The Forgotten Field - Chapter 10

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 10
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After the commotion subsided, I began spending my days confined within the Separate Palace.
Yet the handmaidens, chattering ceaselessly as though I had never been silent at all, revealed to me that the boy who had struck me was the Crown Prince of the Empire—and my half-brother. And that the dark-haired girl I had seen in the Birch Forest that day was my half-sister….
I also learned that the two of them had lost their mother less than six months ago.
This meant that only three weeks after the former Empress Bernadette’s death, Senevir and I had entered the Imperial Family.
Senevir had even erased every trace of the former Empress the moment she arrived at the Imperial Palace.
I began to wonder if that small Garden situated behind the Main Palace might be a remnant of Bernadette that my mother had failed to remove.
I gazed out the window.
Summer rain poured down upon the Garden that my mother had so carefully cultivated. The plants, heavy with moisture and exhaling the thick scent of grass, felt like terrible monsters to me.
I drew the curtains closed. Then I curled up on my bed, recalling the Crown Prince’s hateful gaze and my half-sister’s face drained pale with fear. And the Blue-Eyed Boy who had held her protectively and glared at me….
“Barcas Laedgo Sierkan….”
I gazed up at the ceiling and murmured his name vacantly.
At last I had learned the boy’s name, yet I felt no joy. I had come to understand that he would never smile at me.
The former Empress Bernadette had been born into the Oristain Marquis Family, one of the noble houses of Osyria, but my mother was a noblewoman of House Sierkan. The dead Empress and Barcas were distant relatives.
She had even cared for Barcas tenderly when he arrived at the Imperial Palace as a child and began his rigorous education. Perhaps he viewed Senevir as his mortal enemy.
‘And I as well….’
When I recalled those cold eyes fixed upon me, for the first time I resented being Senevir’s daughter. Even the appearance I had always taken pride in—the features I shared with her—now felt shameful.
I did not wish to feel such emotions.
I was the one beaten so terribly—why should I bear guilt?
It was the Crown Prince who committed the wrong.
I truly knew nothing. What fault of mine was there? I am not wicked. I have done nothing wrong.
I repeated this to myself ceaselessly. Yet whenever I found myself surrounded by the cold gazes of the servants, such thoughts evaporated entirely.
I came to understand perfectly the meaning behind their harsh hands as they touched me.
The ice-cold bathwater they brought to scrub my skin until it reddened, the subtle jabs with tweezers whenever they dressed me, the rough brushing that left wounds upon my scalp, the cold food served at every meal…. All of it was a form of punishment they inflicted upon me.
I knew I was despised. But it had been little different at the Taren Family Estate, so I paid it no great mind.
Whenever I grew timid, Senevir would embrace me tightly in both arms and whisper that I was the fruit of true love, that I need not heed what anyone said.
I believed those words and always tried to carry myself with confidence. But now my mother was no longer by my side, and all around me I heard only whispers of how kind and virtuous the former Empress had been, and how much suffering she had endured.
I became visibly despondent. The head I had always held high began to droop like a turtle’s, and my gaze naturally fell to the floor. The servants, sensing this change keenly, grew ever more cruel. With neither the Emperor nor Senevir showing me particular attention, even their fear of punishment seemed to have vanished.
To them, I was never the Princess of the Empire. I was merely a being who had wounded the heart of the Empress they had served loyally for so long—a testament to shameful infidelity.
Each time I passed through the Corridors, I could hear them whispering about me. It felt as though my mind might shatter. Every word of condemnation I heard kindled a sense of injustice and resentment.
Yet if so many people had suffered because of my birth, it seemed I ought to bear this sorrow as my due. However, their torment had reached a level I could no longer endure.
It was after two seasons had passed since I entered the Imperial Palace. As I descended to the Dining Hall for breakfast, I was seized by an inexplicable unease.
That morning, an unusual number of servants had come to attend to me. When I saw the handmaidens lined along the walls, an ominous premonition washed over me.
Yet contrary to my expectations, the servants were courteous, and the table was laden with an unusual abundance of food. I gazed down at the silver plate as though enchanted.
The Kitchen Maid brought fresh, golden bread and butter instead of the hard, stale bread, and soon a quail roast and a steaming stew that released fragrant wisps of steam were placed before me.
For months I had eaten nothing but terrible food. Seeing the hot stew brimming with substance instead of the cold, thin soup that tasted of rainwater, I felt shamefully close to tears.
I looked around at the servants surrounding me. Dozens of pairs of eyes were watching my reaction.
Could it be that their desire to punish me has faded? Perhaps they have decided to forgive my existence and show me kindness at last.
I lifted the spoon. Then I scooped up the hot broth rising with steam and brought it to my lips. The flavors of butter and milk, mingled with various vegetables and their gentle sweetness, spread throughout my mouth.
The taste of warm food after so long ignited a ravenous hunger within her. She abandoned all pretense of dignity and devoured the stew with desperate urgency.
After how many spoonfuls, an extraordinarily peculiar flavor suddenly assailed her palate. It was far too repugnant to be merely the gamey scent of meat that the spices had failed to mask. She furrowed her brow and stared intently into the stew.
Then, from behind her, came the sound of stifled laughter.
Talia’s head snapped around. The Handmaidens all stood with expressionless faces, their eyes downcast. Yet Talia could clearly see the corners of their mouths twitching. In that instant, cold sweat beaded across her spine.
After hesitating for a long moment, Talia stirred the bowl with her spoon. As she pushed aside the larger pieces, something heavy and dark sank at the very bottom of the shallow dish came into view. No. It wasn’t a piece of meat.
As Talia fished out the dark, bloated mass with her spoon, shock froze her entirely. A swollen gray rat, its mouth agape, hung limply in the thick broth. She couldn’t even scream.
She tumbled from her chair and retched the stew onto the floor. Even as she expelled far more than she had consumed, the nausea refused to subside.
The acrid stench emanating from her nostrils grew ever stronger. The taste of the dead rat clung to her tongue as though it would never fade.
She thrust her fingers down her throat and scraped at her tongue, forcing out what little remained with agonizing effort.
As she remained bent over the floor, retching, a pair of feet moving about the dining table came into view through her tear-blurred vision.
Talia lifted her head numbly. The Kitchen Maid responsible for the kitchen duties was clearing plates with utter composure, as though nothing had transpired. The other servants moved busily about the table, clearing dishes and wiping it clean. As though they could not see her form sprawled across her own vomit.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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