Time for dinner
Ali returned the teacup to its original position, her eyes no longer on the person opposite her but absentmindedly looking at the table, as if she were pursuing a very private train of thought.
After a while, she spoke in a soft voice, not directly but enough for everyone to hear clearly:
"I always find it... strange, when you come to a place, have tea with someone, chat, but at the end you still don't know how to address them properly."
No one interrupted her. Even the Duke, who was silently observing, didn't speak.
Ali still didn't look at him, but the meaning in his words was directed straight in that direction.
"You are the owner of this place. The one who sent the invitation, who received us. But other than the two words 'Duke', we don't have a name to call you by."
At this moment, her eyes stopped on the owner's face, calm, not forcing, but an open invitation.
"A name is just a title, but in many cases, it is also a suggestion."
She paused there. No more questions, no need for you. Just waiting.
Daniel still smiled, very lightly.
"Is that so?"
A half-joking, half-serious question, not at all defensive.
Then he said, slowly, as if weighing the weight of each word:
"In this place, people still call me Duke. Not because of the lack of a name… but because the name is perhaps less important than the role."
"But if it helps you feel closer, consider me an old acquaintance, then…"
"Perhaps, one day, I will share that name."
With that, he picked up the cup of tea again. Still calm. As if nothing had happened.
Ali tilted her head slightly. There was something in her eyes that was half understanding, half more wary than before.
She had bet right. She had bet that the duke had not revealed his identity to the people they were playing with this time.
She secretly sighed in relief. If that were the case, even if he had not told them right away, it would only be a matter of time before they could find a clue about the duke's identity.
Blun, on the other hand, was thinking in a different direction.
'What secret does this duke have that he called us here without even revealing his identity? And our coming here would be very meaningful to them, what is their place here for? And why does our being here have any meaning for them?'
'What does our identity have to do with it?'
Ding.
The grandfather clock chimed, its sound sharp and deep, reverberating through the high wooden ceiling of the living room.
The hands had struck six o'clock exactly.
Daniel stopped mid-step, just as he was touching his lips to the rim of the teacup. He raised his head to look at the clock for a moment, as if confirming something.
Then, he leaned to the left and reached for the small silver bell placed on the wooden tray beside him.
He shook it lightly.
Jingle.
Less than a few seconds later, the door opened.
The butler still walked in with a slow gait and a squinting smile, bowing just enough, not saying a word, just quietly waiting for orders.
Daniel stood up.
His posture was elegant, not requiring too many movements, but it naturally made others pay attention.
"It's time to eat."
He said, his voice even, neither lacking in politeness nor excessive enthusiasm.
"Please follow me to the dining room."
The invitation sounded like a pre-determined announcement. There was no pressure, but there was no room for refusal.
The butler immediately moved aside, bowed slightly, and opened the door as if he had been waiting.
Ding.
The grandfather clock chimed, its sound sharp and deep, reverberating through the high wooden ceiling of the living room.
The hands had struck six o'clock exactly.
Daniel stopped mid-step, just as he was touching his lips to the rim of the teacup. He raised his head to look at the clock for a moment, as if confirming something.
Then, he leaned to the left and reached for the small silver bell placed on the wooden tray beside him.
He shook it lightly.
Jingle.
Less than a few seconds later, the door opened.
The butler still walked in with a slow gait and a squinting smile, bowing just enough, not saying a word, just quietly waiting for orders.
Daniel stood up.
His posture was elegant, not requiring too many movements, but it naturally made others pay attention.
"It's time to eat."
He said, his voice even, neither lacking in politeness nor excessive enthusiasm.
"Please follow me to the dining room."
The invitation sounded like a pre-determined announcement. There was no pressure, but there was no room for refusal.
The butler immediately moved aside, bowed slightly, and opened the door as if he had been waiting.
No one said anything.
At the invitation, the group stood up simultaneously, as if an invisible string was tying them together. The air was a bit still as they stepped out into the hallway, following the Duke and the butler.
The sound of shoes hitting the tiles sounded softly, but, a steady rhythm, neither fast nor slow, like a drum beating every second.
They walked down the grand staircase leading from the second floor, the pale yellow light from the wall lamps running along both sides, highlighting the exquisite carvings on the wooden railings and cold stone pillars.
No one spoke. No need. Nor did they dare.
They came to a large door with classical embossed patterns, pushed open by two servants standing on either side, without warning, as if waiting for the right moment.
The dining room appeared.
The whole space seemed to have stepped straight out of a Renaissance oil painting.
The interior was truly luxurious.
A long, glossy black mahogany dining table stretched from one end of the room to the other, with sharp silver inlaid borders running along the side of the table.
On the table was a pure white tablecloth, a set of cutlery arranged in a straight line, and in the middle was a long row of heavy brass candlesticks, each with a soft yellow flame that burned silently, seemingly unwavering despite the open space.
Along both sides of the table were high-backed wooden chairs covered with wine-red cushions, all of which had been pulled out a distance as if inviting them to sit down.
On the ceiling, a sparkling crystal chandelier reflected the candlelight into thousands of fragments of light, like stars trapped in a glass cage.
Daniel paused at the entrance, his hand gently lifting the hem of his robe as he turned around, as elegant as a dancer preparing to lead.
"Please."
His voice rang out just enough, not penetrating the air too deeply, but still making all eyes automatically turn to him.
There were no servants in the room.
There was only a prepared table and seven seats.
Blun was the first to enter. He didn't ask, didn't glance at anyone.
He just walked straight to the chair near the right end of the table, Daniel's dominant side, and sat down as if it were his own.
His hands were resting loosely on the arms of the chair, his eyes still leisurely observing the entire table and the nearest candle. Not too defensive, but not letting his guard down.
Ali followed suit. She walked to the opposite side of Blun, the chair near the left end of the table, just an arm's length away from Daniel.
And unlike Blun, she didn't sit down right away, but gently smoothed the edge of the tablecloth before pulling out the chair, her movements slow but controlled.
Her eyes met Daniel's for a brief moment. Daniel smiled.
He didn't stop her. He didn't invite anyone to a seat. He simply walked forward, to the head of the table, where the chair was slightly larger, and sat down naturally as if it had all been preordained.
"Thanks for not being so formal."
It was unclear whether the words were meant as praise or a warning. But Blun only smiled faintly.
Ali didn't respond. She just tilted her head slightly, her fingers tapping the handle of the silver plate.
The other four?
Still standing. Hesitant.
Some looked at each other. Some looked at their seats. And finally, Clinton and Susan took the next seats after Blun. Dex and Abigail sat next to each other behind Ali.