The Forgotten Field Novel - Chapter 3,4
C3,4
## THE FORGOTTEN FIELDS (NOVEL) – Chapter 3
It seemed her siblings had not yet arrived. Normally, Gares, the Crown Prince of the Empire—and her half-brother—would be standing tall and erect in the center of the banquet hall or upon the second-floor dais, watching over the hall below like a sovereign.
And at his side, always, was Aila, radiating elegance and poise.
But tonight… perhaps Aila Roem Gwirta would not appear at all.
Talia let out a soft chuckle as she lifted a silver goblet from a small round table. She recalled the image of Aila collapsing in the middle of the banquet hall, her face completely devoid of color, and felt a cruel satisfaction blooming in her chest. The way she had vomited wine onto the marble floor almost made it seem as if she were expelling her own heart.
If only she could make it a reality.
With the sharp tip of her polished nails, Talia scraped the surface of the goblet, producing a screeching, grating sound. Evoking the vision of her half-sister convulsing on the floor, she remembered what she had prayed:
*Die, Aila. Please, don’t open your eyes ever again.*
“Your Highness.”
Lost in her bleak thoughts, Talia turned her head toward the nearby voice.
A man stood there, neatly dressed in dark green gala robes, with one hand resting over his chest. His face looked familiar to her. After a moment, she remembered: he was a figure who often appeared at the gatherings her mother hosted. She could not recall his name clearly, only that her mother had addressed him once as Count Serian.
“It has been a long time, Your Highness. You become more beautiful by the day.” Bowing, the man brushed his lips against the back of her hand. The touch left her with the unsettling sensation of a damp worm crawling across her skin. But Talia forced a smile.
“Did my mother ask you to keep me company?”
“The Empress is always concerned for Your Highness,” he replied diplomatically. “But even if she had not requested it, I would not have been able to resist speaking to you. Look around.” He leaned close, whispering as if revealing a great secret. “Every man present here has his eyes on you. Just like me, they all yearn to approach, kiss your hand, and drown you in compliments. But they swallow their desires, fearing the displeasure of the Crown Prince.”
“And you do not fear it?”
“I earned his hatred a long time ago,” he said with a cunning smile. “Which makes tonight a blessing in disguise. For it is the reason I was granted the honor of attending to you.”
Talia did not like men who pressed her with excessive attention. No; she despised them. But enduring hundreds of sharp glances alone was worse than having a convenient shield at her side. So she accepted his escort with the air of someone granting alms.
“And what did my mother say? ‘Please, save my poor eldest daughter, doomed to wander like a black sheep’?”
“Her Majesty instructed me solely to ensure that Your Highness fully enjoys the evening.”
Talia stifled a scornful laugh.
Count Serian guided her toward the stage near the balcony.
“And she told me to make sure you shone brighter than anyone else in this room.”
The dancers withdrew reluctantly, casting furious glances as if their performance had been interrupted. But the count ignored them, bowing deeply before her.
“Will Your Highness grant this servant the honor of this piece?”
Talia looked at his smooth, uncalloused hand with disgust. She did not have the slightest desire to touch a man she barely knew. But the sharp whispers and sideways glances of the crowd stoked her defiance.
*They would prefer it if I just vanished. Or if I stayed quiet in some corner, pretending not to exist.*
*But I won’t.*
She placed her hand upon his. Immediately, he drew her toward him and guided her across the floor with experienced skill.
Although she normally detested physical contact, even Talia could not help but admire his mastery. Count Serian knew the steps perfectly and possessed the rare talent of making his partner shine. Talia had always loved to dance, but never had her movements felt so graceful. And it was not just her imagination.
As the count expertly spun her, she saw it in the crowd: hundreds of eyes followed her every turn. The very same nobles who had always despised her, now unable to look away from the imperial bastard daughter they had once loathed.
Talia felt a surge of triumph. In the past, when she appeared in public, people would cast furtive glances while pretending not to look, their expressions laden with disdain and suspicion.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, they looked at her the same way they looked at her mother, Senevier: with a fear intertwined with fascination. She felt the stares adhering to her like threads, wrapping tightly around her body. For a brief instant, she was Senevier: the most powerful, dangerous, and beautiful creature in the world.
