Chapter 37: The Grand Feast of Alliances

The Grand Feast of Alliances

The palace was ablaze with light, every chandelier casting golden glows across the marbled halls. Silk banners bearing the insignias of powerful kingdoms draped the walls, and the scent of roasted meats, honeyed wines, and exotic spices filled the air. This was more than just a feast—it was a stage where alliances were forged, betrayals were planned, and the future of nations was decided over goblets of wine and polite conversation.

A Parade of Royals

One by one, the honored guests arrived, each an embodiment of power and legacy.

• King Alvaren of Velmoria, a hardened ruler clad in silver and deep blue, known for his unshakable pragmatism and ruthless military campaigns. His sharp eyes scanned the hall, assessing every noble and ruler like a battlefield.

• Queen Ysella of Edhira, a woman of regal beauty, draped in flowing emerald silk. Behind her graceful demeanor was a mind of steel—Edhira was a kingdom of trade and information, and she was known to weave alliances as skillfully as she unraveled them.

• Prince Cassiel of Veyanor, a young royal with golden hair and a smile that charmed even his enemies. But beneath the charm lay a sharp wit and an ambition barely concealed.

• Princess Elowen of Myrvane, a quiet yet imposing figure, dressed in obsidian and crimson. Some whispered she was more of a warrior than a princess, her reputation built on her victories in battle rather than courtly grace.

And among them, blending seamlessly into the spectacle, were Sylas and Livia.

A Royal Disguise

Sylas adjusted the high collar of his midnight-blue coat, the fabric rich and embroidered with silver. His hair, usually unkempt, had been neatly styled, and a jeweled brooch pinned to his chest gave him the appearance of nobility. Livia, standing beside him, wore a gown of deep red and gold, her presence commanding attention.

Sylas found irony in the situation. He, a former king in his past life, was now disguised as royalty once more—except this time, with a wife. A queen, at least in appearance.

"I must admit," Livia murmured, her lips barely moving as they walked, "you play the part well, Your Majesty."

Sylas exhaled through his nose. "I was a king, not a courtier."

"So, you never married?" Livia asked, arching a brow.

Sylas didn't answer immediately. His past life had been filled with war, strategy, and a single-minded pursuit of rebuilding his lost kingdom. Romance had never fit into that equation.

"No," he said simply. "There was no time for it."

Livia chuckled. "Fitting, then, that we arrive here as a royal couple."

Sylas merely shook his head.

The King's Speech

At the center of the great hall, upon an elevated dais, King Eyndor rose to speak. Dressed in deep crimson robes, his presence was commanding yet composed. His golden circlet gleamed in the candlelight as he gazed upon the gathered rulers, his expression unreadable.

He did not smile, nor did he show excessive warmth—he was a tactician, not an idealist.

"Esteemed rulers and heirs of great kingdoms," Eyndor's voice carried through the hall, measured and firm. "You have traveled far, not merely to share a meal, but to witness a changing age. Our world is shifting, and those who stand alone will crumble before the tides of war and ambition."

He let the words settle before continuing.

"Some of you come seeking allies. Others, seeking to measure your rivals. Whatever your intentions, know this—prosperity does not come from isolation, but from those bold enough to shape the future together."

His gaze swept the hall, studying the reactions. Some rulers nodded in agreement, others remained impassive, their own calculations unfolding in their minds.

But this speech was more than words—it was a trap.

King Eyndor did not seek simple alliances. He sought loyalty, dependency. By gathering these rulers under his roof, by ensuring that their wealth and ambitions were tied to him, he would weave a web that none could escape.

This feast was not just an opportunity—it was a battlefield.

And as Sylas watched from the crowd, he recognized a familiar game. One he had played before.

King Eyndor's Perspective: A Calculated Feast

The feast was grand, but it was never about the wine, the food, or the pleasantries. It was a stage. A battlefield where the weapons were words, the shields were reputations, and the spoils of war were alliances.

King Eyndor sat at the highest seat in the hall, overlooking his esteemed guests as they dined and exchanged niceties. But his mind was elsewhere—watching, calculating, weaving.

He had spent years ensuring his kingdom's prosperity. It was powerful, wealthy, and independent, but no kingdom stood alone forever. The world was shifting. And if war did not come today, it would come tomorrow. Eyndor did not fear war; he expected it. The question was who would be standing when it arrived.

The answer was simple. He would.

