The Forgotten Field

Apparently, she did not even have enough strength left to be difficult.

‘Perhaps I should never have brought her here.’

Varkas gazed down at her gaunt face with worried eyes before stepping out of the carriage.

Brilliant sunlight poured down over their heads like a torrential rain. A faint crease appeared between her pale brows, as though the brightness hurt her eyes.

Using the hem of his coat to cast a shadow over her face, he passed through the gate. Hundreds of curious eyes immediately flew toward them. His back stiffened without warning.

He had always lived surrounded by countless gazes and was accustomed to being the object of attention. Even so, he found it difficult to remain calm beneath the eyes stealing glances at the woman in his arms.

“It seems Her Grace the Grand Duchess is unwell.”

The captain of the guard, who had come to guide him, glanced at her and muttered sympathetically. His eyes remained fixed on her tangled hair and ivory cheeks. Varkas spoke coldly.

“I would appreciate it if you would show us to a bedchamber first.”

“Of course, we should show proper consideration. Please come this way. Sir Temuran repeatedly instructed us to attend to Your Grace with the utmost care.”

The man finally tore his eyes away from Talia and took the lead.

As they climbed the stairs behind him, a silent hall reminiscent of a monastery and dark corridors came into view.

“You may use this room.”

Crossing what appeared to be a receiving room, the man threw open an iron-banded door.

Varkas entered and slowly surveyed the neat interior.

It was a simple bedchamber, but by no means shabby. Judging that it would be sufficient for a stay of several days, he laid her down upon the bed.

By then, Talia had fallen asleep again.

Had the sedative the healer had given her not worn off yet?

He watched the woman, who still failed to regain consciousness, when he noticed the captain of the guard lingering near the doorway.

His voice sharpened.

“What is it?”

“My apologies, but Sir Temuran requests an audience with Your Grace immediately. Would it be possible for you to come to the audience chamber at once?”

Varkas frowned.

Ordinarily, guests who had come from afar were encouraged to rest. That meant either Temuran was an uncivilized boor ignorant of etiquette, or he had urgent business that superseded formalities.

After silently examining him for a moment, Varkas inclined his head.

“Very well. I shall go immediately.”

The man, whose face had been stiff with tension, visibly relaxed.

After ordering one of the subordinates waiting in the corridor to summon a healer, Varkas followed him without delay.

Not long afterward, they arrived at an old-fashioned room illuminated by bright lamps.

Crossing a carpet covered in intricate patterns, he approached a heavy wooden table. An elderly man seated on the opposite side abruptly rose to greet him.

“Thank you for coming, Your Grace.”

Judging by his complexion, the rumors about his illness had not been false. The old knight’s face was deathly pale.

After silently observing him, Varkas sat down. The old man lowered himself into his seat once more and spoke hurriedly.

“Please forgive my discourtesy. As you can see, my health is poor, and I do not know when I may collapse. I wished to meet Your Grace while my mind still remained clear, and thus I dared to urge Your Grace to come. Even a hundred apologies would not suffice—”

“That is enough. Speak of the reason you summoned me.”

Varkas cut off the lengthy speech with a single sentence.

Wiping the cold sweat from his brow while carefully watching Varkas’s expression, the old knight finally spoke.

“In truth... there is something I wished to ask, and so I requested this audience.”

When he extended a hand toward the attendant standing behind him, the young man, who had remained as silent as a shadow, handed over a parchment document.

Unfolding it, the old knight continued nervously.

“Not long ago, we received word that House Heimdal has begun gathering warriors of the North. Is it true that His Highness the Crown Prince stands behind this?”

Taking the parchment, Varkas began reading.

It seemed the information had come from a merchant traveling between the North and the East.

Copied by hand to conceal its source, the document detailed the movements of northern nobles and testimonies that numerous imperial knights had been sighted in Amasek.

As Varkas tapped the wooden table with his fingers while reading the last section, the old knight hurriedly added,

“And recently, I have heard that marriage negotiations have begun between Her Highness the First Imperial Princess and the heir of House Heimdal. Is Your Grace aware of these matters as well?”

“What exactly is it that you wish to know?”

Lifting his eyes from the parchment, Varkas asked directly.

The old knight moistened his lips nervously before finally speaking his true question.

“I wish to hear Your Grace’s exact position. Which side are we standing with?”

Instead of answering, Varkas merely stared at the man’s face.

Unable to bear even that brief silence, the old knight rushed on.

“There are rumors that, because of Your Grace’s marriage, the East may return to neutrality or incline toward the Empress’s faction. Meanwhile, His Highness the Crown Prince has recently begun cultivating close ties with the North. Some fear the Empire itself may be heading toward division.”

Varkas let out a faint laugh.

Only a few months had passed since his broken engagement and his marriage.

Everyone has certainly been busy.

Leaning back against his chair, Varkas lifted the parchment and held it above the candle on the table. The yellowed document curled instantly, black smoke rising from it.

Watching it for a moment, he turned back toward the old knight and spoke firmly.

“Nothing has changed. The East supports Gareth Roem Gwirta.”

“Then why has His Highness the Crown Prince reached out to the North...?”

“He is merely trying to restore the dignity of the sister whom a disloyal servant cast to the ground. How many houses in this Empire can rival House Siorcan?”

Yet even after receiving such certainty, doubt did not vanish from the knight’s face.

Varkas released a weary sigh.

“I understand your concerns, given that you govern lands adjacent to the North, but you are being overly sensitive. At most, these are merely rumors.”

“Then Your Grace still stands with His Highness the Crown Prince?”

“Yes. House Siorcan will never stand in opposition to His Highness the Crown Prince.”

Only then did relief appear on the old knight’s face.

“Thank you for answering so readily. Thanks to Your Grace’s consideration, I believe I can finally lay my worries to rest.”

“I am glad I could be of help.”

After giving the formal response, Varkas rose with disciplined movements.

The old knight stood as well. Stopping him with a casual wave of his hand, Varkas strode out of the audience chamber.

By now, dusk had settled over the corridors.

Following the deepening shadows, he quickly organized his thoughts.

Gareth’s impatient actions were hardly surprising. Being suspicious by nature, he must still have been uneasy despite Varkas’s assurances. Reaching out to the North to establish his own influence was well within expectations.

However, the speed with which the rumors had spread was alarming.

‘...It seems the Empress’s influence has finally begun to reach the East.’

Otherwise, news of the Crown Prince’s movements could never have spread so quickly.

That woman had not abandoned her scheme to drive a wedge between himself and Gareth.

Rubbing his chin, Varkas looked out the window.

Gray clouds had gathered overhead, as though rain would soon fall, and dusk had settled over the weed-filled flowerbeds and pathways.

He was absentmindedly sweeping his gaze over the bleak scenery when he suddenly stopped.

The woman whom he himself had laid upon the bed earlier was wandering through the garden alone—

without a single attendant by her side.