However, her sweet victory was short-lived.
The music cut off abruptly; the true stars of the evening had arrived.
“His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Gares Roem Gwirta, and Her Imperial Highness, First Princess Aila Roem Gwirta, make their entrance!”
At the butler’s thundering proclamation, the two imperial siblings entered the hall with majestic poise, descending the marble steps. And in an instant, Talia was forgotten.
Count Serian offered a rueful smile and guided her toward the terrace stocked with wine and food.
“What a pity our enchanting moment was interrupted.” He spoke lightly, perhaps trying to ease her mood, but she heard none of it.
Her burning gaze was fixed on Aila.
Clad in a pristine white dress, she looked as radiant as ever, as if her recent humiliation had been erased from memory. Standing elegantly beside her brother, smiling sweetly, Aila stoked a fire of anger deep within Talia’s stomach.
She studied them relentlessly—Aila and Gares—every feature sculpted in ivory, framed by raven-colored hair and emerald eyes. From them emanated a regal dignity and pride. A majesty that neither Senevier nor Talia could ever possess.
Senevier, the viper who had once dragged a young emperor, hailed as the “Sacred Sovereign,” into the mire of a scandalous adultery. And Talia, nothing more than the filth that the viper spawned. Even if Senevier gave birth to a dozen imperial children, that truth would never change.
Talia watched in silence as her half-siblings basked in the admiration. When she looked back toward the tables, she caught the nobles who had been gazing at Aila and Gares now casting furtive glances at her, exchanging subtle gestures.
Every nerve in her body tensed. She wanted to tear their eyes out.
*Do not compare me to them.*
She forced her face into a mask of indifference, though fury nearly burst from her chest. Then, the man beside her whispered again, oblivious to her state of mind.
“It seems the two of them intend to completely ignore Your Highness. What are you going to do? Will you approach them first to offer your greetings?”
She shot him a venomous look.
Amused, he smiled mischievously.
“Is that not the reason you came here tonight?”
Talia bit her lip.
Indeed, she had come to ruin their perfect evening. To inject discord into their moment of universal adoration. And that was exactly what Senevier would have wanted.
Steelings her resolve, she took her wine goblet and turned toward her siblings. Then, with determined steps, she began to cross the hall.
At that moment, Varkas Laedgo Siorcan appeared in the doorway.
Talia froze in her tracks.
Her heart thundered wildly, as if she had been ambushed without warning.
———
THE FORGOTTEN FIELDS (NOVEL) – Chapter 4
True to his nature of loathing unnecessary attention, he raised a hand to stop the usher from announcing his name and descended the stairs with an elegant, upright poise. However, despite his efforts, all eyes fell on Varkas. Even the Crown Prince’s imposing presence seemed eclipsed by his arrival.
Talia greedily devoured the sight of him from head to toe.
As always, he wore the impeccable dress uniform of the Imperial Guard. The only difference from the usual was that, instead of the golden armor of the Roem order of knights beneath his cloak, he now wore a black cuirass emblazoned with the emblem of the Black Horse, signaling his attendance as the heir of House Siorcan and Aila’s fiancé.
Just as Talia had expected, Varkas walked straight toward the center of the hall, where Gares and Aila stood.
“I present my respects to Your Highness, the Crown Prince.”
He bowed before Gares with just the right measure—neither excessive nor deficient—and then turned toward Aila, who smiled timidly.
Talia’s fingertips trembled. She gripped her wine glass so tightly that her knuckles turned white. When Varkas extended his hand toward the “true princess,” Aila demurely placed hers over his. A piercing agony gripped Talia’s entrails.
Don’t touch him. Don’t you dare touch Varkas.
She longed to scream it, though she had no right. To avoid disgracing herself, she bit her lips until they stung.
“Wouldn’t it be better to leave the hall now?”
The man beside her, who before seemed to delight in the prospect of trouble, now urged her in a soft voice. His words brought her back to her senses. She had not come here to slink away in humiliation.
Talia composed her expression, lifted her chin, and crossed the hall with regal grace. Those surrounding the Crown Prince, the First Princess, and the eastern noble stepped aside, eager for the spectacle. They would not be disappointed.