A Manipulator's Chessboard

Eyndor's strategy was not one of brute force, nor reckless alliances built on sentiment. He did not seek to simply gain friends—he sought to create dependency.

Each ruler in this hall had something they desired:

• King Alvaren of Velmoria craved stronger trade routes and iron-rich territories.

• Queen Ysella of Edhira sought to secure her influence over smaller kingdoms without drawing the ire of larger powers.

• Prince Cassiel of Veyanor wanted to prove himself, to break free from the looming shadow of his father, the reigning king.

• Princess Elowen of Myrvane was already a warrior, but her kingdom needed stability as much as strength.

Eyndor would give them what they wanted. But not freely.

A simple agreement would not do—agreements could be broken. Promises could be abandoned. But dependency? That was unshakable.

The wine flowed, and the conversations were lively, but Eyndor's mind was already moving three steps ahead.

If he controlled Velmoria's trade, then Alvaren would need him.

If he positioned Edhira as a mediator of disputes, then Ysella's power would be tied to his kingdom.

If he gave Cassiel a place to prove himself, then the young prince would owe him everything.

If Myrvane's borders were secured by his influence, then Elowen would always be an ally.

It was beneficial for them. It was beneficial for him.

The Speech: A Test of Power

As he rose to address the hall, he ensured his expression remained controlled—neither overly warm nor too distant. A ruler who appeared too eager for alliances was seen as weak. A ruler who was too distant was seen as unapproachable. Balance was key.

"Esteemed rulers and heirs of great kingdoms," he began, his voice carrying through the hall. "You have traveled far, not merely to share a meal, but to witness a changing age. Our world is shifting, and those who stand alone will crumble before the tides of war and ambition."

A pause. Let them absorb the weight of his words. Some would take it as a warning, others as an invitation. Both were correct.

"Some of you come seeking allies. Others, seeking to measure your rivals. Whatever your intentions, know this—prosperity does not come from isolation, but from those bold enough to shape the future together."

Another pause. Now, he watched.

Some nodded in agreement. Others remained impassive. But the moment they were forced to consider his words, he had already won the first step.

This was not a call for unity. It was a test.

Who among them would seek him out first? Who would hesitate? Who would try to remain independent for as long as possible, and who would realize too late that they had no other option?

Eyndor did not demand loyalty outright. That would be a fool's game. No, he would let them convince themselves that they needed him.

And once they did, the game would truly begin.

The Feast Unfolds: The Web Tightens

As King Eyndor concluded his speech, the hall rippled with murmurs. The air was thick with unspoken thoughts, calculations forming behind the eyes of rulers and heirs alike. Some nodded in agreement, others exchanged cautious glances with their advisors. But no one dismissed his words. That was the first victory.

The banquet resumed, but now the conversations held a new weight. The kings and queens, princes and princesses, each turned to their trusted confidants, speaking in hushed voices, evaluating their positions. Eyndor let them speak. Let them think. Let them convince themselves that what he offered was inevitable.

He did not need to pressure them. The mere thought of not acting would plant seeds of doubt in their minds.

Would they be left behind?

Would their rivals gain the advantage?

Would they be seen as too hesitant?

He took his seat once more, lifting his goblet but barely drinking. Instead, he listened. Every word, every hesitation, every nervous glance.

Sylas and Livia: A Pair of Unknowns

As he observed the guests, his eyes briefly landed on them. The so-called noble couple who had arrived under mysterious circumstances—Sylas and Livia.

They were dressed well, moved with practiced grace, and spoke as if they belonged. Yet Eyndor was no fool. He had seen kings and queens, dignitaries and diplomats, nobles and merchants. These two were different.

Too controlled. Too composed.

They spoke to no one at length, kept their presence minimal, and yet… they were watching. Measuring.

Who were they?

Eyndor had his suspicions, but there was no need to act rashly. He would not expose them—yet. Instead, he let them remain, watching them the same way they watched him.

If they thought themselves clever, let them believe it.

If they had a purpose here, let them reveal it on their own.

If they sought to manipulate this feast, let them try.

He welcomed it.

The Game of Kings and Queens

As the night deepened, more figures made their move.

• King Alvaren approached with a toast, speaking of "future possibilities" between their kingdoms. A subtle probe, a test to see how much Eyndor would give away.

• Queen Ysella remained seated, sending a well-trained diplomat in her stead to feel out the room before she spoke herself. Cautious, as expected.

• Prince Cassiel was already moving from group to group, eager to leave an impression, but Eyndor knew the boy's ambition would soon lead him to his table.

