Chapter 24

“Gwendolyn,” Sharaa rushed up to her as she entered the Onyx Dining Hall, so named for its jet-black pillars. They contrasted the white walls and floor, but the large hearth was also the same jet-black stone, and the large, ornate chandelier hanging over the massive, long center table was made of some lustrous black metal. “You look truly splendid,” she said. “I think Prince Aparen will be shocked!”

“Why?” Gwendolyn asked, confused. She found the event to be disorienting already, the large dining room bursting with nobles and attendants, all chattering loudly in their little groups while servants ducked and weaved between them, setting the table for the feast. She was not sure she had ever seen so many people congregated in one place, let alone so many fine and elegant people, all wearing clothes more expensive than the whole of Bartet put together. Of course, she realized as she looked down at herself that the cost of her dress and the jewelry she had purchased along with it would shock even the Everalds.

“Oh,” Sharaa said, as behind her siblings giggled. “Just because you look quite different, of course. But in a lovely way!”

“Thanks,” Gwendolyn said, unsure. Glancing around, she counted at least ten tables, each with seats for twenty guests. At the very center of the room, she could just see a table with two thrones, rather than regular seats, at each end. She supposed that was the table for the Royal family.

“You look a proper lady now,” said Princess Pala, while beside her, her twin brother Harvarl nodded. “In fact,” she added, grasping a bit of the velvet fabric of Gwendolyn’s dress, “I must say this dress is so beautiful that I rather regret not buying it for myself.”

“Maroon is more a color for someone with Gwendolyn’s features,” Princess Sharaa said, “it compliments her light hair.” At the mention of her hair, Gwendolyn’s hand flew unconsciously up, patting at the painstakingly intricate braid she had donned for the party. She felt for the small diadem gifted to her by the Queen, barely believing it was still there, or that it was ever real in the first place.

“I could wear maroon and look stunning if I wanted to,” Princess Pala said sulkily.

“I’m sure you could,” Gwendolyn said with a smile at the younger Princess. Prince Tariam, who stood on Princess Pala’s other side, leaned forward to Gwendolyn conspiratorially.

“You know, you’ve already received your peerage,” he said, “so you needn’t flatter my sisters any further.” Gwendolyn laughed lightly as his sisters gave him little playful swats.

Just then, a loud bell rang, though with the crowd surrounding her Gwendolyn could not tell from where it originated. The room went silent, however, and all the attendees looked at the large double doors they had entered by. After a moment, The King and Queen both made a grand entrance, wearing a seemingly impossible amount of gold. They looked glorious, almost otherworldly. Had Gwendolyn been told they were themselves two of the Five Gods, come to walk the land, she would have believed it to be so.

Applause rang out, and Gwendolyn joined in. The King waved graciously as he escorted his wife to the chair at the end of the middle table, at the end closest to the doors. Then he processed down the table, taking his seat at the opposite end. A bell rang out once more.

“That’s the signal to find our seats,” Prince Harvarl whispered to her. He motioned, and she followed his gaze to see that little cards had been placed on each plate, with names and titles indicating who should sit there.

Curious, and a bit trepidatious, Gwendolyn approached the left-most table to begin searching for her own name.

Her search was interrupted when she heard Princess Sharaa call her name. “Gwendolyn, here,” she shouted, waving gracefully. “You’re seated at the middle table with us, come along,” she said. Gwendolyn followed, feeling a bit lost, only to see that she had been seated with the Royal family at the center table.

“Oh, surely there are other, more highborn nobles who should be seated here,” she whispered to Princess Pala as they approached the table.

“You would not want to suggest that to my father,” the Princess whispered back, “it would be considered rude to imply that he had not invited the proper guests to our tables.”

“I—” but Gwendolyn decided not to answer. Mutely, she split off from the young Princess and found the little placard with her name on it, which seated her next to the King on his left-hand side. On her left stood Duchess Rayla, accompanied again by her husband.

“So glad you could join us, Lady Gwendolyn,” the King said, smiling at her.

“I am honored,” she replied.

They all stood for a moment, and Gwendolyn did not move to sit, as no one around her was doing so. After a second, she realized that the seat on the King’s right-hand side, and directly across from her, had no one standing behind it.

“Where is my son?” sighed the King. But no sooner had the words escaped his lips than Prince Aparen entered the room, wearing a flowing golden robe and carrying a golden sword in his hands. He began to spin and thrust the sword in a complicated and impressive display of swordsmanship against some invisible attacker. The display was obviously coordinated ahead of time, though from the looks on the faces of his siblings, Gwendolyn guessed that the Prince hadn’t told his family of the plans.

“He does love to make an entrance,” Gwendolyn heard Princess Sharaa sigh from down the table. Peering that way as the Prince continued his display, Gwendolyn saw that the Duchess of Shark Isle was also seated at the Royal table.

“Oh please,” whispered Prince Tariam, “he is showing off for someone.”

Just at that moment, the Prince finished his display, taking a deep breath and then bowing to the Royal table.

“Father,” he said, then turned to the Queen, “mother.”