“Greetings, my esteemed brother… and my beloved sister.”
She deliberately ignored Varkas, directing her leisurely greeting solely to Gares and Aila. Meeting his gaze head-on was too dangerous, as if it would break the last thread of reason she clung to. Instead, she fixed her eyes exclusively on Aila’s face and spoke with a mocking sweetness:
“I am relieved to see you have recovered your health. Not long ago… you did not look very well.”
“Thank you for your concern.” Aila’s smile was pure warmth, without a trace of shadow.
A chill ran down Talia’s spine. Undeniably, this woman knew that her half-sister had drugged her wine. And yet, her eyes held not the slightest trace of anger. She looked at Talia the way one contemplates an ordinary object decorating the hall: a glass, a plate, a chandelier. Who would waste their fury on such things?
That serene, almost indifferent composure provoked a surge of regret in Talia.
Tsk. I should have given her poison, not an emetic. Even if it meant my execution… even if I burned forever in hellfire…
Compared to this woman, even Gares’s open fury seemed almost human.
“How dare you come here,” Gares growled, leaning close. His bright eyes swept her up and down with burning contempt. “And in such vulgar attire! Did your harlot of a mother tell you to seduce my vassals as well?”
“How harsh, brother.” Talia spread her skirts to display them. “This dress is the same kirtle my mother wore the first time she met His Majesty the Emperor. It possesses a profound significance.”
A deathly silence fell over the hall. Flames of fury flashed in the Crown Prince’s eyes. Unfortunately for him, Talia loved playing with fire.
“Our father must have adored this dress. Don’t you agree?”
Gares’s shoulders rose as he bristled, on the verge of lashing out at her. But his astute twin sister would never allow such a scene. With perfect timing, Aila placed a hand on his arm, restraining him, and turned toward her half-sister with a clear and serene smile.
“Yes. It suits you very well.”
Her voice carried no malice, just the simple statement of a fact. The calm tone stoked Talia’s anger even further. Perhaps that woman thought that even acknowledging the provocations of a worthless bastard was beneath her dignity.
Aila cast a glance at my brother, urging him to maintain his composure, and then took a step beside her fiancé. Leaning against Varkas with an expression of absolute bliss, she said:
“Even so, thank you for coming. Today is a very significant day for us, especially for me. The more people celebrate with us, the happier I am.”
Her delicate hand rested gently on the arm of the man who remained silent like a shadow. Talia riveted her gaze upon that hand, wishing to tear it to pieces. She did not dare look any higher; if she saw Varkas smiling at Aila, she would surely lose her mind.
Then Aila spoke again, with a voice as soft as a feather:
“Our official wedding date has finally been set. At the beginning of the Season of Winds, I will travel east to join House Siorcan. Before that, of course, we must receive the blessing of the Saints and go on a pilgrimage. We must depart before the heat arrives… so today may be the last time I see you.” She feigned a melancholy sigh. “I am glad we met before my departure from the palace. At least we were able to share a final goodbye.”
Turning slightly, she rested her shoulder against Varkas’s once more and added warmly:
“Now, enjoy this banquet held for us, until your heart is content.”
Her pious smile made Talia’s blood boil.
“Is it truly the last time?” Talia blurted out suddenly. “Then, I must simply bless your future, dear sister.”
As she took a step forward, the man who had been silently watching the sisters’ mute war reacted instantly, extending his arm protectively in front of his fiancée. The sight of it unleashed a red haze in Talia’s eyes.
Before Varkas could completely block her path, Talia threw her wine, splashing it across Aila’s chest.
The dark liquid seeped into the pristine white dress, staining the pearls and flowing down the skirt like blood from a pierced heart.
“I pray every day that you will soon look exactly like this.”
The entire hall gasped at her vicious curse. Even Aila, who had remained unshakable until that moment, turned pale, her face completely devoid of color. Her expression of genuine dread almost made Talia burst into laughter.
But her triumph was short-lived. A powerful hand gripped her wrist, pulling her sharply forward.
In the end, she had no choice but to face him directly.
A pair of pale blue eyes, frigid with incandescent fury, stared straight down at her.
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