An imperial meal

The grand dining hall of the Duke's estate was bathed in the golden glow of the morning sun, filtering in through the high-arched windows adorned with elegant drapes of imperial blue and gold.

The long dining table, polished to perfection, reflected the ornate chandeliers that hung above, their crystals shimmering in the light. The scent of freshly baked bread, exotic spices, and simmering meats filled the air, mingling with the faint floral aroma from the delicate arrangements placed strategically across the room.

Vivian sat gracefully at the head of the table, her posture impeccable, her features an unreadable mask of calm indifference. She watched as Isla took a seat beside Leonard, her husband, with an air of quiet entitlement.

 A flicker of emotion passed through Vivian's heart,something between sadness and amusement, but she did not allow it to show. Instead, she remained composed, her hands resting delicately on the table as the maids moved about, setting the morning feast before them.

Beside her, Anna tensed, her fingers curling slightly as if resisting the urge to react. Vivian, ever perceptive, reached out and placed a gentle hand over Anna's, silently calming her. Anna's eyes flickered with understanding, but the fiery glint in them did not fade completely.

Vivian heard Leonard speak, his deep, measured voice carrying through the room. Whatever he had said made her heart swell with warmth, but she maintained her outward indifference. Even as the maids and Anna exchanged knowing glances and made subtle jests at her expense, she did not react.

She had learned long ago that maintaining composure was her greatest weapon in this household, especially in the presence of Isla, the supposed female protagonist of the story she found herself entangled in.

Vivian could already see the storm of emotions brewing in Isla's eyes. After everything that had happened yesterday and the hardships she had endured in the Duke's household, Vivian was certain of one thing—Isla was jealous of her.

Or perhaps, Isla harbored resentment toward the original owner of Vivian's body.

Either way, the signs were clear. Isla's attempts to snatch Leonard's affection and tarnish Vivian's reputation were not driven by mere love or admiration, but by something far more calculated.

Perhaps it was because Isla was new to high society, still struggling to find her footing in a world where appearances mattered more than words.

Vivian's gaze remained steady as she observed Isla. She was not blind to the way Isla struggled to control her emotions. Every fleeting expression of anger, frustration, and bitterness flickered across her face before she forced herself into an unconvincing mask of serenity. If Isla was as intelligent as the novel had once described her, then she would know better than to provoke Vivian directly.

Otherwise, this silent war between them would only escalate.

Isla's grip on her utensils tightened slightly as she took in the extravagant feast before her. The array of exquisite dishes, adorned with rare magical herbs, premium meats from powerful beasts, and the finest cultivated crops, was unlike anything she had ever seen.

Even in her family's best days, when fortune still smiled upon them, their meals had never reached this level of luxury.

It was obvious, the discrimination against her at this table was blatant.

The meal served to her was laughably inferior compared to what the Duke, Duchess, and even the lady-in-waiting received. Although she normally did not eat much at home, this was the first time in her life she had seen such an extravagant spread.

Her gaze flickered to the plates before the others, comparing their portions and ingredients to her own, and the truth was undeniable.

She swallowed hard.

"As expected of a high-ranking noble's meal…" she thought bitterly. "This is something an ordinary noble can never afford."

Even before Vivian had married into the Duke's household, rumors had spread that her food was on par with that of the imperial family, or perhaps even superior. The finest imperial chefs, trained in crafting the most delicate and nutrient-rich cuisine, prepared every single meal for her.

Still, Isla had dismissed those rumors as exaggerations, believing they were merely a way to highlight the royal family's favoritism toward their beloved niece.

But now… faced with the undeniable reality, she felt a bitter taste rise in her throat.

Before she could fully process her frustration, Anna's voice rang out.

"Lady Isla," Anna began with a mocking sweetness, her lips curled into a smirk. "It seems like you're not satisfied with the meal provided to you. That's understandable, you've never seen such an exotic meal before in your life."

The maids around the table snickered softly, though they quickly lowered their heads when Vivian shot them a warning glance.

"I hope you can understand," Anna continued, deliberately pausing to relish Isla's growing discomfort. "But the maids cannot serve you this meal. It was prepared by the imperial chef."

Isla's eyes widened in shock.

She knew that imperial chefs did not cook for just anyone. Their skills were reserved for the Emperor, the royal family, and select individuals of immense importance. The only time nobles could taste their dishes was during grand banquets or imperial balls.

And yet, Vivian had one of them as her personal chef?

The realization sent a fresh wave of resentment through Isla.

Anna, noticing Isla's stunned silence, pressed on with feigned politeness.

"You see," she said with an air of prideful condescension, "His Majesty was worried that the food outside the palace, or even the Duke's household, would not be good enough for my mistress. So he gifted her an imperial chef to follow her wherever she goes."

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"My lady was raised on only the finest, most exquisite meals in the world. Even I and the Duke would not be able to afford such luxury if not for my lady's grace. I'm sorry, but it's not something a baron's daughter like you can afford."

A wave of laughter rippled through the maids.

Isla's face burned with shame and fury.

"Anna."

Vivian's voice was calm, yet laced with warning.

Immediately, the laughter died down. Anna pursed her lips, stepping back with a small curtsy.

Turning to the head maid, Vivian spoke with her usual measured grace.

"Have the maids take away the meal in front of Lady Isla and serve her what we are eating," she commanded. "No matter what, she is still our guest. We wouldn't want people questioning our hospitality."

She then turned to Isla, her expression unreadable yet undeniably authoritative.

"Lady Isla, I apologize for the oversight," Vivian continued smoothly. "And I hope you understand that Anna means no harm. She simply has a habit of being… blunt and playful."

Every word grated against Isla's pride, but she knew better than to lash out now.

"Enjoy your victory while it lasts, Vivian."

Isla forced a polite smile, though her hands curled into fists beneath the table.

"I understand, Your Grace," she said, her voice calm but ice-cold beneath the surface.

One day, this entire royal treatment would belong to her and even more luxurious than what Vivian is currently enjoying.

And when that time came—Vivian would be the one forced to lower her head.

For now, she would endure.

But not for long.