick flew. A sharp metallic clink was heard, and Varkas staggered as the metal grazed his temple. Blood ran down his pale cheek and his neck. Talia froze. She opened her mouth without making a sound as she contemplated the red line spreading across his skin.
Varkas looked at her once, eyes like cold steel, then turned around and left. She jumped out of bed, stretching out her hand as if to stop him… but he was already gone. The hallway beyond the door was swallowed by darkness. She fell to her knees, trembling. Shame and desperation crushed her.
He had saved her. And she had turned her fury upon him. It was no wonder he never wanted to see her again. She pressed her face against the carpet and cried until she could no longer breathe.
After that night, Varkas did not appear before her again.
Months later, she saw him only from a distance: kneeling before the Emperor at the imperial investiture ceremony. He recited the oath of loyalty in a calm, firm voice. Her father unsheathed the royal sword and touched it to Varkas’s shoulder, declaring him the new commander of the Imperial Guard. He was barely twenty years old, but no one questioned his worth.
As he turned to walk down the steps, the sunlight filtered through the windows, falling upon his face like a torrent of gold. Talia fixed the image in her eyes —the straight back, the unshakeable expression— as he passed by her side without casting her a glance.
In a low voice, she whispered after him:
—Goodbye.
Then, almost without thinking, she added:
—Don’t go.
Tears welled up again. And, just like that, the boy her mother had delivered to her seven years ago was gone from her side.
—
## Chapter 32
By noon, the rain began to pour. The soldiers, busy packing, hurried to throw tar-covered tarpaulins over the carriages and put the horses back into the stables.
From inside her carriage, Aila raised her head and looked toward the sky, now completely darkened. Between the dense storm clouds, flashes of light broke through from time to time, followed by a deafening roar that rolled across the firmament. It was evident to the naked eye: this rain would not stop anytime soon.
—It seems we will have to stay another day at the monastery.
Apparently, they had decided to delay the departure. A royal guard who had been taking refuge in the knights’ quarters for quite some time approached the carriage and handed a waterproof cloak through the narrow slit of the door. Aila accepted it with a slight sigh. The delay in their itinerary displeased her; this journey already harbored enough reasons for anxiety as it was.
Adjusting the cloak over her shoulders, Aila looked repeatedly out the window.
—Where is His Highness the Crown Prince?
—His Highness has gone to the abbot’s residence.
As she pulled the hood over her head, Aila frowned slightly and turned to look at the knight.
—Will he stay there again today?
—It seems so. —The knight left the sentence hanging with ambiguity, lowering his gaze.
Aila looked toward the group of monks gathered in one place, with an expression of slight disapproval. Under the covered walkway, the abbot gave a few quick instructions and the monks dispersed in perfect order. She observed them intently. When dealing with Gareth, the abbot seemed kind and gentle, but right now he looked cold and austere; this, Aila thought, must be his true nature.
Her eyes narrowed. Royal pilgrimages were, in essence, ceremonies intended to win the support of local citizens and influential figures. Given that purpose, it was not a bad thing for Gareth to build connections with local leaders. What worried her, however, was the abbot’s background.
If someone of mixed blood was able to rise high enough to become the head of a monastery, it means he possesses remarkable political talent… or that he has a powerful hand behind him.
She had only exchanged a few words with him, but that had been enough for Aila to intuit that the abbot was no ordinary man. Although he had maintained a polite attitude, the calculating gleam in his violet eyes as he studied Gareth betrayed his true thoughts. Perhaps he was even one of the Empress’s pawns. The Tarren family, after all, had maintained close cooperation with the other races since the Era of the Twelve Kingdoms. It could not be a mere coincidence that a half-elf had come to preside over a large monastery like Mor’dawin.
Could it be that the Church has begun to form a faction to support the Second Prince?
—Your Highness?
Lost in thought, Aila raised her head quickly. Her knight, now soaked by the downpour, was looking at her with an expression of concern. Aila flashed a small, awkward smile and stood up.
—I shouldn’t keep you out here in the rain. Come, let’s return to the quarters.