• Princess Elowen did not rise, nor did she play the political game openly. Instead, she observed. Calculated. A silent strategist.

Eyndor allowed them all to play their parts. He made no overt promises, no direct alliances—yet. That would come later, when the stakes were clearer and the desperation had set in.

For now, he laid the foundation.

A glance here. A nod there. A carefully worded reply that could be interpreted however they wished.

Let them believe they had control. Let them think they were the ones making the choices.

When the time came, and they realized how deeply they needed him, they would think it had been their decision all along.

And that—that was the true art of power.

Sylas and Livia: Watching, Waiting

The grand hall was abuzz with the soft clinks of silverware and the rustling of fine fabrics. Sylas stood tall beside Livia, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the room. He could hear the conversations around them, a low hum of power plays, whispered deals, and the quiet but unmistakable pulse of tension in the air. It was a feast—yes, but it was also a delicate game. Every word, every glance, was a move on a larger board.

Livia, however, was less concerned with the intricacies of court politics. She had always preferred action to words, strength to subtlety. Still, she kept her thoughts to herself, letting Sylas lead. She'd learned a long time ago that his mind worked in ways she couldn't always follow, but she trusted him completely.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" Livia's voice was low, as they moved to the side of the room to observe without drawing attention.

Sylas' eyes never strayed from King Eyndor, but there was no mistaking the flicker of acknowledgment. He didn't need to ask her who she was referring to.

"He's playing a game," Sylas said quietly, his tone flat. "A dangerous one."

Livia studied the king, who was surrounded by diplomats and courtiers, his face a mask of congeniality and careful calculation. King Eyndor smiled, raised his goblet in greeting to several nobles, but Livia could feel the sharp edge beneath the surface. She could see through the façade, just like Sylas could.

"What's his endgame?" Livia asked, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the room, noting how the room's atmosphere subtly shifted in response to the king's presence.

Sylas did not answer immediately. Instead, his mind ran through the permutations, all the possible ways this could unfold.

He had spent years studying the ways of power and manipulation. Eyndor's methods were no different than those of the monarchs he'd once dealt with. The king was gathering allies—subtly, strategically, and without making them realize the full extent of his influence until it was too late.

"Consolidation," Sylas muttered under his breath. "He wants to control the board without anyone realizing he's the one moving the pieces."

Livia chuckled softly, crossing her arms as she leaned against the stone wall of the hall.

"Sounds like a man with too much time on his hands."

Sylas didn't smile, but there was a faint gleam of understanding in his eyes.

"Or someone who knows time is all he has."

Livia was silent for a moment, then sighed.

"You know, we could just leave. Let the man play his little games. This isn't our fight."

But Sylas shook his head.

"Not yet. There's something here—something he's not telling us."

Livia raised an eyebrow.

"Something about this place, or something about him?"

Sylas glanced at her briefly, his face inscrutable.

"Both."

They continued to stand there, observing. Sylas kept his thoughts to himself, weighing the various options. There were layers here, layers he couldn't ignore, even if he wanted to. The king's plan was not just political—it was personal, in ways that Sylas couldn't quite place.

Livia, sensing his focus, turned her attention back to the feast.

"You know," she said, keeping her voice light to keep from drawing attention, "I didn't think I'd ever end up playing dress-up at a royal feast. You sure know how to pick our 'missions,' Sylas."

Sylas gave her a sideways glance, the smallest flicker of a smile crossing his lips.

"I didn't pick it," he replied dryly. "The invitation was the only way in."

Livia snorted.

"And now we're stuck pretending to be a royal couple."

Sylas didn't answer, though there was an unspoken acknowledgment between them. The false identities they had adopted were an inconvenience—one they both saw as a necessary means to an end. The game of diplomacy was far from their preferred method of handling problems, but it was a tool, and like any tool, it could be wielded effectively if necessary.

"Look at it this way," Livia continued, a mischievous smile creeping up on her face. "At least you don't have to wear a crown."

Sylas turned his head to face her, eyes narrowing as he caught the hint of humor in her voice.

"I've worn worse," he replied flatly, though there was a slight edge of amusement hidden in his tone.

They both fell silent again, watching the royal court, the silent dance of power, alliances, and backdoor negotiations unfolding before them. Sylas couldn't help but feel like they were a part of something larger than they had expected, something far more intricate and dangerous.

And in this dance of politics, Sylas realized, they might not just be players. They might be pawns—at least for now.