The Forgotten Field

“Forgive me. I was thoughtless.”

The man immediately lowered his head. Without another word, Varkas entered his room.

A page quickly followed after him. Dismissing the boy with a light gesture, Varkas sat down on a chair and personally removed his armor and clothes, folding them neatly before sinking into the bath the servants had prepared in advance.

After riding all day, his body must have been thoroughly permeated with dust and the smell of horses.

After carefully washing himself from head to toe in the clear water, he put on a dark navy doublet and wool trousers. Pulling on boots that reached his shins, he stood before the mirror, where a perfectly composed silhouette met his eyes.

His body, honed by years of training, had long been disciplined into maintaining flawless posture at every moment.

He stared for a while at the man who looked as though he had been cast by the imperial family itself, then picked up his coat and left the room.

Just as he was about to head for the banquet hall, a woman descending the stairs caught his eye. Recognizing her as the healer sent from the Imperial Palace, Varkas immediately stopped her.

“Why are you coming down from the upper floor?”

The woman hastily bowed her head.

“Her Highness the Princess summoned me...”

He narrowed his brows. He had expected Talia not to listen to him, but seeing it with his own eyes still stirred a faint irritation.

In a stiff tone, he asked,

“How is Her Highness's condition?”

“She appeared better than usual, perhaps because she rested well throughout the day. Her fever has completely subsided. However, the pain in her leg seems unchanged...”

“So you've burned sleepgrass again.”

Perhaps sensing the reproach in his voice, the healer's face visibly stiffened.

As though making an excuse, the woman said,

“Her Highness suffers from severe chronic pain. Using sleepgrass is the best measure available to ease her suffering.”

He studied her face with sharp eyes.

Could he truly trust the healer attached to her by the Empress? Senevier was a woman who treated even her own daughter like a piece on a game board. There was no telling what schemes she might be weaving behind the scenes.

He carefully examined the woman's expression as though trying to discern her intentions, then gave a slight nod, indicating she could leave.

She lowered her head and descended the stairs at a measured pace, neither hurried nor slow.

Watching her retreating figure, Varkas soon headed toward Talia's room.

He knocked on the firmly closed door, and a somewhat drowsy voice answered from inside.

“Come in.”

The moment he opened the door and stepped inside, cool air brushed against his face.

He frowned.

Contrary to his expectations that the room would be heavy with stale smoke, the spacious bedroom contained only a faint floral fragrance and the scent of dried grass.

Suppressing the unease within him, he slowly surveyed the cluttered room.

Before long, he found a small figure sitting on the windowsill.

Varkas, who had been about to call her name, suddenly closed his mouth. He did not know what had stopped the words.

The woman, bathed entirely in the light of the setting sun, turned her head toward him.

The moment their eyes met, an inexplicable anxiety rose even stronger.

Pulling at the collar of his doublet, he strode over to her. After firmly shutting the wide-open window, he placed the back of his hand against her pale cheek.

She was ice cold.

“How long have you been sitting like this?”

“What?”

“How long have you been sitting in the cold wind?”

Her eyes narrowed.

With that sulky expression filling her small face, she looked two years younger than her actual age.

She slapped his hand away and answered bluntly,

“How should I know? Why would I care?”

“And what if your fever returns?”

“Then it'll return.”

He frowned.

Whenever he spoke with this woman, strange impulses arose within him. At times, he wanted to force her to obey him through sheer strength. At the same time, he felt an equally strange urge to coax and soothe her by any means possible.

As though trying to shake off those bizarre emotions, he stepped back.

Once he put some distance between them, she seemed relieved, and the tension left her rigid shoulders.

Wrapping both arms around her knees, Talia slowly looked him up and down before speaking sullenly.

“More importantly, why are you dressed like that?”

“We are holding a small banquet. Some guests have come.”

“Guests?”

“The lords of the eastern regions. Apparently, they've come to make themselves known to me.”

“Hm...”

She made a strange sound and began idly playing with the edge of his coat.

He quietly lowered his gaze to her hand.

After fiddling with his clothing for a long while, she hesitantly opened her mouth.

“Shouldn't I attend too?”

He raised his eyes again.

That face, beautiful enough to seem unnatural, filled his vision.

She was a woman who strangely stirred the emotions of others. Even someone like him, whose senses were restrained in nearly every aspect, was not free from peculiar impulses around her.

He did not even need to see it to know what kind of chaos she might bring to this place.

After a brief silence, he slowly shook his head.

He could not hide her forever, but until he had completely secured control over the East, he wished to keep her out of people's sight as much as possible.

“There is no need. I will explain everything properly to the vassals. For now, Your Highness should focus on recovering.”

“...You're doing this because you're ashamed of me, aren't you?”

Her voice suddenly sharpened.

Varkas, who had been about to turn toward the door, stopped and looked down at her.

Gnawing at her cracked lips, she sneered.

“Do you already regret taking a cripple for a wife?”

He clenched his fist tightly.

Otherwise, he felt as though he might do something terrible.

Taking a long breath, Varkas waited for the sharp emotions to settle before looking down at her with cold eyes.

At that, the hostility in her gaze only became more pronounced.

At last, the words he had held back clawed their way out.

“Sometimes, I truly can't tell. Whether the things you say are meant to wound me... or whether you're trying to wound yourself...”

Her lips stiffened as though the words had stolen her voice.

He silently gazed down at her face, filled with distrust, then let out a faint sigh and turned away.

“I'll call a maid. If you truly wish to attend, I won't stop you.”

“No.”

Talia jumped down from the windowsill and snapped coldly,

“If I stay with you any longer, I think I'll get a fever again.”

With that, she staggered to the bed and threw herself onto the sheets.

Varkas quietly watched her for a moment before leaving the room.

Descending the stairs and stepping into the grand banquet hall, he was met by hundreds of eyes.

Everyone rose to their feet.

“Young Lord, you have returned.”

One of the vassals seated near the entrance bowed respectfully.

Accepting the greeting with a slight nod, Varkas slowly crossed the hall.

The high-ranking nobles and his own relatives, dressed in splendid attire, occupied the central table, while men in much simpler clothing sat surrounding them.

Passing them by, he reached the seat of honor.

The faint melody playing in the hall came to an abrupt stop.

After slowly surveying everyone present, he offered the customary greeting.

“Thank you all for coming such a long way. I hope you'll forgive any shortcomings in our hospitality.”

“Shortcomings? Never!”

One of the men seated around the long table shouted heartily.

“In all my life, I've never tasted wine this excellent!”

Varkas turned his gaze toward him.

A black bear crest was embroidered on the dazzling cloak wrapped around the man's body.

It was the symbol of House Gutvan, which dominated the southeastern territories.

Raising his goblet high, the man continued in a provocative tone.

“As expected, gifts bestowed by His Imperial Majesty are truly different. I wonder if men like us are even worthy of putting them to our lips. Is this not the reward you received for dedicating your entire life to the Empire, Young Lord?”

The man, speaking with theatrical exaggeration, gulped down the wine before slamming the goblet onto the table with a loud bang.

“Thinking that this wine is the sweat and tears shed by the Young Lord himself, even such fine wine tastes bitter.”

Heavy silence descended over the hall.

Leaning back in his chair, Varkas twisted the corner of his mouth.

“It seems you've come here looking for a fight.”