The knight helped her down from the carriage, holding her hand carefully. Aila stepped cautiously onto the muddy ground. Heavy raindrops struck her head and shoulders with a stinging force; the rain had become even more inclement. Pulling her hood tight around her face, she crossed the wide courtyard, veiled by curtains of white rain, and stood under the covered walkway that surrounded the gardens. There, she approached the group of priests, seemingly by chance.
—Your Highness the Princess. —The half-elf abbot, who had been conversing with his second-in-command, spotted her and bowed quickly.
Aila offered him her usual, rehearsed smile, sweet and serene.
—It seems we will be under your care for one more day.
—It is an honor to serve such distinguished guests, Your Highness. —The abbot remained bowed, responding with unshakeable courtesy—. If there is anything you require, please let us know. Whatever this monastery can provide, we will prepare it immediately.
—I appreciate the gesture. —After a brief pause, Aila continued carefully—: Then, may I ask a small favor of you?
—Whatever it is, Your Highness. Please speak with complete freedom.
—Tomorrow I would like to hold a separate ceremony for Talia. Before we leave, could you bless her as well?
At her unexpected request, the abbot’s eyes widened slightly. Aila watched his reaction closely. It lasted only a heartbeat, but she caught it: the fleeting flash of caution that crossed those pale violet eyes. The priest spoke again in a prudent tone.
—Do you mean that… you wish to hold a blessing ceremony for His Highness the Second Princess?
—Who else could I be referring to? —Aila smiled faintly and added softly—: Since we are staying another day anyway, wouldn’t it be good for her to receive the ceremony as well?
—I did not know Your Highness held the Second Princess in such high esteem.
The unexpected voice made Aila turn her head. Varkas was walking silently through the rain-soaked courtyard. Water dripped steadily from his cloak as he threw his hood back and pinned her with a dry, indecipherable gaze.
The smile on her lips faltered. The rain had left his face even paler than usual, and the coldness of his expression made her nerves tense. She knew all too well why he reacted so sharply whenever it came to Talia; years of bitter memories had accumulated between them. Even this emotionless man could not help but be perturbed at the mere mention of that girl, whose cruelty and tantrums were legendary. For seven long years, he had endured that torment at close range. It was natural that he showed reluctance at the thought of her.
Aila understood all of this perfectly well. Even so, the way he bristled at anything related to that girl —and only to that girl— was sometimes intolerably irritating. Forgetting her original intention to probe the abbot, she shot back with words sharpened by annoyance:
—I am not doing this for her. I am doing it for you. His Majesty personally entrusted that girl to your care. If he finds out that the ceremony was held without her, you could face unnecessary reproaches.
—And what would you suggest I do? —he replied coldly—. Drag someone kicking and screaming to the altar when she has made it clear that she refuses?
The sardonic tone made Aila’s face tighten. She was used to his cold ways, to the way he could cut off a conversation with icy indifference. But every time he was sharp or disrespectful to her because of Talia Roem Guirta, it was unbearable to her.
Aila raised her chin, hardening her voice.
—In any case, we should at least ask her opinion first. You know how fickle she is; she might change her mind by tomorrow.
—Tomorrow we depart at dawn —Varkas said flatly—. I have no intention of altering the itinerary to indulge Her Highness’s whims.
He cut her off like a blade through silk. Never in her life had Aila been rejected so directly. Her cheeks flushed with anger and, for a moment, she felt tempted to reprimand his insolence immediately, but she held back. This was not the place to undermine his authority in front of others.
Repressing her irritation, Aila forced a thin smile.
—If you feel that way, then I suppose there is nothing to be done.
As she relented, Varkas directed his gaze toward the abbot. The priest, who had been watching the exchange with barely concealed curiosity, quickly lowered his eyes. Varkas looked at him with a cold flash and spoke in a low tone but with an unmistakable warning.
—I would appreciate it if tonight passed in peace. We will leave with the first light of day, and His Highness the Crown Prince will need to rest.
The message was clear: there would be no feasts or banquets tonight. The abbot bowed rigidly in a sign of assent. Having said everything necessary, Varkas turned back to Aila and extended his hand.
—Then, shall we go? I will escort Your Highness to your quarters.
Aila let out a silent sigh and took his hand.
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