The Banquet (4)

The second day of the banquet was not for the weak.

Julius Vaelorian strode through the grand hall like a specter who refused to fade, his polished boots clicking against marble, his white hair catching the chandelier's glow like fresh-fallen snow under moonlight. The nobles whispered as he passed, their voices a symphony of disbelief.

"He dares show his face?"

"After last night—poisoned, nearly dead—and he walks in as if nothing happened?"

"The man has no fear."

Joseph followed a step behind, his presence a silent promise of violence to anyone foolish enough to test his master. Julius ignored them all, his mind dissecting the room like a surgeon with a scalpel.

---

She had run to Merlin the moment Julius collapsed. Ripped the Veilstone Pendant from her throat, bared her pointed ears to the world, and begged the Sorcerer King for protection.

"He's insane," she had hissed, her voice trembling with just the right mix of fear and fury. "He speaks of himself as if he's divine. He butchered my brothers and calls it justice. He believes—truly believes—he is a god."

Julius had heard every word.

The emerald brooch he'd pinned to her gown—an "apology gift" after their little disagreement—had been enchanted with a listening spell, a delicate weave of wind and shadow magic that carried her voice straight to his ears. He had listened as she spun her tale, as Merlin's silence grew heavier, as the pieces of his game slid into place.

Perfect.

Let her think she had escaped. Let Merlin think he held the leash.

Everything was proceeding exactly as he intended.

---

The King's private dining chamber was a world apart from the raucous banquet hall—a gilded cage where power was measured in the distance between chairs and the sharpness of smiles.

Julius took his seat at the royal table, the place of honor offered to him by King Alden himself. A rare gesture. A political maneuver.

"We are glad to see you recovered, Ser Julius," the King said, raising his goblet. The ruby wine inside caught the light like liquid fire. "To your health."

The table echoed the toast.

Julius sipped his wine, letting his gaze drift across the room.

Every player was here.

- Sophia Belmont, seated beside him, her golden hair tied back in an elegant twist, her fingers drumming restlessly against the tablecloth.

- Duke Blackwood, Arthur's father, his hawk-like eyes tracking Julius's every move.

- The Pontifex, serene as a marble saint, his holy gaze lingering just a second too long on Julius's throat.

- Merlin Ambrosius, the Sorcerer King, his mythril staff resting against his chair like a scepter waiting to be claimed.

- Alex Clay, the so-called Hero, stiff-backed and tense, as if expecting a knife between his ribs at any moment.

And then—

"So," Merlin said, his voice like aged whiskey, smooth but burning. "You're the one who has caused so much… upheaval."

Julius smiled. "Upheaval is such an ugly word. I prefer restructuring."

Merlin's fingers tightened around his goblet. "Elaine told me everything."

"Did she?"Julius leaned back, swirling his wine. "And what, pray tell, did my dear guest confess?"

"That you murdered her brothers in cold blood."

"Self-defense."Julius's tone was light, as if discussing the weather. "The first attacked me in Hackendor. The second led assassins into my home. Would you have preferred I offered them tea?"

"That you kidnapped her."

"I saved her life." Julius tilted his head. "Or did you miss the part where her own clansmen were willing to let her die to get to me?"

"That you believe yourself a god."

Julius laughed, low and rich, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the room. "Oh, Merlin. You of all people should know—gods don't believe. They are."

The temperature in the room dropped.

Sophia's breath hitched. Alex's hand twitched toward his sword. The Pontifex's fingers curled around his holy symbol.

Merlin studied Julius, his ancient gaze peeling back layers like a man unraveling a cursed scroll. "You're either a madman… or something far worse."

"Why not both?" Julius grinned, sharp as a blade.

Merlin's eyes narrowed. "You think this is a game."

"Everything is a game," Julius said, his voice dropping to a whisper only Merlin could hear. "The difference between us? I write the rules."

Before Merlin could respond, the Pontifex raised a hand. "This conversation is unseemly for such an occasion." His voice was soft, but it cut through the tension like a guillotine. "We will speak of this later."

Merlin exhaled through his nose but nodded.

The Pontifex then turned to Alex, his tone shifting to something almost… paternal.

"So," he said, smiling. "You are the one they call the second Hero, yes?"

Alex stiffened. "I—"

"A rare blessing," the Pontifex continued. "But also a heavy burden. Tell me, child… do you feel worthy?"

Julius watched, amused, as Alex struggled under the weight of the question.

Then—

---

The doors to the private chamber exploded inward.

Not a guard. Not a servant.

Crown Prince Aldric Belmont, heir to the throne of Lovina, staggered inside, his royal doublet drenched in blood.

"Father—!"

Chaos erupted.

The King shot to his feet, his chair clattering to the ground. Sophia screamed. The Pontifex's holy symbol flared to life in his hand.

Julius didn't move.

He simply smiled.

Because right on schedule—

The assassination attempt had begun.

And the best part?

No one would ever suspect the man who had just been poisoned.