“Bravo,” said the Queen, clapping enthusiastically. The King joined in, and then the rest of the room erupted into applause.

Satisfied, Prince Aparen waved as he made his way to his seat. As he approached, King Arelon said, “you never can resist a display,” in a jovial tone. Prince Aparen merely laughed. Then, across the table, Gwendolyn caught his eye and he stopped mid-chuckle.

“My Lady,” he said, sinking into an even deeper bow than the one for his parents. “You look stunning, if I may.”

Gwendolyn blushed. “Thank you,” she said. “Your sisters helped me to pick out a dress for the evening. I must say it is beyond my wildest dreams to even be invited to such an event. Your father has truly graced me with the utmost in hospitality.”

The King didn’t respond, but his grin deepened. Internally, Gwendolyn was grateful for Prince Aparen’s book, which had taught her how important hospitality was to the Maitala family.

“Let us sit,” the King called out to the room, “the feast shall begin.”

Around the room, the sound of chairs scraping the floor and people lowering themselves into the chairs was near deafening for a moment, but then the sounds faded into the quiet babble of chatter. Gwendolyn fiddled with a glass of water set before her as Prince Aparen turned to his father and began discussing a development on the Krastiv border that she did not understand.

She didn’t have to wait long for a salad course to be brought out, placed in front of each attendee to the dinner. The King tactfully waited for each person to be served, and no one touched their food until the King did. Finally, as the last of the servants had left the room, he picked up his fork and sampled a small bite of the greens.

“Ah, delightful,” the King said, and the clatter of forks rang around the room as everyone began to eat.

Gwendolyn took a small bite as well, surprised when the taste of the greens was somehow tangy, almost sour, and then sweet as she continued to chew.

Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Prince Aparen said, “I presume you’ve never had werbel leaf before?”

“No,” Gwendolyn said, taking another small forkful to chew on, “what is it?”

“An edible leaf that grows from the werbel plant in Parcee. It is their main source of greens, actually. Unfortunately, it only grows in extremely arid regions. We do have a small crop on Shark Isle, but it doesn’t thrive in most of Imirene.”

“It’s…” she thought for a moment, letting the taste linger on her tongue, “different,” she finally said. “I think I like it,” she added.

After a minute, something occurred to her. “Your Majesty,” she turned to the King shyly, still unsure whether she was permitted to address him, “I’ve just thought—you didn’t have your food tasted?”

“I did, in fact. I have a tester, but he works in the kitchen and tastes the food before it is sent out to me. Only my longest standing and most trusted butler is allowed to serve me.”

“Isn’t that risky, Your Majesty?” Gwendolyn asked, just as servers came out to clear away the salads. “Oh, I wasn’t quite finished…” she trailed off, the food already having been whisked away.

Around her, the Royal family chuckled. “My Lady,” Princess Sharaa said, “we should have explained. You must finish before the King and Queen; all courses are taken away at official functions when the sovereigns have finished.”

“Oh, that’s inconvenient,” Gwendolyn mused out loud, before remembering the company she was keeping. “Oh, Your Majesty,” she said earnestly, her face troubled as she turned to him, “I am so sorry. So sorry, Your Majesty, I didn’t mean to imply…” but the King held up a hand, chuckling.

“It is inconvenient,” King Arelon, “which is why I’ve done away with it at less formal functions.”

Gwendolyn was still quite red as the next course was brought out; a strange green soup served with an unusual bread. Trying the soup, she was surprised to find it tasted quite pleasantly of fennel. In the soup were chunks of potatoes and a vegetable, making it slightly thick. It was very good, and she ripped off a piece of the bread. Before she could dunk the bread into the soup, Prince Aparen reached out a hand and stopped her.

“Not appropriate,” he whispered across the table. “Formal function, very stuffy.”

Sadly, she nodded, and ate the bread plain.

She listened to the conversation as it floated back and forth over her, much of it unintelligible to her. To her left, the Princesses and the Duchess were gossiping about a supposed illicit romance between a duke and his groundskeeper. Somewhat further down the table, she could faintly hear the Queen speaking to a duke about his son, who had been sent off to Parcee for study.

To her right, Prince Aparen and King Arelon continued their discussion of the Krastiv border.

Gwendolyn ate her soup rapidly, afraid it would be taken away again, while staring wistfully out the window directly across from her. The windows in the hall were large, and dusk was falling in a way that made the grass look almost blue.

The servers were just taking her empty bowl away when, looking out the window, she saw Solithi land on the lawn. Surprised, Gwendolyn watched her as she paced the lawn for a few moments. Lowering her head, Solithi nosed at the windows.

Someone sitting closer to the window gave a yelp. King Arelon looked up. He seemed genuinely shocked to see Solithi staring in at the banquet, and for a moment, everyone was staring at either the King or at Solithi. Whispers started to grow across the room.

“Well,” said the King, patting at his lips with a napkin and pushing himself back from the table. Then in a louder voice, one which echoed through the Onyx Dining Room, he said, “excuse me, guests, it seems I have something to attend to on the lawn.”

A few people giggled.

“I’ll return momentarily so we can resume our feast,” he said, and then he strode quickly out of the room.