The Forgotten Field - Chapter 155

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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 155
Tiuran swallowed hard, her throat dry.
Surely the Grand Duke hadn’t gone without sleep since the day the Grand Duchess lost consciousness?
As Tiuran poured water into the basin, she stole glances at him from the corner of her eye, but soon dismissed the thought.
No ordinary human could remain so composed after such prolonged sleep deprivation. Since she and Maricen had taken turns nursing the Grand Duchess, it was simply a matter of timing.
“Bring me a cloth.”
While Tiuran’s mind wandered, the Grand Duke extended his hand toward her.
She hastily retrieved a clean towel, soaked it thoroughly in ice-cold water, and placed it in the man’s sculpted hands.
He grasped it and carefully cooled his wife’s forehead with a touch so delicate it seemed he was handling fine glasswork.
Indeed, the woman lying limp as a corpse appeared as though she might shatter into pieces at any moment. Perhaps that very anxiety was why the man could not tear his gaze from the Grand Duchess, even for an instant.
After a moment’s hesitation, Tiuran spoke in a tentative voice.
“Your Highness is gradually recovering her strength. There should be no further danger, so if you would allow us to take over the nursing duties…”
“So Darian has begun whining to the servants now.”
At his cold tone, Tiuran fell silent.
The man, who had flipped the cloth to use its cool reverse side to gently wipe the perspiration from the woman’s neck, continued in an even voice.
“If he asks, tell him the Grand Duke said this.”
After a pause, the Grand Duke finished his words slowly.
“Men so incompetent they cannot endure even a few days’ absence—why do they continue to consume my household’s provisions?”
Though his words were not directed at her, Tiuran felt a chill run down her spine.
The man gestured dismissively without even glancing at her.
“You’re in the way. Leave now.”
“…Very well. I shall wait in the adjacent room. Please call for me should you need anything.”
Tiuran carefully backed away from the bed. Throughout, the man’s gaze remained fixed upon his sleeping wife’s face.
The late afternoon’s dim light filtering through the window illuminated his features faintly. Gone was any trace of the frost-laden authority he typically displayed—his expression was profoundly solitary and forlorn.
After observing that exhausted face for a moment, Tiuran quietly opened the door and stepped outside.
* * *
Time flowed relentlessly onward.
Talia felt her body’s wounds gradually mending. The throbbing pain in her abdomen, which had seemed to mock her not to forget what she had lost, had grown faint, and the blood that occasionally seeped away soon ceased entirely.
The pain in her lower back and pelvis persisted, yet it paled in comparison to the agony she had endured during pregnancy. The perpetual numbness in her legs had improved, and as her body grew lighter, movement became easier.
Yet somehow this very fact tormented her more deeply. Her body was returning to its former state as though she had never carried a child, and she found this impossible to accept.
While her mind remained fixed to that night, her body moved forward toward life of its own accord. The absurdity of it occasionally drew bitter laughter from her lips.
I cannot fathom why those around me fret so over my recovery. This body, which has endured countless hardships, clings tenaciously to life. My legs were crushed, my insides torn asunder by unbearable agony, and I lost the crude, raw child I bore—yet still this wretched existence persists.
No matter how I neglect this body, it will surely persist in living through this reality, which is scarcely better than hell itself.
So please, just leave me alone.
“Please eat.”
Talia glared at the man offering her a bowl of thin gruel with profound revulsion.
When he first urged her to eat, she had simply refused to respond.
When he did not relent, she eventually overturned the bowl. He then promptly prepared fresh food and attempted to feed her using their old method.
Yet in the act of forcing food into her mouth, she could detect none of the fervor from before—only a faint sense of obligatory duty, like a mother bird mechanically delivering food to her chick.
Absurdly, Talia felt a sharp pain at this realization. His change seemed to confirm her utter failure as a woman, and her heart felt as though it might tear apart.
That bitter pain only drove her further into madness. She could not bear the thought that her aching heart remained because of this man.
Talia squeezed what little strength remained and pushed him away. Then she picked up the spoon with her own trembling hands. As if swallowing the desperate wish to die and disappear, she forced herself to eat and drink the medicine.
This time too, Talia abandoned her futile resistance and picked up the spoon. She swallowed the food hurriedly to escape those eyes that watched over her like a jailer.
Barely finishing the meal, he handed her medicine next. After forcing even that down her throat, she leaned her exhausted body against the cushion. Then, as if it were the most natural thing, Barcas lay down beside her—to keep her from crawling out of bed in the night and wandering toward the grave.
As Talia endured the shackle-like grip of his arms coiling around her body, she suddenly made a request.
“…Burn the sleeping herbs for me.”
The man, who had been pulling the thick quilted blanket over her shoulders, sent her a gaze whose depths she could not fathom.
When he did not move, Talia moistened her parched, drying lips and added more.
“I cannot sleep deeply. I need the medicine.”
After a long silence, the quiet-faced man finally rose from the bed.
She watched his slowly retreating figure before turning her gaze toward the window where the sunset was beginning to paint the sky.
The vivid crimson heavens gradually deepened into the color of blood. Yet soon even that was swallowed by gathering darkness.
Talia inhaled the acrid smoke and closed her eyes. The man, who had returned to the bed, drew her close to his chest and carefully cradled her head.
As her senses dulled, his touch no longer felt as torturous as before.
Talia willingly surrendered herself to the depths of sleep. But the peaceful moment did not last long.
Whether she had developed tolerance to the medicine or not, she opened her eyes as the window panes turned a deep navy blue—just as the sun’s edge, not yet crossing the hill, was painting the edge of the City Walls crimson.
Talia raised her upper body with effort and gazed out the window at the approaching end of day.
How long had she been staring at that distant sky?
Suddenly, she realized what had stirred her consciousness. Amid the faint wail of wind, there was a thin, delicate cry mixed in.
She let out a hollow laugh. It was the auditory hallucination she had grown weary of hearing these past days. Though she should have grown accustomed to it by now, why did her heart shatter with each moment?
Talia’s shoulders trembled faintly before she covered her ears. Yet the crying that echoed in her mind only grew louder. It was as if the dead child was blaming her. Perhaps it resented not being born whole, crying out like this every night. The thought threatened to drive her mad.
Talia rose to rush outside. Then she realized someone’s arms were wrapped around her waist and flinched, turning her head.
She saw the man lying sprawled with one side of his face buried in the pillow.
Her vision spun as if her senses had malfunctioned, yet that face remained strangely vivid. She stared down at it blankly.
She wondered if he might be dead, so deeply asleep was he—a stranger to the man who always rose alertly at her slightest movement.
Though the strength in his forearms binding her remained undiminished, his consciousness seemed completely severed.
‘…Is it because of the sleeping herbs?’
She blinked blankly. Even when she burned the sleeping herbs in the bedroom, he had shown little more than a slight drowsiness.
Perhaps he was simply exhausted from watching over her.
Talia studied his defenseless yet somehow sharp-edged face intently, then, as if drawn by something, reached out her hand toward that gaunt visage.

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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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